Child of Light
by Arc Ascendent
Summary: Sixteen year-old Phaedra Blake sets out on a harrowing journey towards adventure, romance and heartbreak. As she gathers friends and discovers herself, does she risk losing everything for one man?
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome one and all...to 'Child of Light', my fanfiction of rather generous proportions. My goal here is not to be snappy or sharp, oh no...I'm going for the whole slow, gentle character development, floating, delicate descriptions, aching extremes of emotion, in fact my ultimate aim is to write the entire NWN2 story arc as a fanfiction starting from now (Don't worry I do leave out some non-essential stuff) If that's your cup of tea, read on! If not, why not give it a try anyway. You can always stop later!_

It had gone by many names, the great marshland which enveloped the southern reaches of the Sword Coast, through as many ages as it had grown here, seeding the ground thick with seething life. Amidst the shadows, beneath the stunted trees, hanging low and gnarled over still, stagnant pools, across the expanse of reeds and rushes, ferns, weeds, dense and nearly impenetrable, these names had been whispered…against the face of the force of the place's endless, unspeakable stillness, the sheer weight of its ancient silence. Merdelain, the Slow Marching Court, it had once been known…and there was yet something of this majesty within the title lived on even though the word had passed long from living tongues, and the slow expanse of the Mere, its marching, as it were, continued; since then it had been prosaically styled the Mere of Dead Men, and this too was true, for many had died here, the bleached bones of villages, and those who had fallen with them, felled by the orc, by demon, by time and decay, swallowed by its inexorable advance, the Mere endured beyond all of them.

Yet still there were some who chose to make a life here while they could…villages perched here and there amidst the patchwork of thick green life and still dark pools upon the swamp's expanse, harvesting the fruits of the Mere's fertility, though there were not so many as there had been once. There was one such place, set amidst the tides of voracious life, rising from the misty deeps of the Mere, though far from its choking heart, a place long known as West Harbour…

West Harbour seemed little more and little less than a farming settlement, set amidst fields of thick, black and wet soil, fertile and teeming with the germs of cultivation, but one step beyond the farmlands and the Mere enveloped everything, the chaos of its thick, green growths ever reaching forth for the tamed fields. From there on the Mere held fast to the ground for many leagues hence…sealing West Harbour in its stubborn isolation, even the rough, dirt road, thick with churned dark earth, that led onwards out of the village and to other, more civilised climes, was choked with weeds that seized upon each opportunity to colonise the footsteps of travellers. A squat, short wall, more of a fence really, surrounded the village, a palisade of sorts, stakes of wood sunk deep into the soft soil of the Mere, with the farmland just beyond them, the wet wood was enveloped in a thick growth of moss that sank into each crack. There was water here, a river, fast flowing and clear, emerging from deep within the swamps…tumbling over foundations of rock which its passage had dug from deep beneath the thick earth, it bore through a gap in the walls, dividing the village in two, churning the earth, and bringing water for crops, a gift of the Mere few recognised or appreciated within the village itself, and without which it would have no doubt gone the same way as many of the other villages which had once ploughed the Mere's rich earth. But there was more to West Harbour than there seemed more than the long struggle for survival, the stubborn hardiness of its people…

"Lass" At once there was movement in the outskirts of the village, amidst the thick crops, stirring the grain aside. A voice touched the cool winds, floating momentarily in the air, it was calm, flat, almost emotionless… "Be calm, there is no need to worry yourself on my account"

"Father…" the rich, gold wheat, on the cusp of opening, parted beneath the passage of a figure, a thin, white hand gripped a single stalk, turning it aside, revealing a young woman, her gaze, trembling with agitation, fixed ahead of her, towards the Mere, and the heart of its dominion, beneath the shadowed hollows. She was only around sixteen…her figure slight and slender, with a sense of such delicacy that her presence seemed to scarcely stir the cool air, or imprint on the ground beneath her feet. Her skin was smooth, so fair it was almost radiant, the set of her features narrow, delicate and finely chiselled like porcelain. Her hair was long, rippling down her back, flowing past her narrow shoulders, golden, smooth and silken…but when the dappled sunlight touched it, it gleamed copper, a sheen of deep red running through it, each strand alive with its own inner glow, as though sunset were caught within a mesh, it was drawn back behind her ears, which were thin and tapered, the truest sign of the source of her aching beauty and elegance, for they marked her as a half-elf, the child of the union between human and elf. So too did her startlingly green eyes, they gleamed from behind long curling lashes, soft and radiant, with a light at their heart like a single drop of dew captured within a curling leaf. She seemed worried, her hand anxiously working the fabric of her simple, almost severe, grey dress, but…even so there was a deeper sense of inward strength which bore up her upright bearing…subtle, but unmistakeable.

"Daeghun are you sure you have to go alone? One of the other villagers, the militia…" She spoke again, her voice was lilting, soft, but clear, even as it quavered hesitantly

"Yes, my daughter, I am sure" A second figure, turning round to face her, the movement enough to cast him into the uneven light where before he had been almost hidden in the dark beneath the Mere's gnarled trees. A man, though he was slighter and slimmer than even the girl who stood before him. His angular features were cold, the lines of his face harshly crafted, as though sculpted by sorrow, his eyes, a deeper and darker green than her own, and hard, almost gem-like, without the life which animated his daughter's. Indeed there seemed scarcely any similarity between them, except the inevitable marks of the elven kindred. His lips were thin, permanently down-turned…his skin coppery and stained by the weather, though unlined, untouched, indeed, by any trace of age. He had thick black hair, tamed simply back behind his ears in an austere style, these were long and tapered, longer than her own, and more prominent, this was clearly a true elf, of pure blood, in his case, it seemed, one of the Wood Elves by his darker complexion and hair. He wore leather armour, carefully cared for and cleaned, what inevitable damage there was to its surface had been repaired fastidiously and with a skilled hand, he bore a bow across his back, almost as tall as he was himself, and arcing heavily, carved in dark willow "Any others would only slow me down" He continued evenly "Harvest is this night, and we shall have need of a boar for the feast"

"But, you've been out every day this week and" His daughter shook her head "No one's been able to find anything"

"Ye" The elf, Daeghun, it seemed, nodded distantly "And thus if I am to find a boar in time I shall need to travel far, I do not have time for unfounded delays"

"Father" She pressed forward, stepping gingerly out into the black earth of the Mere, closer to him "Please, something's wrong in the Mere, you feel it too, you must"

"Phaedra…" Daeghun admonished, raising a hand for silence

"The animals have vanished, you haven't found anything for months" She continued regardless "No one has, and there are rumours about bandits, Georg spoke of a lizardling migration…"

"Enough, Phaedra" Instantly she fell silent, though he had not raised his voice in the slightest, but there was such hard authority in it "I am sure you know better than to trust Georg's wild stories, as for the rest, you do me a disservice if you believe I could be at threat in the Mere, my daughter. I know it far too well for that"

"Father" She whispered, lowering her gaze, her eyes glimmered with concern, and longing to get through to him, somehow

"No" He replied adamently "Every year money from the Harvest is what supports us through the winter, with things already so hard we need this more than ever." He paused, adjusted the longbow across his back in readiness to depart "Give it no more thought, nothing will come of any of this, I assure you. Now, unless there was something else" He glanced up, but she shook her head mutely "Good, I shall be back for the Festival" That was all, he turned, and his light steps upon the Mere's trackless surface spoke of deep familiarity, he passed beyond the veil of shadows beneath the thick, grasping trees with their great gnarled branches spreading greedily outward to envelop the light, and at once he was gone

For a moment the girl, his daughter, Phaedra, simply stared out into the Mere after him, frozen in place, stricken by the abruptness of his dismissal. Alone, she suddenly let her concern flash across her face, clear, stark and vulnerable, her eyes gleamed for a moment with a yearning for comfort, for acknowledgement, she bit down on her lip, choking back what might have been a harsh sob. It was a moment's defencelessness it was clear that she wished only the aloneness of the place to witness. But there was another, gazing through the skein of interwoven branches, between the cavities of the gnarled, grey trees, the still, murky pools, thick and dark, there was another. Amidst the Mere's inhuman stillness, watching her, the body arced towards her as though drawn by a force beyond its control, there was no malice, no sense of threat, no danger, but the intensity of the gaze hinted at some deep connection between them. Even had Phaedra glanced up, discerned the form amidst the trees, she would have been able to see little, a single beam of light touched the rustle of rough brown fabric, stirring in the wind yet without sound, the rest was cast deep in the the shadows cast by the skeletons of branches overhead. Not even Daeghun, gliding past with the quiet, hard grace of a wildcat, had sensed the presence, his foster-daughter was far less accomplished. Then footsteps back along the path, back toward West Harbour, and a voice raised, calling, instantly Phaedra glanced up, scattering an incipient glimmer of tears from her eyes and in that same instant, the figure watching turned, the single fluid motion yielded no sound, neither did the quick, light steps upon the Mere's surface, grace even Daeghun could have envied…faint, soft light gleamed over long, coppery hair, glinting in green eyes astir with disquiet, then the moment passed and suddenly, inexplicably the figure was gone…

Perhaps Phaedra heard the last faint rustle in the undergrowth. If she did she scarcely paid it any heed. After all, the Mere, despite its fearsome appearance, harsh, choked with plant life, and with the vaporous mists that hovered over the dank pools, nonetheless was the home of many different animals. The boars Daeghun hunted were only one such creature, there were others, even the fearsome, and fiercely intelligent Lizardlings. The instant's thought she gave the slight sound decided instantly that it was one such creature, not a Lizardling, for they never ventured near the village, it was most likely something small, probably scarcely worth the notice. Indeed she had other things to concern herself with now, her two best friends, Amie Fern and Bevil Starling were moving down the thin path between the fields with their neat rows of ripe, golden wheat stirring in the gentle wind, both had come looking for her, seeing them she quickly buried the bitter grief of Daeghun's swift, brutal dismissal. She had lived with her guardian's hard neglect all her life, Daeghun was a man to whom affection did not come easily, but he had raised her, done the best he could, she had to be thankful for that and yet it was always so hard. No…she didn't need to think about that now. Daeghun would be fine out in the Mere, no one knew it better than he did, and her friends shouldn't see her in this state, she quickly brushed away the last tears clinging to her lashes, smiling brightly as Bevil and Amie stepped over the freshly ploughed earth, up to where she stood…

"Phaedra" Bevil hailed, his honest, open face, lighting up with relief as he grinned widely "Finally we found you" He glanced around him, his brow furrowing with unease as he took in the expanse of the Mere, grey, sallow in the morning light, even though they lived close to it every day, and indeed relied on it for their livelihoods, there were few Harbourmen who did not regard the Mere with such discomfort… "What were you doing out here anyway?" He asked, with a small tension in his voice

"I was just seeing Daeghun off" Phaedra answered, glancing to her friend, in many ways Bevil was the image of the typical young Harbourman, fiercely loyal, hardy, after all his family had lived here for generations, quite unlike Phaedra with her odd heritage and aloof guardian, as most of the village saw it. Bevil, thankfully saw easily through their differences, her own age, sixteen, a stocky young man with the build of a farmer, his brown hair was light and quite untidy, his blue eyes calm and cautious. He wore a suit of mail armour, a treasured heirloom of the Starling family and a rarity out here in the Mere, it was battered and somewhat aged, but he wore it with pride, even when not training with the West Harbour Militia, the village's defence force. Despite the effort he put into the training, and his heavy duties as the head of the Starling household since the death of his father and the mysterious departure of his elder brother Lorne from the village, he could always be relied on to be there for his friends.

"He went into the Mere after all?" Bevil turned to her, surprised, but she looked away, lowering her eyes, unable to meet his gaze…

"Yes…" Her voice sounded weak, hesitant from her own throat, no…she didn't want to seem so troubled by what was after all, something Daeghun did almost every day, it was just, she couldn't get the stories out of her head…

"Phaedra, there's no need to worry…" Amie added reassuringly "Daeghun, your father, he won't be in any danger out there, I mean, how bad can it be?" Phaedra nodded, and looked up again, meeting Amie's dark eyes, sparkling with vivacity and assurance. Where Bevil and Phaedra were friends, and strong friends, despite their differences, she and Amie shared much. Both orphans, both raised by somewhat difficult foster-fathers, and they both were both able to wield the forces of magic, though Phaedra was a sorcerer, with a gift inborn and honed by practice, where Amie was a wizard, who learnt the same craft by arduous study, but nonetheless they had learned side by side for a long time now. Amie was tall, almost as tall as Bevil, slight older than he and Phaedra, and quite thin, her honey-blonde hair tied tight behind her ears in a practical style. Her pointed features accentuated the softness of her eyes, deep brown, they gleamed with keen intelligence, Amie missed very little. "You know things have been tough before" She continued, encouraged "We've always pulled through, right Bevil?"

"Right" Bevil added earnestly

"And it's Harvest, remember?" Amie beamed, her exuberance, as ever, was infectious "There's no time for moping around, Daeghun's going to be fine, its not like he ever stays around for the Dance, but what about you?"

"What…do you mean?" Phaedra felt her lips tremble with the beginnings of a smile. Amie could always divert her, worry, sorrow never seemed to touch the older girl. She took everything in its stride, and something about her always encouraged Phaedra to do the same. The Harvest Festival, it was just what she should be thinking about to take her mind off Daeghun wandering through the misty depths of the Mere, alone, unguarded. No, the festival, it would be, as always, a night to remember, the highlight of the year, dancing, music, contests, a feast, the reason Daeghun was so set on catching a boar. Despite this year's troubles, with the soil yielding little of its customary bounty, and the difficulty everyone was having hunting, or perhaps to take the villagers' minds off these brutal facts, this year's festival looked to be something spectacular, and, as the first Harvest since she had come of age, it had a special meaning for Phaedra herself.

"Well, you aren't planning to go to the Dance as you are, mud and all?" Amie spoke without malice, though her critical eye fell upon Phaedra's simple, homespun dress, stained at its hem with thick, dark mud, well, she had to admit, she had been in a hurry when she had left the house, but…not everyone had to look like Amie did, in her elegant gowns of cream and brown, immaculate at all times "Please say you have something else"

"Actually I was thinking of the dress Retta made…from last year" Phaedra flushed, really, she wasn't quite as hopeless as Amie sometimes made out…

"What, again?" Amie sighed with exasperation

"She looked perfect in that dress last year" Bevil instantly and loyally sprang to Phaedra's defence, and that of his mother Retta Starling…who had indeed made the dress, but upon both girls glancing at him, surprised, he flushed and lowered his head with what might have been his obvious natural shyness, but had the troubling intensity of perhaps, something more "That is, I meant…she could…wear it again, my mother would be pleased…" As he floundered, Phaedra and Amie stared at him, though he was often this awkward around strangers; rarely did he lose himself so obviously in front of his two closest friends…

"We all love Retta, but in this case she's a little out of touch" Amie recovered first, speaking brightly as though nothing had happened "I mean, it's been a long time since she left Neverwinter"

"Amie, you've never been to Neverwinter" Phaedra shook her head smiling with amusement, how often did she remind Amie of that, she could hardly say, it was who her friend was. West Harbour was in fact tremendously isolated and Harvest was one of few occasions where any contact with the outside world was established, but this had never stopped Amie from acting the urbane young woman. Her guardian, and Phaedra's mentor, the wizard Tarmas, had originally come from the great city of Neverwinter itself, and to hear Amie talk of it, you might have thought she'd absorbed the sophistication of city life from his stories, and the books stacked high in the cluttered home the two of them shared. "You realise that Retta probably knows a lot more than you do?"

"Maybe" Amie laughed softly "But I know what's important" She raised her head, smiling mischievously "Speaking of which, did either of you hear that the merchant Galen arrived late last night?" Phaedra and Bevil exchanged a glance, then shook their heads in unison… "Well, he brought two guards with him, you know, like real adventurers?" Oh no,not this again "Every girl in the village will want to dance with them tonight, but if I'm lucky I might be able to catch one of them out right now, get him interested"

"Amie!" Bevil stepped back unsure, perhaps, if she was joking or not "What will everyone think?"

"What?" Amie shrugged, tossing her ponytail "There's no need to be so proper, I know what they'll think and I don't care. I need to talk to men like this, learn everything I can. When I finally get out of here, I'm going to need any information I can get about the adventuring life"

"Amie…" Phaedra bit her lip, as Bevil coughed uneasily, West Harbour, it was home, the only place any of them had ever known, though there were plenty here who dreamed of sometime leaving it, of making something of themselves in the world outside, that was all it came to. Amie, though, had always spoken as though she intended to leave the village behind for as long as Phaedra could remember. Of late she had spoken of it so often that Phaedra had begun to fear she would actually do it one day perhaps even soon, losing one of her best friends; remaining here to whatever end, while Amie travelled the world, she couldn't imagine it…

"Don't be like that" Amie sighed, glancing between her two friends "I'm sticking around here for a while longer at least…" She stopped, and stepped delicately back onto the path, glancing back, and smiling brightly "Are you coming Phaedra?" She said lightly "Maybe if I'm lucky those guards will see the two of us together, by this evening they'll be begging me to introduce you…I doubt they'll have seen anyone half as pretty even back in Neverwinter"

"Don't Amie" Phaedra begged, flushing hotly and lowering her head "I don't think…"

"Come on Phaedra…" Amie beamed "It's true, if I weren't your friend I'd be half-mad with jealousy…" She laughed, a peal of bright laughter following her, as she made her way back along the path toward the village, her spotless dress fluttering about her as though it disdained to touch the earth at her feet.

"Bevil…" Phaedra turned to him, ready to follow, only to have her smile fade as she saw how uneasy he suddenly seemed…shifting from one foot to another uncomfortably, looking down to the ground as though he didn't want to meet her gaze. "What is it?" Phaedra asked, concerned, as she stepped closer to him…

"Adventurers, we're better off without them…" He said quietly "Galen, his guards, they're the kind of people who make her talk like that, but, she doesn't really know what it's like, for them, or the people they leave behind" He raised his head, frowning darkly, and Phaedra suddenly remembered. Lorne, his elder brother, she had been seven when she had last seen him, a large man, and to her, he had seemed impossibly strong. At first glance he hadn't seemed much like his brother, gruff and surly, with little patience. People hadn't liked Lorne, but deep beneath this hard exterior, even the young Phaedra had sensed deep loneliness, a yearning for acceptance, and a storm of confusion, and she had always pitied the young man, even as he had fought bitterly with the others his age. Constantly outshone and overlooked, one day he had left, just left West Harbour, and his life behind, his family, his mother Retta and his siblings, including Bevil, the next oldest. The young Bevil had idolised Lorne, and he had taken his departure very hard, all of Lorne's responsibilities had been passed to him, forcing him to grow up fast…Phaedra had done her best to help, but the core of the betrayal Bevil had felt lay beyond even her, his best friend's, reach except on rare moments like this one, where something else roused all the bitter feelings…

"Bevil, Amie doesn't mean…" Phaedra began gently

"No, she doesn't" Bevil sighed, shaking his shoulders, as though to discard a great weight, but…Phaedra could see it hadn't left him at all "It didn't matter…anyway"

"Tell me" Phaedra said softly, holding his gaze, his blue eyes were deep, stained with a darker shade, almost black, around the pupils, the most distinctive thing about him. His eyelids fluttered, he didn't want to look away, but he was still reluctant to share this, it was the Harbouman way to weather what sorrows came, simply pick up the pieces after the disaster, never complain, never let on what was troubling you, but Phaedra knew well that sorrow could never be buried so easily. It was better to share it, find comfort in others, even if she had to make Bevil understand that herself.

"Phaedra" He hesitated, swallowed heavily "You know, this…isn't…really about Amie at all…" Phaedra lowered her head, leaning in towards him, as his voice grew quieter, she didn't know what this was about, if not Amie, or Lorne, but something told her it would be important, something that would touch her deeply. She had never told Bevil something herself, or anyone really, not even Amie, who of anyone would have understood. It was that West Harbour, had always seemed, though home in so many ways, not enough. She enjoyed life here, most of the time, but it was always the same. If she ever tried to see herself still going through the same motions in ten, even five years, nothing would come. It was more than Amie's fascination with the exotic, with adventure, perhaps it was a legacy of her elven blood, or the song of the power within her, but sometimes she would look upon that one, lonely road leading from West Harbour out into the Mere, into the world, and know deep within her that her true path lay down that way, though knowing what might take place on it was beyond her. She could scarcely imagine the world she had read about so many times. Gods forbid…could Bevil have guessed it, if he knew…she and Amie…it would break his heart…

"Hey!" Amie's voice, rippling with silvery laughter, suddenly floated over the carpet of golden wheat…to reach them, where they stood, cutting between them like the scythe which would harvest these crops when the time came. "Were you two coming, or not?" Bevil looked away up towards her, quickly, and it was over, Phaedra knew that at once. It was hard enough to get him to open up to her, now…it would be almost impossible to revisit this, whatever it had been. Something flashed across his face, a strange mixture of relief and frustration, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, as Amie waved brightly from where she stood up on the crest of the ridge just above where the path curved down toward the village. Phaedra took a step toward her, forcing a bright smile to her features as she Bevil glanced tentatively back to her.

"We'll talk again later" She promised, with no sense of the disquiet she felt at the interruption in her voice, poor Bevil looked quite uncomfortable enough. "I wanted to speak to Brother Merring…you…could come with me if you like"

"That's alright" Bevil looked down quickly "Georg wanted us to go over the drills before the Festival started anyway…"

"What…on Harvest Day?" Phaedra smiled sympathetically, hoping to return some levity to the atmosphere, she didn't like this…awkwardness, it made her feel nervous, there was something here, she didn't quite understand yet, though she had known Bevil all her life.

"Hurry up!" Amie crowed impatiently, and together Bevil and Phaedra walked up the rough path, through the fields of grain, back towards West Harbour, and home.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello again reader(s). It's another chapter in West Harbour, I'm afraid. But I just wanted to introduce the main Harbourmen, that's Georg, Tarmas and Brother Merring, and look a bit more at Phaedra's past, before we get started. Things will start getting more exciting next chapter, promise!_

_Meanwhile, thanks to Lemonbreeze, for being my first reviewer ever :)! If you don't mind could you be on ellipses watch just for the first couple of chapters as I tend to go overboard on them sometimes. Just tell me if you think there's too many._

If Amie noticed anything amiss between Phaedra and Bevil, she gave no sign of it, smiling broadly, and turning to give West Harbour down the ridge a sweeping glance. The village was sparse, by the standards Amie might have expected anyway, with her imaginings of Neverwinter. Its most distinctive feature was the small, cheerful river running through, most of the homes stood close to where they were now, near the fields of crops that were lifeline and livelihood to the isolated village. They were wooden, and thatch, standing on foundations as old as the families that had lived here for generations, though most were not so ancient as that. Generally they had to have been completely rebuilt after the horrifying conflict that had consumed much of the village sixteen years ago, but they were still yielding slowly to the moss, the plants, that clung to their wooden planks, giving them a somewhat timeless appearance, as though they were part of the Mere itself.

Bevil's home was on the edge, by the barn that stored the bounty of his family's fields, the house Amie shared with her guardian and Phaedra's mentor the wizard Tarmas, somewhat more clean and cultivated by the wizard's fastidious tastes than most of the other houses, was closer to the river, but Phaedra's home, and Daeghun's, stood furthest away, up the hill that rose above the village, a smaller, older, and somewhat austere, construction, one of the few which had in the end remained untouched by the flames of that terrible war. Just where the fields touched the edge of the land completely cleared, it seemed that Georg and the militia were already gathering. The disparate group of young men in mismatched pieces of armour were united by the practiced ease they went through the martial drills that their captain, the tallest figure on the field, the echoes of whose thunderous voice could be heard even up where they stood, Georg Redfell, saw fit for the possible defence of the village. Though West Harbour had never been threatened by conflict ever since that war which had so scarred the village, the militia, Bevil included, took their duties very seriously, the Mere was still, after all, a dangerous place even to those who had lived here for generations, even…those who had walked it for longer than the span of a human life…even Daeghun.

But Amie and Bevil were already making their way down towards the training field, and she quickly hurried down after them, leaving the shadows of her worry behind in the place Daeghun had so coldly turned his back on her so many times…though it could never be truly forgotten.

"Starling, are you bloody late for drill again?" Georg demanded thunderously as they stepped down to the field, Bevil slipping ashamedly to the front to face the rebuke of his captain. When he was in his stride Georg did cut an intimidating figure, he was very tall, and unlike most under his command, he bore the heavy build of a warrior rather than a farmer, though like them he had never actually left West Harbour itself. Tanned, with his hair shaved close to his skull, and a slightly hooked nose he could easily have fitted into one of the tales he gleefully recounted each time the village gathered, tales of great warriors, grand treasures, long, arduous quests, and of course the fantastic monsters, most of which, though the Sword Coast was indeed the home to many fearsome beasts, probably did not exist beyond Georg's fertile imagination.

"Sorry sir" Bevil gave a brisk salute. Despite the appearance of this rather brusque exchange, he and Georg were actually quite close. Bevil was devoted to his exercises in the militia, emerging as one of Georg's best pupils, and Georg in return had done his best to guide the fatherless boy under his command. "I was just seeing Phaedra to safety sir"

"Oh?" Georg glanced to where Phaedra and Amie stood behind Bevil, Phaedra doing her best to vanish behind her friend, who met Georg's amused gaze with clear confidence, Georg wasn't limited to wild stories, he had a biting wit, few in the village could meet him on this ground either, and Phaedra certainly wasn't one of them "Well met, Fern, Blake…come to have a look in on my boys are you? Magic's no substitute for a man eh?" To the accompaniment of jeers and catcalls from the young men on the field, Phaedra flushed deep scarlet, and hid her burning cheeks behind her sleeve.

"You know I'll only settle for the captain of the militia" Amie folded her arms. She was one of that few who could spar with Georg on equal grounds in a battle of words "When are you going to sweep me off my feet Redfell?"

"Ah…you know you're far too good for me" Georg lowered his head humbly "I bet Tarmas taught you better than to settle for a swamp-dwelling farmer did he?"

"I don't always listen to Tarmas" Amie beamed, her eyes gleaming. Phaedra stepped back, how did she do it, this delicate dance of words, none of them really sincere?

"We'll see Fern" Georg chuckled "I don't hold out much hope for you, but young Blake on the other hand…" Really, he just knew Amie could beat him, so he went straight for Phaedra instead, the last thing she wanted, here in front of the whole militia. "Perhaps we'll have a wedding this winter after all eh?"

"Sorry Georg, but we both have to go and see Tarmas straight away" Phaedra tugged at Amie's sleeve, avoiding the eyes of Georg, Bevil and the rest of the militia alike…but nonetheless she couldn't stop herself flushing even deeper.

"Alright…we won't keep you then" Georg nodded to both of them, smiling with all-too obvious amusement "Come back soon now, they all work that bit harder when they know Miss Blake will be watching"

"See you at Harvest, perhaps I'll save my first dance for you" Amie tossed her hair, as Phaedra pulled her away from the field, flames running up and down her cheeks. The militia were laughing uproariously, all except Bevil, who looked almost as pained as Phaedra felt. Despite their sense of self-importance, the militia weren't really much more than a group of young boys with swords, and they had the sense of humour to match. Georg, of course, did very little to reign them in. As Phaedra fled, dragging Amie with her, the captain turned back to his charges, and began barking harsh orders they quickly moved to obey, including Bevil who quickly and easily slipped into the practice.

"Why do you just encourage him like that?" Phaedra sighed at Amie as they walked back down into the village, passing a few of the villagers who gave them inquisitive glances, no doubt wondering where the two young women were heading, she and Amie were both objects of some curiosity in the village "It only makes it worse"

"Phaedra…" Amie turned to her, an unusual seriousness in her level, blue eyes, Phaedra was suddenly very conscious, as she rarely was, that Amie was older than her "I hope you make sure you always have someone to look out for you"

"What?" Phaedra started with shock "What do you mean?"

"Doesn't matter" Amie smiled, but it wasn't her usual smile…nor did it do anything to explain the cryptic remark, but Phaedra let it lie. Something told her Amie wasn't giving anything more away.

"Oh, alright, there's Tarmas anyway" Phaedra glanced away, quickly spotting the wizard winding his way distastefully up from the river. She was unwilling to spend any more time on something, whatever Amie had truly meant, which made her so conscious of the differences between her and her friend. "He looks…irritated" Phaedra noted, frowning. The wizard's peevishness was often employed, to devastating effect, against his errant apprentices. He too was a wizard, but quite capable of teaching Phaedra alongside Amie, he insisted she learn each laborious stage of magical tuition as Amie did, but, despite the differences between the disciplines of wizardry and sorcery, it had helped Phaedra learn control over her inherently more unstable Gift.

"He always looks like that on Harvest" Amie answered blithely. It was true enough, the only thing Tarmas hated more than being stuck in a desperately isolated village in the midst of a stinking swamp, in his own words, was other people celebrating the fact that they were. It was a mystery to many why the wizard had come to West Harbour and chose to stay when he so obviously thought so little of it, and its people, but Phaedra knew he had hated the cities even more, and relished the quiet and privacy to continue his study of the arcane here.

"Ah…so you finally chose to find me did you?" Tarmas stepped out to intercept them, looking as acrid as only he could be. He was a middle-aged man, slightly thin and slight amidst the farmers of West Harbour, his black hair thinning, bald at his crown, his eyes dark indigo, narrowed as they always were, his brow furrowed. He wore deep purple robes, billowing outwards from his body, the uniform of a wizard such as himself, rich for West Harbour, with their deep black silk and golden inlay, and fastidiously well-kept. "What exactly is the use of having two apprentices when I have to do everything for myself in the end?"

"Sorry master" Amie spoke, though the words were respectful enough, with a twinge of amused sarcasm, just small enough to have to be ignored. It was part of the game she played with her foster-father, provoking him without actually doing so, to allow him to employ the act of the peevish martyr he relished. Amie…had a way with everyone, she really was made for the courts of grand cities, for wizard's towers…but if that were so, where then was Phaedra meant for?

"I was seeing my father off" Phaedra explained, with a proper respect in her voice for the man who had tutored her since…almost as long as she could remember. She had manifested the signs of magic unusually young, she could not recall exactly how now but since then Tarmas had been a constant presence in her life. Their sessions were arduous: learning spells and conjurations to channel the power within her, to control it, to tame it, and, of course, the extra things Tarmas viewed as essential that any would-be apprentice of an esteemed master such as himself should know, Phaedra and Amie were of the few who knew how to read in the village, and Tarmas had taught them lore, history, of the nature of their world, and the place the unpredictable force they commanded had in it "Amie came to find me"

"Oh, really?" Tarmas snorted "As if Daeghun needed the leave-taking of anyone, your father is quite insufferable, a common trait amongst elves in my experience; they seem to think that longevity gives them some special right to lord it over the rest of us"

"Tarmas…I am half-elf" Phaedra sighed

"And it shows sometimes, my dear" Tarmas shook his head disdainfully "I don't suppose you were looking for anything, with that glorified yokel's ball they call Harvest going on, I haven't been able to get a moment's peace around here…you know Wyl Mossfield came to me just now asking for an ale purgative! What kind of self-respecting wizard brews ale purgatives, I ask you!"

"You didn't see where that merchant Galen and his guard went did you?" Amie asked innocently

"Oh…and why exactly should I be able to tell you anything about that kind of trite gossip?" Tarmas snapped

"I don't know" Amie smiled coyly "Because you're the only one who keeps his ear to the ground in this village"

"Someone has to" Tarmas grumbled "Fine, if you really wish to try my intellect with these trivialities, Galen and that empty-headed bore they call an adventurer were staying in the old Harman barn. Its not like Ian ever uses the building, he's completely useless as a farmer"

"They put them in a barn?" Amie looked mortified "Mystra's Breath, this village knows absolutely nothing about entertaining!"

"As if Galen would have wanted anything else" Tarmas answered sharply "Even among merchants the man is miserly, and with the exorbitant prices he charges for essential magical components…" The wizard muttered something darkly

"It's a good thing he does come here, or we'd be completely cut off" Amie glanced over the village, searching out the rickety old barn outside the Harman homestead with a determined gaze "Anyway; I wanted to go speak to him, thanks for the help master"

"Amie, one moment…" Tarmas raised his hand, she glanced to him as Phaedra looked on, unsure if she was intruding or not. She rarely saw Tarmas treat Amie as anything more than his apprentice, though the two had lived together for some seventeen years, but now a stern, paternal frown intruded upon his composure "Amuse yourself if you wish" He said slowly, emphatically "But remember, we are wizards, I trust you shall not allow your emotions to be involved"

"You know I will not master" Amie answered, meeting his gaze steadily, even as beside her Phaedra flushed furiously and looked away, imagining for a moment what it would feel like if Daeghun confronted her in a similar situation, not that she could ever imagine acting as Amie did. She just didn't have the daring to fly in the face of everyone's expectations…

"Good" Tarmas stepped back, glancing between his two apprentices inscrutably "I trust our lessons can continue as normal once this provincial little celebration is dispensed with" Sometimes it was very obvious where Amie had learnt the urbane sophistication she prized so highly, she was more similar to her foster-father than it appeared, or she would probably admit "Phaedra, I will see you tomorrow and Amie, you will not be back too late, I hope" He nodded briefly, then stepped back again, before turning away, and moving along down the path towards his home, where it was likely he would stay until Harvest was well and over

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me Phaedra?" Amie startled her, speaking suddenly and seriously "I wouldn't have a chance, he'd be all yours from the start"

"Amie, you know I can't " Phaedra turned to her friend, slowly shaking her head "It… I couldn't be like you"

"Don't you ever want to experience, just for one night, what it's like to be out there, to be somewhere else?" Amie asked insistently "I mean this can't be enough for you, look at yourself, you could have so much more" This was no longer about flirting with adventurers, it was straying into something more, something more dangerous.

"Maybe" Phaedra glanced away, her hair falling over her cheeks in rippling strands "I would like to sometimes, but Bevil, the others"

"And what about you?" Amie pressed "What do you want exactly? It's your own life…"

"Amie…" Phaedra lowered her head "It can't be like that, I just couldn't…"

"You know Phaedra" Amie continued "You know what people say about you? They say, that despite the elven blood, despite Daeghun, despite your magic, they say that's a proper young woman, who does proper things in the proper way, is that what you want to be, all your life, really?" Phaedra blinked; no…the answer was no, she would be strangled here, strangled by the relentless monotony of life in West Harbour, but how could she say that? "And you know what else they say?" Amie stepped closer, there was no malice in her voice, no anger, just sympathy, perhaps regret "They say you will marry Bevil, they say that you will live here all your life, have children…have a happy, proper life…" Phaedra looked up at last, staggered. All she had heard practically, was that people said she would marry Bevil, of course, it made sense, they were best friends, she knew his mother well, but, no she could never imagine it. Never…she couldn't bring herself to be tied down here like that, so that whatever her fate led to, she would never hurt anyone. Bevil deserved far better than that…far better than someone whose heart would always be elsewhere…

"Amie" She protested, unwilling to consider this any further "That's enough, I please, I have to go see Brother Merring"

"Phaedra, you can't avoid it for ever" Amie shook her head, each word was like a needle "You don't belong here, you're half-elf, your mother was an adventurer, it's in your blood…" Phaedra staggered back, aghast, her mother

"Sorry Amie" Phaedra gasped, stepping backwards again, shocked to find tears blurring her eyes "I can't go with you, I have…I have to find Brother Merring" She turned on her heels at once, hurrying away as fast as she could and rubbing her eyes furiously. She did not look back, but she felt Amie's gaze on her, knew what it would be like, full of sympathy, but clear, full of understanding , until she stumbled behind the moss-stained wooden walls of one of the houses…she wasn't even sure which one. She collapsed against the wall, raising a hand to her forehead, scattering stray strands of her golden hair, and tears. No…it was too much to consider, what Amie said…she knew it was true…she had considered it just this very morning, but to leave everyone behind, leave West Harbour behind, leave Bevil, Retta, Brother Merring. No, she couldn't do it, even Daeghun needed her. She hoped he did anyway but if she didn't leave, could she only end up hurting them more? That question; what did she want, who could imagine more simple a question but…it had no easy answer, when she could only feel that there were so many things to consider…

And to add to that, Amie had mentioned her mother. Esmerelle was so rarely spoken of in West Harbour, none who had died in that terrible war were. Indeed the battle itself might not have happened except for the holes left behind, the families broken, the people lost. She had grown up knowing almost nothing about her mother…nothing…except that name. She carried it like a talisman, a whispered invocation that stood between her and the pain of a motherless child. What else she knew was that her mother had also been an elf, and an adventurer…but despite the constrictive silence hanging over the whole village like a pall where that war was concerned, the pain of it remained so fresh beneath the surface. None spoke of it but it was still there, many had lost loved ones, and she could never muster the courage to face that all by speaking of Esmerelle to Daeghun especially. Somehow she sensed that Esmerelle, her death were linked to Daeghun's own wife Shayla, a woman of whom she knew even less, but whose loss ran deep within Daeghun, a tide of bitterness, of pain, and anger she could not bear to confront. Why…weren't any of the Harbourmen ever prepared to face the past, she was Esmerelle's daughter, she had a right to know. No…no more…she could not let bitterness take hold of her, she knew all too well what it could do someone. She understood that for the people of West Harbour life was hard, tragedy was something that could be just around the corner. It was just sometimes so hard facing this insidious silence; another reason she couldn't bear staying here but she could not allow herself to leave either…

She was getting nowhere; this circle, this trap, she had been caught in it for so long, paralyzed. There was only one place she could go for guidance. Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she stepped lightly up onto the path. Brother Merring would be at the makeshift shrine to Lathander right now. He rarely left it though he had few supplicants for his services. She had wanted to apologise for missing the Dawn Blessing, she had done so in her vain attempt to persuade Daeghun but Brother Merring was also always ready to direct his only convert in matters both spiritual and practical. He had originally come from Neverwinter, he might be able to help her with this. And though the thought was perhaps a little presumptuous, the God of the Dawn might be able to offer His own guidance. She always felt that Lathander was bound up in the lives of those who served Him, bound up in her own life, so much more so than Chauntea, the Earthmother, and the deity most of the village, farmers to the core, served. If nothing else, the presence of her God in that small, humble shrine might be able to give her some comfort, she always felt close to Him there.

The shrine lay in a small hollow, down by the river, the opposite side of the village to where she had come from, though enclosed by West Harbour's small palisade. It was an area nonetheless astutely avoided by every one of the villagers aside from her and Brother Merring. No houses were built here, no seeds sown, though the soil was prime for planting, instead it had always been left to grow wild. The Mere's choking weeds, rushes, had swept over the abandoned patch as though to compensate for the loss of its territory elsewhere in the village, until Brother Merring had arrived, perhaps little over a year ago, bearing little more than the robes on his back, a missionary from the Church of Lathander in the city of Neverwinter come to the isolated village. He had single-handedly cleared the area, single-handedly heaped old stone from some of the abandoned ruins into a make-shift temple. None of the Harbourmen had lifted a finger to help him. They ignored him, just as they ignored his temple, just as they ignored the very ground upon it was built, with a sort of unspoken superstition. The root of this aversion lay perhaps in the war itself though this was little more than guesswork on Phaedra's part, but in the centre of that studiously avoided place there was a scar…a scar on the earth, an indent, like a crater, but stained completely black. The soil was like ashes there, as though a fierce fire had scorched it. It had been there as long as Phaedra remembered, the span, perhaps, to contain a person with arms outstretched. Nothing grew within it, no seeds took in its soil and it was startlingly clear amidst the green voracity surrounding it but once again none of the Harbourmen ever spoke of it, of what could have caused it even Retta, upon being pressed, simply shook her head, and told Phaedra it was an old thing, best left forgotten and undisturbed. Perhaps, considering the prevalent attitude to magic here, this scar was the relic of some fearsome magic from the conflict all those years ago…but what kind of magic could scorch the earth for sixteen years…that she had no answer for.

But even if there had once been some kind of curse in the soil, Lathander must have purified it. For, ever since the fifteen-year-old Phaedra had come upon Brother Merring hard at work and, shocked by the villagers' complete indifference, offered what assistance she was able, she had felt no evil here, and she had come often, fascinated by Merring's teachings, by this God of the Dawn. Lathander was so different to the inscrutable Chauntea, who gave and took life as part of a balance no mortal, save the druids who lived in seclusion serving Nature, could truly comprehend. But Lathander…Lathander was different, she felt He truly lived with her, in each new day's dawn, and in the inner dawn, the spiritual renewal which he encouraged in His followers. She was no cleric like Brother Merring was, she could not channel the power of Lathander herself, and yet she knew He watched over her. Not least of all through Brother Merring himself, hopefully the youthful cleric's wisdom and compassion might be able to aid her as he had so many times over the past year. To her relief he was exactly where she had known he would be, a figure robed in gold and red standing at the edge of the rough circle of old brick and stone, surveying it carefully…trying to see where he would fit in what other salvaged pieces he had discovered. Merring had persevered this year through in trying to build his shrine, it still didn't look like much, but someday he hoped to have a fully-functioning shrine to the Morninglord, as Lathandar was known, with a fully-functioning congregation. As Phaedra stepped down toward the shrine, Merring turned and saw her, giving a broad, welcoming wave. She waved back as she hurried down the bank, studiously avoiding the patches of thick, black mud…it was Harvest after all…

"Morning's Blessings Phaedra" Merring gave her a broad smile as she alighted near where he stood, he was hardly more than three or four years older than she was, but there was a serene maturity about him which belied his youthful features. Beneath the slight tan dusting his cheeks with brown freckles, he was smooth-skinned, his city upbringing immediately obvious amidst the weathered Harbourmen. His eyes were deep brown, the slightly curling hair swept over his neck and forehead was bronze. He wore a set of robes, embodying the spirit of the Church of Lathander in being at once ceremonial and practical, the splendid gold mantle and crimson habit were indeed beautiful, but Merring wore them as much as for work as for ritual.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't make it to the Service this morning" Phaedra apologised breathlessly "I needed to see my father off"

"Don't worry about it" Merring nodded benignly "There will always be another dawn, and another Dawn Blessing I expect" Phaedra smiled at the little quip, using the common Lathanderite saying that spoke of the Church's determination to be optimistic about the future, for their God was, after all, God of the new Dawn. "How…is your father by the way?" Merring asked carefully, and Phaedra's smile faded

"The same as always" She sighed

"One would think he would welcome a new dawn" Merring said "But when I tried to speak to him" The cleric spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Phaedra lowered her eyes, frankly she could not imagine raising the topic with Daeghun, he sometimes treated her faith like some childish game he hoped she would hurry up and grow out of. "He is weighed down by the past" Merring mused "I think he has many secrets, things he does not wish to share, or others to see" At once his gaze focused on her again and he smiled sheepishly "But I forget he is your father, you don't need to hear that…"

"He has secrets even from me" Phaedra murmured. Secrets, like her mother and that war sixteen years ago. Sometimes it seemed she was hemmed in by secrets on all sides, her longing to understand brought short each and every time by bitter silence she dared not break. Even when she had a right to know, when she should have been able to press further, she could not confront it, and Daeghun, and the others, stayed silent. Her scar, for instance, that faded white mark across the left of her chest just above her heart, a part of her. She had borne it all her life, but she had no idea what had caused it, and why the large, jagged wound had not killed her. It was another mystery, another of this weight of secrets Daeghun bore, and, again, as always, he kept his silence.

"It has been hard for you" Merring was gazing at her intently "I know that and I hope you have found some comfort in Lathander…"

"I have tried Brother Merring" Phaedra answered quietly "Lathander is my life, but something's still missing…"

"Tell me" Merring looked troubled, Phaedra sighed, could Merring, who felt Lathander always, who was truly in touch with the God in ways she could not imagine, understand how lost she sometimes felt…?

"It's the future…" Phaedra glanced away, only half-seeing the great expanse of the green swathes of the Mere stretching out into the horizon, thick with heavy grey clouds "My future"

"You don't see where it will lead" Merring nodded, understanding "You don't know what you want, where you should be going"

"Is that wrong?" Phaedra whispered

"Phaedra, I could never imagine what it has been like for you" Merring said, and his voice was filled with pity "Living here all your life, learning magic as great as anything taught in the Cloaktower, reading of the world outside, but never, ever able to leave…you must feel so caged" He glanced away "It…is a shame Tarmas found you so soon, I would have thought serving Lathander might be a path that would suit you better than the mage's mantle" He sighed, as Phaedra blinked, surprised at the thought "And you have never considered leaving West Harbour at all?"

"I couldn't leave everyone behind" Phaedra answered sadly

"Perhaps" Merring sighed "I wish I could be more help, but this is a choice you have to make on your own. For most of us an ordinary life, a home, a family will be enough, but always there are some who are guided to something greater. In the end, only you can see what the Gods intend for you"

"I see" Phaedra sighed, running her hand through her hair thoughtfully. Yes, she had always understood that the choice had to be her own, it didn't make it much easier to decide, but Merring's words brought some comfort nonetheless; the Gods might well show her the way

"I cannot shake the feeling that this is a portentous time" Merring said darkly, but again it hardly seemed as though he was speaking to her "The swamps grow dank, something is happening, the very life seems to bleed from this place…" Phaedra stared at him, suddenly worried, did Merring sense something? She remembered all of Daeghun's troubles in his usually fruitful hunting expeditions, the poor yield of crops. Were all these portents? "And Lathander seems distant of late…"

"What?" Phaedra gasped, aghast. The thought was shocking, were did not the dawn, and its God, touch?

"It is as though I pray through a veil of dark water" Merring continued, with difficulty "My words are strangled" At once he shivered, and ran a hand over the crimson splendour of his robe "No, it is nothing that should concern you, Phaedra" He said, but his comforting smile seemed somewhat forced, and in his eyes lurked a lingering disquiet "It is my own fault, no doubt perhaps I am just growing homesick?"

"Alright" Phaedra acquiesced to his reticence, sensing he wished to speak of it no further she would find no more answers her, but the words had wakened the vague sense of unease that had been troubling her lately, was something really wrong in West Harbour, in the Mere itself, or was Brother Merring, like her, chasing shadows?

"Ah look…" At once Brother Merring's features brightened, as his eyes focused, clearing of the clouded look within them, on a point behind her "It seems, your father is returning"

"What?" Phaedra whirled round, the dress sweeping around her "So soon, he only just left" Could something have happened, but no it was indeed her father, emerging down the path from the Mere, just visible from where she and Merring stood. He looked fine and he was carrying, well dragging across the dusty pathway, a large, bulky mass of matted black fur, tied to a wooden stake, and almost as big as he was, though he pulled it behind him with only a little strain, a boar… "He found one already?" Phaedra marvelled, quite thrown off balance by the jolt of relief she had felt upon seeing Daeghun safe. Perhaps it was all just dreams after all, if her father could have found a boar so soon, it must have been just outside the village, perhaps all of it had just been poor fortune before, upon which she had allowed the pall of her own troubles to fall, yes, that would be it "That's wonderful"

"Then we shall have a Harvest Feast after all" Merring said brightly, he enjoyed the ancient West Harbour traditions as much as any Harbourman did "I imagine you'll be wanting to get over and help him. Don't stay on my account, I'll probably be over after you in a couple of minutes anyway"

"Right" Phaedra nodded, time to forget that feeling. It was, as Merring had said, in the hands of the Gods now, but Harvest would be starting so soon, time to let go of all these troubles, and just enjoy herself, celebrate the bounty of the Mere "See you at the Feast!" She began to walk away, turning slowly

"Yes" Brother Merring nodded slowly, but as she turned she could not help but notice the flash of disquiet across his face, almost pain, the moment before her gaze left his, what exactly was this? Was it really over and done with, or was she just deceiving herself? It was Harvest, but was the village actually in some terrible danger, but from what and why from the Mere itself? But that didn't make any sense, yet none of this did…


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3, and the story's finally getting going._

_Thanks to voltagelisa for the kind review_

_Please do tell me anything you think of, perhaps if I'm getting a little long-winded (7,634 words is a big ask I know, but I really wanted to wrap things up in one chapter, let me know if anything could be cut out), or what you think of how I've written about magic etc. _

Night, and Phaedra dozed in the warmth of her bed, on the verge of dreams. Though she did still have some trouble calming the lingering haze of excitement, left behind from the Harvest Festival. Despite everything, she had been quite carried away by the atmosphere; it had been quite a spectacle. Everyone in West Harbour had gathered together, the centre of the village had been set up with tables, groaning with more food and drink than she'd ever seen in one place, homes and trees festooned with fabulous decorations. As for Daeghun, that boar had found its way to the table after all, though he had quickly absented himself from the celebration, everyone had thanked him for it. There'd been marvellous music and stories from the merchant Galen about the outside world were as interesting and harrowing as ever. According to him the great Luskan mages of the Hostower had declared war on the nation of Ruathym, the vast fleets of the City of Sails were gathering at the call of their magical overlords, and a fierce and protracted conflict seemed inevitable. Such news reached West Harbour rarely, whenever it did Phaedra found it at once fascinating and appalling, wondering what moved these vast powers in their bloody warring. Thankfully her village was under the stewardship of Neverwinter, a distant, but protective overlord. Since that fearsome War around the time Phaedra had been born West Harbour had been at peace, allowing time for the village to grow.

Even after all that there had been the long-awaited Harvest Dance, Amie had had her dances, three in all, with one of Galen's guards, a real warrior from Neverwinter with a dashing smile. He'd asked Phaedra once too, and even Bevil seemed to have been having fun, what with the mead flowing freely he'd plucked up the courage to ask Phaedra for a dance, to his mother's delight. She shifted uncomfortably in the covers, though the dance had been…nice, there had been something there, something between them, something it looked like he had wanted to say the whole night, but he never quite managed it, and Phaedra had not quite been able to set aside the shock Amie had given her only this morning, no need to consider that now anyway. It had all quite exhausted her, right now she was all too ready to sleep, let her dreams take her…

As it was, the somnolent thoughts lulled her, and she was about to drift off when suddenly she caught a vague noise, a thump, somewhere outside the room. Instantly she started to full awareness, her eyes snapping open, quite confused. Was that Daeghun out on the stairs? She hadn't seen him since he'd left the festival, but she'd assumed he had already retired long ago. As she lay there, wondering, there was another sound, another thud, and at once she pushed herself upward to a sitting position, scattering the bedclothes. She didn't quite know why these sounds should put her so on edge, but something, some sneaking cold instinct was clasping at her heart, or was that nothing more than the sheer darkness of the room, it had to be very close to midnight. Slowly, keeping an eye on the doorway for reasons she couldn't quite understand, she bent over to pick up a small wax candle lying on the table by her bed, murmuring a word to conjure a small, flickering flame at its tip. At once the room was plunged into sombre, flickering light, the meagre flame touched the shadows of everything familiar around the room, casting great, looming shadows up the walls, while Phaedra sat in the midst of it, entirely still, her senses straining, trying to puzzle through the vague, but shockingly intense, sense of unease rippling through her.

At once the door to her room was flung open, crashing on its hinges into the wall, and Phaedra leapt back, giving out a cry of alarm. Bevil, and Amie, what in the name of the Gods? Yes, it was them, and this was no dream, they were both standing in her doorway, and looking as though something awful was happening, something terrible. They were framed by the dark, ghoulish shadows of the night outside, and both gasping and breathing heavily. Bevil wore his militia armour, chainmail, heavy over his broad shoulders, and he carried in his hands his longsword, naked, gleaming, and streaked with something dark…something very much like blood. Beside him Amie was alight with terror, fear burning in her gaze, but she clasped at the side of her dress determinedly. She had summoned power, Phaedra sensed with a sudden shock, she had used magic…

"Phaedra!" Bevil shouted at once, his voice hoarse, through great, gasping breaths "Thank the Gods you're okay! We were sure they'd come here!"

"Bevil, what is it?" Phaedra staggered up from the bed, her heart suddenly beating faster, painfully in her chest. His voice, it cracked with shock, with real terror, oh Gods, what was happening?

"Someone, something's attacking the village!" Bevil gasped roughly "These monsters, out of the Mere"

"What?" Phaedra cried desperately, pulling her leather boots frantically on up her shins "From where? Who?"

"I don't know" Bevil could barely keep his voice under control, it almost cracked once again under the strain "They just attacked, from the swamp, these creatures…killing, burning houses. We just ran here, tried to kill some of them on the way. We still don't know what they were, still…"

"There were some near the house" Amie sobbed hysterically "They were coming in. We need to get out of here, now!"

"The militia will be gathering, we have to find Georg" Bevil answered, forcing some measure of strength, of control into his voice as he recalled his duty as a member of the militia "He'll know what to do" Phaedra grasped, fingers shaking hopelessly at the longbow which hung near her bed, pulling it down and clasping her quiver round her neck. West Harbour…under attack! It was impossible! That didn't happen, not here, it couldn't!

"Then we have to get moving!" She gasped, staggering to the doorway, they fell in behind her almost automatically "Come on!" She stumbled through, glancing frantically around the passageway, still, silent and filled only with shadows "Did you see my father?" she asked desperately. The door to his room was flung wide open, but the bedroom was entirely empty, there was no sign of him.

"No" Bevil shook his head darkly "We wanted to warn him, but…" Phaedra shuddered, where was Daeghun? What could have happened to him?

Steadying herself, she leapt onto the stairs, staggering down them as fast as she could. Amie and Bevil quickly ran down behind her, and they burst together into the entrance hall of Daeghun's house, flooded with pale moonlight, the fireplace empty and cold. At once the front door cracked, splitting in two, breaking apart into splinters of wood, and three creatures leapt inwards, greedy eyes scanning the room, settling on where Phaedra stood, stunned by their appearance, and at once their gazes burned with rage and bloodlust. They were almost like men and all the more horrific for it, for they were squat and ugly, though they stood to about the height of a man's chest there was such menace about them, their bodies were broad across the shoulder, covered in patched, mismatched pieces of leather armour, their skin a pale, leached grey, their eyes like shards of dark iron. Each one bore a weapon, a mace, a dagger and a long sword, stained, she realised, with a shocking lurch deep within, with dark, streaking blood, but…whose?

"Mystra protect us!" Amie screamed "They're here!" Instantly, moving as though by instinct, Phaedra drew an arrow, emptying her mind of all else, she, as the creatures ran forward, bellowing harsh battle-cries, drew back her bowstring, slotting the arrow into place, aimed, and fired. At this range she couldn't have missed, the arrow struck down the nearest of the creatures, right through the head, he fell without a sound. Phaedra felt a harsh clenching around her stomach at the thought, never had she used an arrow to kill, but no, keep herself under control, she had to do this. Meanwhile Bevil leapt in to intercept one of them, the full length of his longsword burning in the uneven light.

The blade rang as it met the creature's mace, gasping furiously Bevil quickly attacked again, his body moving seemingly automatically through each attack, parry, counter-attack the militia had taught him. Amie raised a hand, her voice, chanting an arcane incantation echoed through the room, and a burst of light launched at the last of the creatures. He leapt back, grunting as the spell struck him in the chest, then Phaedra quickly shot him through the neck, as he fell, choking on his blood, she staggered back, horrified and then Bevil's blade sliced across the chest of his opponent and that one too fell. They were threatening everything she held dear, killers, murderers, and yet, sickness oozed from her stomach as blood splattered across the living room which had been theirs, hers and Daeghun's, for as long as she could remember…

"They're dead" Amie gasped, as though unable to believe it

"By the Gods" Phaedra whispered, staring down, almost transfixed, at the dead creatures, their harsh features contorted in the agony of their last moments "What are they, where do they come from?"

"It doesn't matter, we've got to find Georg, and my family" Bevil insisted; oh Gods, the Starlings, the children.

"Phaedra" Amie cried, pulling at her friend's sleeve "Come on, let's just go!" Yes, Amie was right. Phaedra quickly ran over to the shattered doorway and forced it open, stumbling outside onto the path. It was the dead of night, but across the river great sheets of fires blazed, illuminating the swarm of creatures pouring out of the swamps, and a crowd of fleeing villagers running back towards them. Screams and shouts shattered the silence of the night, the sounds of battle, the sounds of dying, and the harsh crack of the flames crackled as barns, homes, burned under the shadows of the night was harsh and dreadful. At once, as they stared transfixed at the horrifying spectacle, there was a great burst of light, bright, brilliant, across the river, from somewhere beyond one of the homes, Phaedra felt a sudden painful ache of magical intuition, she grasped at her chest, staggered by the strength of the response, someone, was using magic, strong magic…

"Did you feel it as well?" Amie gasped

"Yes" Phaedra whispered

"Tarmas, it has to be" Amie glanced frantically down the hill, searching the shadows "He's fighting, he might be in trouble, we've got to find him!"

"And my family" Bevil gripped his blade tight, the muscles of his jaw clenched with tension, Phaedra suddenly realised that he must have come to Daeghun's house, to her, before even knowing if his family were truly safe…why? She could have died without him, and Amie's help, in return she had to help save his family!

At once a figure ran up to them, a shadow in the dark, then a flash of the flames across the river illuminated Brother Merring, still wearing his golden and crimson robes, though these were spattered with blood, none of it his own, his face pale and fearful, wracked by exhaustion. Even though he was from beyond the village, from Neverwinter, by the horror in his eyes it was clear he had never seen anything remotely like this before…

"Phaedra, you're safe" he gasped, staggering with exhaustion "I saw those creatures go into your house and I feared…Thank Lathander." He shook his head, cold sweat stained his brow. "I managed to gather some of those wounded in the attacks here. I'm doing what I can, but if those creatures break through...Listen Georg said he'll hold them at the bridge but he will need help, you must go to him!"

"Georg is at the bridge?" Bevil stumbled forward "We have to go there now!"

"Take this blessing of Lathander before you go" Merring raised his hands, and at once a sense of light gathered about his palms, a light as warm and welcome as the dawn. Phaedra felt her exhaustion washed away as sudden new strength flooded through her muscles and spirit. She had felt Lathander's blessings before, but never in this way. Beyond the simple gesture the God moved, like the touch of dawn's light upon her skin; even here in this darkness and terror Lathander was guarding her. The other two seemed affected as well, standing straighter, with greater strength in their gazes, though they did not serve Lathander as she did.

"Lathander protect you" Phaedra whispered, just down the hill from where Merring had come, still forms, lying amidst the shadows. They were Harbourmen, people she knew, wounded, killed, by these monsters! She had to stop this now, they all did before anyone else was hurt, before these…monsters destroyed anything else!

Spurred by new determination and by Lathander's strength, she stepped onto the path and ran down the hill, quickly and closely followed by both Bevil and Amie. Everything, this familiar road she had walked each day was made ghoulish and terrifying by the horrors of the night, by the awful, flickering light that burned beyond the river as people's homes, and their entire lives, burned bright against the darkness, throwing a stream of sparks and smoke into the still night air. Beneath the mounting terror, the forced determination, it almost seemed as though, this couldn't be real, it couldn't be true, as though it were born of a world of pain, of horror, she had up till now never touched and could never have imagined. Then they rounded the ridge, and the village opened out beneath them. The black, glassy surface of the river burned with the light of the flames set behind it, but beyond the fires the darkness cloaked everything, for a moment her gaze flicked over the whole scene. The Starling household on the far side was, thankfully, to her intense relief, untouched by flame or violence, of Tarmas, and the magical battle she had momentarily glimpsed, there was no sign, it had to be hidden behind one of the looming shadows. But down on the bridge the fight was clearly, shockingly visible. Georg, and two members of the West Harbour militia stood on their side of the bridge, in full armour, blades out and ready, it was Pierson Lannon, and Ian Harman, both seeming, as each flash of the flames illuminated their sweat-streaked faces, completely terrified out of their wits, but nonetheless they held firm. Georg himself, standing at the fore, was enraged, he looked ready to tear those he faced across the river to pieces if only he were unleashed upon them. And, he faced them, there were more of the creatures, the pallid, ashen dwarf-like creatures clustered across the river, and standing before them, in ghastly echo of Georg's commanding presence, there was another, a monster, its back was bowed, its lithe body covered in tiny scales, grey, fleshy. Its arms were long, at each elbow and wrist, and rising from each shoulder there was a sharp bone-like spine. Its face was scarcely human, long, almost reptilian, the eyes gleamed with unnatural light. Yet it too wore armour, of strange design, long leather straps bound tight around its body, and bore a hooked, curved sword. It had to be some kind of commander, a leader of these beasts…these monsters.

"Come then!"" Georg bellowed, his voice, harsh, raw with fury ripped through the air and the furious crackle of the flames, even in the face of these hideous creatures, there was not the slightest trace of fear in it "I'll gut you all for the people you've killed!"

"Foolish" A tremble ran down Phaedra's even as she leapt down the hill toward Georg. The spined creature spoke! Its harsh, sibilant voice was cruel, entirely devoid of pity. "Kill them all!" It roared, and the grey dwarves surged forward, drawing their weapons, streaked with blood black in the dark, and pitted and marred by conflict. Georg and the two militiamen ran to meet them, swords clashed, blood sprayed out into the night against the bright flames within the river's furious currents, as Georg slashed into the chest of the first dwarf he encountered, rising to meet the next with a furious battle-cry.

"We've got to help them" Bevil yelled, leading them onwards, his longsword flashing in the awful firelight "Hurry!" Phaedra, staggering over the small mound just before the bridge, pulled back her hands, summoning the power deep within her, feeding it, turning it outward. It felt, right, like drawing in a deep breath, she welcomed it, gasping out arcane words, the spell, the release, this torrent of energy demanded. As she spoke, light gathered around her fingers, a white light, pure, and powerful, the power within changing to energy without, energy she could direct at will. Her gaze swung to where Ian Harman fought with one of the fierce dwarven creatures, he was struggling, his foe bore down on him with the blades of a great axe, striking with such strength he could barely hold the creature back, and more were coming, circling around eagerly like vultures. Quickly she cried out the last words of the incantation, weaving the spell together, and a ray of light seared outward, slicing through the air, and into the body of the dwarf threatening Ian. The loathsome creature gave a grunt of surprise, staggering back, it collapsed against the side of the bridge, as Ian stared at it with shock, then the body tumbled over the side and into the river with a great splash, and it was drawn quickly away by the deadly swift current.

But it was hardly over yet. Bevil was the first to reach the bridge; he ploughed into the first dwarf he encountered, fighting toward his militia comrades, hammering his sword into his foe again and again. Phaedra leapt up onto the ridge near the bank, drawing her bow upwards and ready with one hand, the other slammed into the air forward, through heaving breaths she cried out another spell, and lightning shimmered over her fingers, crackling through the fibres of her dress. Her words tamed it, controlled it, and at the last sent it searing through the air, striking down a second dwarf in a spray of furious energy. Amie leapt up beside Phaedra, and, at once, from her whispered words, and outstretched hands, another spell, a shard of ice that cleaved through the air like a dagger, was launched into their foes, the dwarves scattered, Phaedra glanced at her friend, beneath the tension, the obvious fear, and strain, Amie was set, determined to drive these creatures from her village by any means she could. It was time for Phaedra to be the same! She drew her bowstring back, aimed, and fired, in a single elegant movement, cutting down one of the creatures closest to where Bevil sparred with one wielding a ferocious warhammer. Quickly, seizing the initiative and forcing down a surge of nausea, she poured arrow after arrow into the gap. At this range, she couldn't miss. Bevil and Georg fought side by side now, their swords sweeping, clashing with the blades of their foes.

Then suddenly the spined creature, the seeming leader of this horde, gave a horrific cry of rage, and bounded forward, pulling the hooked blade up into the air. In its rage it cast aside its own minions, clawing its way toward where Georg and Bevil fought. Quickly Phaedra lifted her bow, aimed…and fired, the arrow struck it in the shoulder, it gave a horrific scream of pain, but still, it kept coming, its eyes wild, its reptilian face contorted with bloodlust and fury. As Phaedra desperately struggled with her bow, pulling another arrow from her quiver with trembling hands, Pierson threw himself in its path, his sword caught on its hooked blade, it roared, slammed its arm upwards, and pulled the sword from Pierson's hands. There was an instant, an instant in which Pierson pulled back in terror, where Phaedra grasped at her bow, gasping with horror, where Amie beside her cried out the words of the spell that might have stopped the creature in its tracks, then the creature's blade swung down, and Pierson fell, crying out in agony, to the floor amidst the dead dwarves, his blood fell thick and black upon the cracked wood of the bridge…and he was still. Phaedra froze, stunned, as the spell died in Amie's grasp; he had killed…Pierson. She found herself so shaken that she could only watch as Georg, with a cry of rage at the murder of the young man under his command, launched himself at the killer, his sword hammered into its own, the clash rang across the bridge, as the two combatants fought furiously, each driven by an equal force of sheer fury. It was no battle of finesse, of skill…they pounded at each other, trying to break through to their opponent by force of strength alone…watching it forced Phaedra to come back to herself. This was no time for her to stand back. Her gifts might turn the tide, might save others, in response to the surge of her will her power flared into life, gathering around her hands in a nimbus of pure, pale light…

It was easy, easier than she had expected to give way to it, to draw it out of her in a greater surge of energy than she had dared beyond practice sessions with Tarmas, to speak the words, the complex intonations of the spell poured smoothly from her lips, and, as she opened her outstretched fingers, a flame burst into burning existence within her palm. She poured more of her magic into the weave of the spell, her words shaped it, brought it life, and the flame grow hot and strong, twining around her fingers, around her raised arm. It did not burn her, though it tore through the darkness around her, stirring up the tumultuous dry air, and the stream of ashes from the fires across the river, and she felt its warmth within her, the power of her magic sparking into a font of heat and light. As she chanted the last words, drawn out from her by the spell, as she lowered her arm, that trembled with the seeming weight of the power it bore, as her eyes fluttered, her head straining, sweat staining her brow, though she forced a clarity of focus through the roiling tide of magic…the spell wove itself to its end, and she let loose. Bolts of fire, one after the other, poured from her hand, from the fire she bore, from the power within, she directed them, and they tore into those dwarves remaining, sending sprays of lucent sparks out into the night, burning, searing, consuming each of them in great veils of fire…they screamed, in pain, in mindless pain, and fell…into the obsidian waters below, where steam seared upwards in great clouds about the bridge. Phaedra gasped, her head reeling with the aftermath of channelling the conflagration of magical fury. She staggered, but managed to keep herself upright by sheer force of will. It had been enough, just, and the spell had also given Georg a second's advantage, an advantage he violently tore into, cutting his opponent right across the chest, its watery grey blood splashed in the wake of his sword. It gave a screech of agony, inhuman, high, piercing, then it staggered to its knees, and Georg's blade thrust deep into its chest, and it fell. Phaedra closed her eyes, raising a hand to her aching forehead. The creature was dead, it was done. Slowly, it still felt like a dream, like some horrific nightmare, as though she were dragged forward by some force beyond her control, she walked down to the bridge, beside her Amie's footsteps were heavy, her friend was breathing heavily…

"You, thank the Gods you three got here" Georg Redfell raised his head as they reached him, his voice was hoarse, his normally piercing gaze clouded as it travelled over Bevil, Phaedra and Amie each in turn, but still his commanding presence was intact, he held himself upright with that remarkable iron control which had always so distinguished the leader of the West Harbour militia. "Did you see anyone else?"

"Only Brother Merring, up the ridge" Phaedra answered quickly "But, my father, and the others, I don't know…"

"We're trying to gather the militia, mount some kind of defence" Georg glanced away, at the burning homes, the sheet of flames beyond the waters "They've taken half the village, and I don't know where most of my men are"

"Wait, what did you mean?" Amie gasped. She sounded almost hysterical, her voice cracked with strain "But, we killed that thing? Wasn't…it the leader?"

"No" Georg replied bitterly "There are more of them, don't even know how many more"

"Pierson" Bevil looked up from where he knelt over the young man's body "Georg, he's dead…" Phaedra's eyes stung, but she could not look away. Pierson, the attack, all of it, she realised the truth of it had not sunk in until now, only yesterday Pierson had been alive, happy, expecting his first child, now…she couldn't bear to think of it.

"Damn them!" Georg snarled "We've got to drive them back, now!" He lifted his sword, and his gaze held the three of them "Listen to me, we don't have much time, I'll get back to Merring, maybe some of the militia will have got together up there, but I'll need you three to go on ahead. Amie, Phaedra, your magic seems to be the thing which can clinch this for our side, and Bevil, I know you're good enough with a sword to keep these two safe." Bevil stood and nodded determinedly, he glanced quickly at Amie and Phaedra, set and ready to fulfil his charge "Anyone you can find out there, get them ready for battle, and kill as many of the bastards as you can. We'll meet you at the Starling farm, there we're going to make a stand, understood?"

"Yes sir" Bevil clutched at his sword, as Phaedra breathed deeply, settling herself, and nodded. Georg could always take charge of situations, now, even in this most desperate hour, perhaps it would be enough to save the village. No it had to be enough…

"We have to find Tarmas…" Amie added tearfully "He might need our help"

"You're right, Tarmas will be able to turn things around for us" Phaedra glanced at her friend, hoping to give some hope and strength to Amie, whose worry for her guardian was written so clearly across her ashen face "Let's go" She glanced down the bridge, the thick shadows were silent, still, there didn't seem to be any of the creatures on the bank, perhaps the fight on the bridge had driven them from this part of the village, but that did not mean they would not face more of them, she had to be ready. It was her who took the first step along the bridge, followed quickly by Bevil and Amie, as Georg and Ian vanished up toward the ridge, their pounding footsteps soon disappearing beneath the harsh sound of the flames

But, something far worse than anything they had witnessed even this terrible night awaited them as the village opened out on the opposite bank. The homes here were largely intact, looming shadows, empty and unsympathetic, their windows dark, cold, like the eyes of the dead. The path wound between them, stirred up, the pounding of footsteps could be clearly glimpsed in the troubled surface, cutting deep into the earth. Just as it curved down toward the Starling farmstead on the outskirts of the village, there, a figure, Tarmas! His shadowed form was wreathed in light, wreathed in a shield of pure magic, a globe of silvery light that enveloped his whole body, clutched in his hand the staff Phaedra had scarcely ever seen him wield blazed, rippling with arcs of incandescent energy. His robes whipped about him, cast this way and that in the furious storm of magic that surrounded him. He chanted ferocious incantations, his voice echoing across the distance between them, each syllable alive with power, and around his hands the energy of magic gathered. By the Gods, he was in a duel against another creature, standing on the small hillock on the other side of the path, it, this creature was different to the others, far more magisterial, far more powerful…

It…was like nothing Phaedra had ever seen, or even read about, almost human in its form, almost, but it stood taller than any man could be. It was lean and sinewy, all angular muscle and bone and its skin was green and mottled with yellowish speckles, stretched tight over its body so that the veins pulsed just beneath the surface, its gauntness gave it an animalistic savagery in its appearance, as though it were some half-starved beast, subsisting solely on rage. Its face, too, burned with hatred, hatred that had carved deep grooves amidst its features, the eyes were sunken amidst heavy ridges of bone, yellow, pinched, and alight with evil intent, its teeth, sharp points, were clamped down in concentration upon its thin, curling lips. The nose had recessed entirely, leaving only two thin nostrils, slits, drawn back and cut deep into its skull. Over its body it wore an ornate leather armour, with two bands running up its thin legs, to armour that was ornamented with a host of jewels that flashed in the light of the magical contest, set amidst scorched leather straps that enclosed its body like the carapace of some exotic insect. A headdress, leather also, but adorned with a spray of grey feathers at its crown, was strapped tight under its chin, over jet-black wiry hair. This creature commanded magic, magic so strong that the sight of it scorched Phaedra's arcane sense. This magic seared about it, a torrent that burned like fire in the air, enfolding it, enveloping it, in a stream of constant, relentless power. Tarmas' hoarse incantations, his furious gestures, the energy that he flung, lancing through the air, towards it, that it brushed away so carelessly, seemed…almost feeble in comparison, as in a hissing voice, it summoned its own to bear. From its clawed, grasping hands poured fire, liquid fire, that gathered in a great tide, a sheet of flame which seared towards Tarmas, scorching the earth before it.

"You three…!" Tarmas bellowed, his gaze snapping over to them for a moment, before his staff whipped up before him, blazing with swathes of incandescent power, he thrust his hand forward, the outstretched fingers clasping within the surface of the rippling shield that surrounded him, pouring more of his power into the weave of its substance. "Get out of here!" He cried "Go! Now…!" But Phaedra, stunned by the sight, by the power that burned in the very air about her, could only watch in horror, hearing Amie give a short, sharp scream of terror, as the wave of fire swept over her mentor, searing against his shield, enveloping it in a tide of blistering heat. It was so strong that Tarmas' shield wavered before it, but, trembling with the effort, he drove the flickering embers of his power into the protective globe of magic, and it held. But Phaedra suddenly knew, with sickening, aching certainty, that here her teacher was outmatched, this creature was just…too strong.

"No!" Amie suddenly darted forward, before anyone could have stopped her, she leapt to her master's side, the flashing werelight of magic gleamed over her pale features, frightened but determined "I won't let you!"

"Amie…no!" Tarmas roared, he started forward towards his apprentice, but at once Amie cried out the words of a spell, and the light of power gleamed about her. Tarmas froze…fear and strain flashed over his face, then Amie gave voice to the magic reeling around her, and from her hands a stream of light seared outwards into a bolt of luminous energy that arced in a great curve, sparking across the night, and struck toward the creature with a thunderous crack. The impact of the spell lit up the darkness with a sudden flash of blazing white light so bright that Phaedra threw her arms across her face, gasping at the surge of heat that washed over her, such power…it had to…no. As she lowered her hands she saw it; the creature…standing there, entirely unharmed, a cold, cruel smile across its harsh, alien features, its hands held before it, fingers woven together. About them glowed the remnants of a spell, a ward, silvery light that faded even as they stared at it in horror. This ward, it had nullified the energy of Amie's spell…deflected it, destroyed it entirely. No spark of that formidable energy had touched it. It seemed almost impossible but here the creature stood, in front of them, its hand lifting upwards towards its lips, which moved as it whispered harsh words in an arcane tongue and something flickered in its hand, pulsing like the beat of some diseased heart, something that set Phaedra's head aching and throbbing with the sense of dark sorcery…

"Well, what is this? This whelp truly believes she can face me?" At last it spoke, its voice was haughty, cruel with a strange guttural accent. It lifted its hand away from its mouth, slowly, almost languorously extending it forward towards them, a sickly red glow burned within its palm, weaving amongst the darkness, so that the shadows dripped thick and bloody over its long, bony fingers. This was some curse, some dark magic, its flame-like light fell over Amie's face, she was horrified, but she stayed at her master's side, shocked perhaps into stillness, no, that was not it, her courage stayed her in place, ready to fight on if she could "Such arrogance, perhaps you should have taught her better, wizard" The oozing light gleamed over its sharp teeth, as it smiled coldly "Let me be the one to correct this oversight…"

"Phaedra!" Bevil caught her, taking Phaedra's arm, steadying her, as she stumbled backwards "What do we do?" He gasped in her ear, he was unaffected by the searing pain this spell drove into her head, he had no arcane sense, to be wracked by this agony "Phaedra?"

"Get out of here!" Tarmas threw out his arms, his staff blazed, his voice hoarse, quavering with panic. Phaedra froze, grasped at something, to help them, but her magic, stirring, deep within her, was all but exhausted, and this curse, it was like nothing she had ever sensed…and terror pounded at her head, at her heart "Amie…go!"

"Too late" The creature hissed, it pushed its hand forward, and the spell it held blazed with crimson fire. The aching sense of dark energy intensified, so harsh it was almost crippling, searing over Phaedra's consciousness, it was so strong, this sense, she could hardly think, Amie! At once, it was so sudden, after each slow instant of mounting terror that this fevered confrontation had encompassed, the spell was unleashed, and a roaring, howling flood of light, that same sickly, draining red, parting, into strands of light that arced outwards, lighting up the creature's harsh smile, then they surged toward Amie, all of them, pouring inwards, as though they were about to converge upon her, she drew back, raising her hands as though to shield herself, terror flashing over her face, Amie!

"No!" Tarmas roared, he swept his staff upwards, and a sweep of power broke across the ground, it was a storm of energy, light, crackling, blazing. Phaedra started forward, throwing off Bevil's hands…she did not know what she could have done, what she would have done, but Amie needed her, she had to do something. Then Tarmas's spell struck the dark energy pouring from the creature, the curse tore through it like paper, scattering shards of white light across the ground…its dark power was like a great wave breaking through a wall, leaving Amie defenceless. Phaedra staggered toward them, but, if she even could have done anything, she arrived far too late. Amie turned to face the spell, hopelessly raising her hands to cast, something, anything, her face a mask of fear. But, almost the instant before Phaedra reached her, the strands of red light together poured into her chest, just where her heart was, and as they met within her a great flash of crimson light shattered the darkness. Amie cried out, a single, piercing scream of pain and horror, it ripped through everything, tearing into Phaedra like a spear of sorrow, and agony, no, it couldn't be, after, everything…

"Amie!" Phaedra screamed, her voice, hoarse, screeching, broke through the echoes of Amie's cry…even as the spell drained what was left of the girl's life from her body, turning on her feet, her legs trembling, giving way, even as the blood left her cheeks…even as the cursed light over her body dimmed to nothing "Amie!" She cried again, as though the name alone could provide some kind of protection from the force that took her friend from her before her eyes "Amie! No…" As Amie fell, Phaedra staggered to her side, unable to keep herself upright, she dropped her knees, and caught Amie across her arms. She was light, ridiculously light, as though all the weight had left her, all the life, impossible! It couldn't be, Amie couldn't be, though her limbs arms hung limp over Phaedra's chest, though her eyes were closed, her breath stilled, her skin so pale; surely it couldn't be like this? Then a tear of piercing agony ripped through her, clawing across her heart, ripping her apart, her body clenched up with it, her head falling to her chest, over Amie, no…it…no…why?

"So, this is it then?" At first she hardly heard the creature, the murderer speak, but its voice became like a knife-point of anguish and anger driven into her head "All this village can muster, children, petty magicians, disappointing" She heard the press of its feet on the grass, as it stepped back toward the darkness of the Mere that stretched out around and behind it "I have no reason to remain here anymore then, it is not here after all." Again that rustle, another step, and around it, the slightest pinprick of her magical sense intruded, the creature, it was. She glanced up, no…it was escaping. She wanted to find some way to stop it, but she couldn't leave Amie, couldn't not hold her, just in case, it…her friend…oh Amie. The creature drew its hand across its face, its fingers spread outward, and the shadows shifted, twining around it, delving it into a profound darkness, as though the Mere reached out, surrounded it, and took it from them, for it vanished. a concealment spell. It was gone, gone, leaving only devastation and death. The word, for the first time she had thought it, tightened the agony squeezing her, at her throat, at her heart, Amie, dead, no.

"Phaedra" She hardly felt Bevil kneel by her, Tarmas stepping over, but as Bevil tentatively placed his arm over her thin shoulders, she looked up. He looked devastated, still in shock, but there was an intensity of anxiety, for her, that broke through…he was putting her, her shock, her anguish, before even his own "Oh Gods, no"

"Bevil…" She gasped, choking, and suddenly, before she could even hope to control it a flood of tears burst from her eyes, hot, painful, a flood she could not restrain. She gulped a huge gasp of air, scarcely able to breathe through the enormous pressure on her chest, on her throat "Amie…she…"

"She's dead." Bevil groaned hoarsely, he was holding back tears himself, she could see them, through the clouded gaze of her own sorrow, glistening in his bloodshot eyes "She, it killed her…"

"I warned her…" Tarmas' voice cracked. When he had first come, he had seemed, broken, his shoulders collapsed, his whole being shattered, drawn into himself, into a dry, tearless knot of agony, but, as he spoke, he straightened, burying his grief, his affection for the girl he had raised beneath the bluster he had often adopted with his apprentices "I warned her not to get involved, I warned all of you." He shook his head, the shiver seemed to run through his whole body for an instant, then he grasped at his arm, and forced control into himself "No, we haven't any time, that creature, its gone, but it left a sizeable force" He raised a hand to his forehead, straining, stained with sweat "I can sense them, we're still needed!"

"Damn it wizard, she just needs a minute" Bevil snapped, with a harsh anger in his voice she had never heard before, his arm tightening around Phaedra's shoulders, as she felt herself wilt before Tarmas, she couldn't move, not here from Amie

"Georg doesn't have a minute!" Tarmas snarled "Or had you forgotten that you have a duty, she is not the only one to have died this night, and others will join her unless we make a stand!"

"Phaedra" Bevil lowered his fevered, angered gaze from Tarmas, leaning closer to her "It, it's already too late, there's nothing we can do here, we have to get moving, we need to help Georg" Phaedra shook her head. She felt the hot tears burning her eyes, scratching her cheeks raw, it didn't, no, she couldn't leave…Amie, her hands tightened around the girl's shoulders "Phaedra…" Bevil reached forward, his hand alighted on hers, warm, rough, and it closed around her fingers, gently prising each one from the fabric of Amie's nightgown. She did not resist, she did not seem to have the strength. Bevil raised her hand, in his… "Amie wouldn't have wanted this, she would have wanted to save the others" He murmured hoarsely "Can you stand, Phaedra, come on, we have to get up"

"Bevil, I…can't" Phaedra breathed, she couldn't…what? Stand, fight, do nothing, Amie had always been the strong one, not her.

"You have to…" Bevil's grip on her shoulders tightened. Slowly he stood, guiding her upwards as well, she stood, on shaking legs, leaning heavily on him, leaving Amie, just lying there on the moss-stained ground, what could she do? But then the flames burned before her, the village, home, West Harbour, Retta, the Starlings, her friends, no, she had to do something! Stumbling, she managed to take a step away from Bevil, he let her go, with a sadness that she realised had always been there in his eyes, only now it was on the surface for a moment. It was Amie, but it was also her, something in her, what did he see?

"Good, we cannot all lose our heads like Amie did, poor girl" Tarmas folded his arms, she glanced at him. This hardness, she could see it was only a shell, to keep him from falling utterly to the grief that tore at him from within, that cut through the harsh exterior for that instant, for his foster-daughter.

"You don't think, Brother Merring..." Phaedra whispered, Lathander, for the life of an innocent, for Amie's life, could You put forth Your power for this one prayer, but she knew deep in her heart, that Amie was beyond even the power of the Gods. Even Brother Merring could not heal this…

"You know better, Phaedra" Tarmas shook his head sadly "Come, the Starling Farm" Yes, the Starlings. She had to, Bevil…she had to help him now. Amie was gone to the Gods, but this attack had to stop now, before anyone else, before, she lost someone else. Somehow, somewhere she had to find the strength to fight.


	4. Chapter 4

_So, Chapter 4, thankfully it's a lot shorter than Chapter 3_

_Thanks to Lemonbreeze and voltagelista again, for reviews and support. Anyone else, reviews would be appreciated. _

_PS: I know you're there, I've seen you in the traffic on my profile :)_

It was over. Night clung like a cloak to the Mere's expanse, clothing the flat, watery swamps in absolute darkness, but the battle was over. The battle of West Harbour was over, the first conflict that had scarred this weathered village in sixteen long years. Stunned, shocked, the remnants of the militia stood in the midst of the Starling family's fields where they had just managed to hold the last wave of the monstrous creatures off. They were barely able to believe they were still alive, that the village was still standing, though not a few homes had been destroyed, ashen skeletons now, rising to embrace the darkness. Bodies, the terrible grey dwarves, and the armoured spined creatures who, up until the end of the battle had commanded the battlefield, strewn across the field, dark patches of blood seeping into the stagnant waters of the Mere. Over all the militia had lost nine men, another five people, unarmed and undefended, had been slaughtered, each had a name, a family and each were to be honoured once this night was done. Many more were wounded, but out of respect the Harbourmen had already removed the fallen from the dank, bloody fields. There had already been so many tragedies, so much loss, and for the Harbourmen, there were still no answers.

"What were these creatures?" Georg Redfell demanded, his wounds and the loss of so many had intensified his resolve to a fever pitch. He perhaps alone of the Harbourmen was not felled by grief.

"These Grey Dwarves, I have heard them called Duergar, thralls no doubt to the more powerful of this force, they are servile creatures" Tarmas, standing just by the militia leader, explained bitterly, his purple robes were streaked with dark blood, none of it his qown. "As for the others…"

"They are called Bladelings" Brother Merring looked up from the unconscious man he was tending. Since the attack he had been working feverishly, healing what he could, but there were many seriously wounded and what divine power he could channel was dwindling fast, he looked exhausted "According to my church's records they dwell in a place beyond, that is, the Astral Plane"

"Then what in the Hells are they doing here?" Georg snarled, turning violently, his gaze sweeping the ruined homes, the dead, the wounded…

"Lathander doesn't illuminate all mysteries for me" Merring answered quietly "Here we must rely on our wits and our own resources"

"What good does that do us?" Tarmas shook his head with disgust "None of this makes any sense"

"Lass, come over here" Phaedra started at the sudden sound of Daeghun's voice. She had been standing a little away from the fevered conversation between the three. Her thoughts had been heavy, dwelling on Amie's life, finding her mind going over her last moments over and over again, wondering what more could she have done to save her. Amie's body lay with the others in the ruins of Starling family's barn, but Phaedra could not bear to go and see her, not yet. Soon she would be interred, but the memory of what had happened could not be buried so easily. However even through all this, Daeghun's voice instantly roused her. During the most desperate time of the battle, he had suddenly appeared, and his bow had been critical in the eventual, bloody rout of the last of these creatures, but he had been deep in thought ever since then, and had not contributed anything to the discussion between Tarmas, Merring and Georg. Carefully Phaedra made her way to where he stood, by the split and broken wall surrounding the field, staring again out into the Mere, the others hardly noticed she was gone.

"What is it, father?" She asked, having waited a second for him to speak, but finding nothing in his cold, impassive countenance.

"Keep your voice down girl" he chided "This is not for the others to hear" He shook his head, as though he was reluctant to tell even her. "I have been hesitant to speak of this" He continued quietly "But I fear I know what drew these creatures to West Harbour"

"What?" Phaedra gasped. The inexplicable assault had stunned her as much as anyone else, but Daeghun knew a reason for it, how?

"There is an item, a silver shard of sorts" her father explained "It is little enough to look at to be sure, but it is very possible that it was the objective of this raid"

"What?" Phaedra stepped back, stunned. Daeghun was abrupt, but this "Shouldn't we tell the others?"

"No" Daeghun frowned "This does not concern them; the shard is mine, from the time your mother died. Those were dark days and I cannot shake the feeling that that shard is a thing of evil omen. The fewer who know of it, the better"

"If it drew those creatures here, it has to be found and quickly" Phaedra said, deciding in a split second to ignore the sudden mention of her mother, there were more important things now…

"Yes" Daeghun answered curtly "But unhappily there is another difficulty. Though I bore the shard for a time, I could not bear to keep it close any longer, but nor could I bring myself to cast it aside. So I buried it, I hid it in the ruins to the west of the village"

"The ruins?" Phaedra started. About an hour's hard walking from West Harbour, these mysterious ruins lay deep within the impenetrable heart of the Mere, a place no one would tread lightly. Yet the Harbourmen knew the ruins well enough. Often they salvaged old stone from the place, or at least they had…once, though Phaedra had never seen them herself, until the ruins had been overrun by the lizardlings, mysterious reptillian denizens of the swamp who brooked no trespass in their ancestral lands.

"I had my reasons for doing so, which should not concern you for the moment" Daeghun sighed "But right now the shard must be found, and quickly. And you are the only one I trust to recover it, as I must see to the wounded here."

"I understand" Phaedra nodded. Daeghun would never ask her to do this unless he truly believed the shard was a danger. And when she thought about the attack, the utter savagery, the creature's way of panning through the houses, as though looking for something, and of course what Amie's murderer had hissed 'It is not here' she realised that his was the clearest explanation for this night's atrocity.

"Good" Daeghun said "There is one more thing then…Bevil!" Here he turned suddenly to where Bevil stood, some feet away, gazing numbly at the ruin which had once been his family's barn. He looked almost sick, but he quickly glanced up upon hearing his name "Your blade is required once again, lad" Daeghun continued emotionlessly "My daughter shall be leaving for the Western Ruins this night, and you will be accompanying here"

"But, wait, the Western Ruins?" Bevil walked over quickly, looking quite perplexed "Georg was certain the lizardlings had occupied them…"

"That then is why you must go" Daeghun answered "Two may well have a chance to succeed where only one would fail. I trust you shall keep an eye on each other, but remember you must have it done and be back before dawn. My heart is disquiet, I fear that more evil shall strike this benighted village if the shard is left undisturbed" He hefted his bow "The cries of the wounded cannot be ignored any longer. You must search the largest building in the ruins. Find the hall where there are six statues, there the shard lies, bring it to me. Phaedra…do not tarry, even for a moment, there is some treacherous force at work here" With that said, all that he needed to say, it seemed, he suddenly turned his back on them and walked away…

"Phaedra" Bevil glanced at her concernedly "What in the name of the Gods did he mean, what does he want?"

"We…we have to find something in the ruins" Phaedra explained "My father thinks it might be what the creatures were looking for"

"What?" Bevil gasped, glancing up instantly to where Georg and Tarmas were still speaking in low, heavy voices, their heads lowered "Then we need to tell someone, organise some kind of search party..."

"No, Bevil, please" Phaedra pleaded, rubbing her forehead "Not yet, we just have to find it first, then we can decide what to do"

"Alright" his face was alight with confusion, but he relaxed, trusting her completely "I don't understand this at all but if he's right…I do know the way to the ruins, though once we're inside they say they're infested with lizardlings"

"Thank you Bevil" Phaedra sighed, exhaustion pressed at her, and the ache of grief every thought of Amie brought with it had not yet abated. But if Daeghun was right there was no choice. She could not let the village down, they had to do this.

oooo00000ooooo

"It's been an age since I've come this far into the swamp" Bevil glanced around himself uneasily "But I think we're close now, very close…" Phaedra nodded weakly, clasping the cloak she had managed to snatch from her home before their hurried departure closer round herself, even so it seemed meagre protection. The Mere was not a welcoming place. Vague, formless fears stalked it, deep and dark as the shadows that lay upon its stagnant pools, with their still, lifeless surfaces, like dark, clouded glass. What little life there was barely clung to existence amidst the swamp, from the gnarled, tenacious trees, stunted by the never-ending contest to draw life from the soil, to the great swamp beetles, carrion eaters, who lurked within the mists. Like most Harbourmen, Phaedra rarely ventured into the Mere, and she had never done so this late at night. It was like a nightmare, a twisting maze of dank pools and shadowed glades, and the elemental darkness seemed to press in upon her, stalked within by fear and grief. Bevil had been silent the entire journey, and so had she, there was no scope for mistakes in this deadly environment, and every step was a great effort. Worn down by her sorrows, she felt hollow, numb, except for the claws of pain that clasped like a vice around her heart. "The ruins should be just ahead" Bevil continued "And a whole tribe of lizardlings. I just hope we know what we're doing"

He glanced hopefully at Phaedra, but she could only sigh. The sooner the shard was away the better, then this nightmare could end, and she could get on with mourning her friends as they deserved. "Well, I'll just lead on then, I guess" he said, starting forward. As they quickly moved deeper into the swamp, and, though they both strained their senses, there was no hint of the lizardlings. But the tribe were cunning, and Phaedra could not shake the feeling that they were being watched.

Then the ruins rose forth out of the mists, and Phaedra stopped in her tracks, gasping in awe. Though dilapidated, choked in the invasive vines of the Mere, and almost crumbling into the swamps, they were still magnificent, larger than any other building Phaedra had ever seen. They were built of white stone that, though scarred with age, still gleamed in the moonlight. There was only one building fully intact, an edifice like a catacomb, with a rusted iron door that stood open. A road, scattered with old paving stones, mossy and taken by the swamp's all-invasive mire, lined with statues that, though falling to pieces, still resembled figures, led up to the building. These statues…some were tall and fair, others shorter, their proportions inhuman, though their faces were very much so. There were hints also that there had once been other structures that had already been swallowed completely by the swamp. "I don't like this Phaedra" Bevil said uneasily "Let's just get that shard and just get out of here"

Without answering, Phaedra moved closer. Something about the ruins affected her deeply, perhaps the solemn sad faces of the statues that, taken by the swamp, were touched with a haunting elemental splendour or perhaps the skeletal constructions themselves, where the slow passage of the swamp's embrace had melded nature and structure. Before the beauty of their degradation, she felt the horrors of the battle wane, and a strange, solemn peace descended on her. "Phaedra" Bevil repeated "We have to move"

"Yes" Phaedra shook her head. She had to focus, there was no time, or space, for such distraction.

As they made their way to the huge hulking doorway, with the grieving face of an elven woman carved above it, Phaedra suddenly thought of her mother. Tarmas had mentioned once that these ruins had been built by the ancient Illefarn Empire, a confederation of Elves and Dwarves…predominately Sun Elves, like Esmerelle, like her mother. Unconsciously her hand went to her chest, to where she knew the scar was, something linked them, this scar and her mother. But now was not the time for that, something was affecting her and perhaps it was her mother's elven heritage, which Daeghun had once suggested was the root of Phaedra's contemplative and sensitive nature, that also provided a window to the very ancient past, to the ancient splendours of Illefarn, that explained her intense reaction to the ruins, she had never felt anything like this before.

"This doesn't look good" Bevil whispered, gazing into the gloom through the ruin's iron doors, rusted and decayed, though not nearly as much as they should have been, considering the long ages this place had slumbered here. A tomb, no this was not a tomb. Phaedra took a step forward towards that blackness "You didn't bring a torch with you did you?" Bevil asked, nervously

"Wait one minute" Phaedra shook the strange, deep thoughts aside and spoke a spell clearly, one of the simplest she knew. A globe of light rose into the air above her. It hovered just above her shoulder, shedding strong white light into the depths of the ruin. She moved forward, and Bevil hesitantly followed. It was like a dream, like something she had seen before only she couldn't remember. The light spell revealed a passageway, plain and unadorned, but carved of the same shimmering stone, so unlike the stone found on the Mere. It was eerily quiet, and there was still no sign of the lizardlings, though the stench of brackish water, of rotting meat, and of habitation, hanging heavy in the air, was a clear sign that they had been here once, recently. Had they been warned of Phaedra and Bevil and retreated deeper into the ruins, or were they simply hidden, lying in wait for the right moment to strike? Step after step after step, echoing along this one passageway, there were no other doors, thankfully, so this shard had to lie ahead, along this one path.

"You are a fool to come here warmblood" they both leapt back as the voice sounded from the darkness just ahead "Why have you defiled our stone tombs?" Phaedra quickly gestured and the light spell swung forward into the shadows. Without realising it they had walked into a large rectangular chamber, a high ceiling towered above them and the walls were covered in intricate murals. How could they be so far below ground? Had the corridor been subtly sweeping them downwards without them even knowing? The speaker, a lizardling but taller and broader than most of its kind, stood before them, between two great statues of elven warriors, two…of six in this grand hallway, could this be the place, but the lizardlings had obviously found it first. The creature's eyes glimmered, and around it Phaedra caught the sense of ancient power, timeless and unchanging as the Mere itself, this was a shaman, a leader of its people. It wore a belt hung with many strange charms and totems, and with a leather pack fastened to it. "Are you dumb, warmblood, or have you not a tongue to speak with?" it hissed

"We have no quarrel with your people" Phaedra answered, with as much strength as she could muster.

"I was not speaking to you female!" the lizardling snarled "You are twice the fool warmblood, bringing your mate here and allowing her to speak with such impudence"

"She's, not my…" Bevil began awkwardly

"Amongst my kind I may speak for him" Phaedra spoke quickly, raising a hand toward Bevil so he fell silent, knowing as she did that there was no room for mistakes here, and between them Phaedra knew this delicate dance of diplomacy better than he did. The shaman stared at her, then let out a barking, snarling noise. Phaedra began to step back in alarm, then she realised it was laughing at her. "I have power, surely you sense that!" she snapped, allowing her irritation to flash outwards. She had to show strength.

"Phaedra" Bevil whispered at her ear "Do you really want to antagonise him?"

"Your Gods are strange to give you the gift" the shaman shrugged, its yellow eyes narrowing "But I sense you hold power, where this one is an empty vessel. Very well, I shall speak with you." It clasped its scaly hands together, the long claws clicking against one another "Why have you come? We have not been bothered by your kind now for many cycles"

"Many years ago my kind left something in these ruins" Phaedra stood tall, drawing as much grandeur as she could about herself, though she knew she looked pale, exhausted, and was wearing only a nightgown and a threadbare cloak "It did not belong in your sacred Stone Tombs, and taking it shall not diminish them."

"The Stone Tombs are ours" the lizardling answered slowly "And so is everything within them"

"This shard belongs to my people" Phaedra replied "It has little value, but we now need it…" She hesitated for a moment, how to explain…?

"To stop the grey ones?" the shaman's teeth drew back in a savage smile "Yes, we know of them. They invaded the Swamplands three moons ago, they killed three of our warriors, but we knew that their true target was the Warmblood village"

"We think this shard might help us" Phaedra said

"The Grey Ones have earned our fury" he snarled "But that is nothing to the hatred we bear for your kind. You have hunted us, killed us for sport. Many of the tribe wished to slaughter you straight away. But I restrained them, for now." Phaedra swallowed heavily, glancing around into the shadows, the tribe. Were they watching even now, waiting? "Why should we give you something that will make you more powerful?" The shaman continued defiantly

"The shard has no power itself" She explained, having forcibly recovered her composure "But we think it is what these…Grey Ones were looking for. If you give it to me, we shall take it far away, so they never come back"

"You are wrong warmblood" the shaman's gaze was unwavering, fixed upon her face as though it could sense something deep within her "The shard has power, ancient power, long lain dormant. But it is a shard, it is useless without the whole"

"The whole what?" Phaedra asked, yes, what exactly could this…shard have come from anyway? Daeghun had not said, had not given any clue, if he even knew.

"That I cannot tell you" it replied "We would be glad to see the back of the Grey Ones, but what surety can you offer us for this relic, it is precious to our people"

"A favour for a favour" Phaedra suggested, the first thing that sprang to mind, she had to be thinking quickly here…"You give me the shard now, our village will repay you when you need it" Would West Harbour honour such an agreement, she prayed they would…

"I think, I sense we shall meet again warmblood female that speaks like a male" the shaman hissed thoughtfully "I need nothing from your village but when that time comes, when I face you again, I shall have something to ask you, something important for the survival of the tribe, and for your people too, you must do it, swear on your Gods"

"I will do as you ask" Phaedra replied instantly, though inwardly a turmoil of confusion was awakened by the lizardling's words. How could…they meet again, why? And further what would she have to offer him when they did? What could she give to a lizardling tribe? "By the Gods"

"Then, here it is, your shard" His fingers clasped into the leather pack at his belt, closed around something, and he pulled from it, the shard, holding it aloft and before her. It was a plain fragment of metal, about the size of Phaedra's palm, gleaming like silver but which, from the corner of her eye, seemed to ripple like liquid, yet when she focused on it this otherwordly effect vanished. She stepped closer to him, as he did to her, finding herself strangely transfixed by the shard in his hand, by the interplay of light across its clear silver surface. Then they faced each other across the bounds between two towering statues, she, Phaedra Blake, and this lizardling shaman with wisdom in his eyes…he held the shard before him, and she reached forward slowly and took it. As her fingers closed around it, a jolt of something ran through her whole body, as though it belonged there, in her hand, and she knew it well somewhere deep within. There was more too, she sensed power in it. Yes, the shaman had spoken rightly, there was something in this shard, she raised her head to meet his golden eyes, they were fixed upon her with such a great intensity "Bear it with wisdom for it is precious to my people." He murmured softly, his voice a rough growl that reverberated in the still, stale air "We took it from where the elf stowed it sixteen years ago because we sensed its power. I have borne it for five years, as my master bore it for eleven before that. Now I give it to you"

"I will use it wisely" she promised, deeply affected by this, by the shard in her hand, by this lizardling, his insight she could almost sense, the insight of this ancient race, who knew the Mere better than anyone did…

"I trust that" He smiled, baring a cluster of dirty teeth sharp enough to tear through someone's arm… "Now you must go." He raised a hand "I think, we shall meet again ere this great darkness, I sense that promise within the mists of the future…"

"Till we meet again then" Phaedra answered respectfully, even despite everything, this strange prophecy, what an unlikely seer, settled inside her. She did not know if it was real or not, but it affected her…

"I understand now how you, a warmblood, shall help my people" The shaman nodded contemplatively "Farewell…" He bowed deeply, then stepped back, once, twice, without turning away from them…without taking his eyes from her, until he stepped into the shadows. His eyes flashed within the darkness for a moment, then were gone, like an ember, a single spark against the inky shade. But as he left, there was a sudden rustle of movement, a chorus of hissing, and reptilian growls, it was clear then he had never been alone, but now the whole tribe, however many of them had been watching invisibly from the shadows, were retreating back deeper into the ruins. Phaedra and Bevil simply stood, waiting, she with her fingers closed around the shard in her hand, feeling the pulse of power enmeshed within its substance, Bevil watched her with awe in his gaze, until all movement had ceased, until the darkness was quiet and still once again, and Phaedra turned to Bevil again…

"Phaedra" He said quietly, and once again, there was that sadness in his blue eyes, a sorrow she could not understand, could not reach "You were amazing"

"Let's just get this shard back to the village…" she answered, and, as suddenly the sheer weight of her exhaustion pressed down upon her she found she could not but ignore the shaman's words for now, they lay in the future. Now, with every part of her aching with exhaustion, all she could truly dwell on was the present, the necessity to keep moving forward before she collapsed "We need to know exactly what we're dealing with. I don't think my father told me everything." He nodded wordlessly, and side by side they began to walk up along that straight, smooth passageway down which they had first come. With a sudden stab of guilt, Phaedra realised as she walked that she had forgotten, in the exchange with the shaman, what she had truly come her for, Amie. How could it have been only a few hours ago that her life had been so suddenly extinguished…a girl, a friend, left this world, and Phaedra behind for ever. Feeling the prickle of incipient tears in her eyes she quickly banished her bitterness. It was not right to feel such a way about her death, when she knew the Gods would accept her friend's soul, but still it hurt so much. "Lathander protect you Amie" Phaedra whispered.

"So what exactly is this shard?" Bevil said suddenly, the clear light spell falling upon his face, shedding hesitant beams of light over his features, alight with concern, obviously guessing where her thoughts were returning "Can I have a look at it?" He asked, and wordlessly she handed him the silver piece. He examined it carefully, turning it over within his fingers, and slowly he began to frown with frustration "This is it?" he demanded, turning to her, his eyes flashing "This piece of tarnished metal is what your father made us come here for!"

"He said it had some power" Phaedra pointed out wearily. She could barely think straight, it hadn't occurred to her to be disappointed. There was some mystery about that shard, she sensed it, but she didn't have the words to tell the angry Bevil what it was exactly she felt, or what it meant…

"What?"" Bevil snorted "I know I don't understand magic, but I do know we could have been helping the wounded. Why were we wasting time out here, on this…?"

"I don't know Bevil" Phaedra answered, glancing down at the floor "I don't know what to think"

"I think your father has a lot to answer for!" Bevil replied sullenly "Let's just get back to the village, before we waste any more time on this…"


	5. Chapter 5

_So, we're getting on now, and it's Chapter 5. Rather short...but possibly that's a relief to you!_

_Thanks to psychic koala for the kind review, if you like my story, have a look at "Treading Water". And Sithster, thanks for the favourite too! I really appreciate it!_

Sepulchral mists stirred beneath the grey sky, smoke-like, thick and curling, over the surface of the Mere as Phaedra and Bevil finally emerged from the swamps and into the village once again. The sight of the broken, blackened houses down by the clear river and those specks of colour moving amidst them, people, looking hopelessly lost, though thankfully it appeared as though the militia were beginning to oversee safe housing and safety for them amongst the homes that were still standing, it all buried a deep ache in Phaedra's heart she sensed it would take a long, long time to shed. With a jolt of sharper, clearer pain, she saw that the Starling barn was now empty, and up on the ridge, just near her and Daeghun's house, there were mounds of freshly overturned earth. They had buried them then. She had missed Amie's burial, she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye. She suddenly felt light-headed, the view spinning before her, she was so tired and sick with grief, she staggered, then Bevil's hand fell upon her and he steadied her…

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly, she looked to him again, met his eyes again and the pain grew deeper. Bevil was always holding her up, always supporting her, with so little thought of himself. It couldn't go on like this.

"Yes" She nodded, running a hand down her arm, adjusting the cloak over her shoulders, he quickly let go.

"Okay" He said slowly "Then let's just go see your father and get this all over with" Bevil looked up again, and Phaedra followed his gaze, focused on the lone figure by the barn, in mottled leather, so camouflaged it almost as though his slight form could melt away into the swampland around him, Bevil let out a long, hard sigh…Daeghun

"Ah, so you have indeed returned" The elf said abruptly, turning to them, his cold, hard eyes looking them both over briefly, as they walked steadily down to where he stood. "And you have the shard" It was not a question…

"So, that's all you can say?" Bevil snapped, the whole tread through the haunting depths of the Mere back from the ruins he had been brooding over it, but it had never truly been about the shard or Daeghun. Seeing the home he loved laid to waste so suddenly and traumatically, what kind of person would not feel such despair and anger over this terrible attack and all its consequences? Now standing in the village again, by the ruins of the barn his family had built, his father had built, he must feel that anguish all the more keenly, which made the dismissive glance Daeghun gave him all the more inexcusable "After everything that's happened, is that still all you can say? We could have been killed, your daughter…"

"Perhaps it was harrowing for you" Daeghun answered evenly "But I assure you it was necessary"

"Necessary that you put your own daughter in danger?" Bevil retorted "Why in the Hells couldn't you get that worthless shard back yourself?"

"My daughter acquitted herself as she was meant to, as I taught her, or neither of you would be here right now" Daeghun's voice scarcely grew any louder, but there was such steel in it, such coldness that Bevil shrank back slightly "As for yourself, well I imagine you served your purpose well enough, but this is no longer your concern, this is now a matter between Phaedra and myself"

"For the Gods' sake I deserve to know why I was out wandering the Mere when I could have been helping the militia here!" Bevil held firm, his voice shaking with fury, so different to the wall of cold dismissal he met, which Phaedra could tell was only infuriating him more. She wanted to stick up for Bevil, but she knew Daeghun would never yield, and right now she just longed to know, what was this shard, and why Daeghun had buried it, and what relation it had to her mother, so it could be done. So it could be finished…

"Bevil Starling, the militia still needs your help" Daeghun answered emotionlessly "And I assure you, you can do far more for this village with them than you can here! So perhaps you should be reporting to Georg now, rather than questioning my judgement in matters which do not concern you and of which you know nothing"

"Fine" Bevil stepped back, shaking his head disgustedly "If that's what you really want" He turned to Phaedra "I'll leave this with you then Phaedra, the Gods know how you've put up with him so long" With that he turned away, his broad shoulders clenched tight with frustration as he walked back down toward the bridge, where Georg, in his distinctive mail armour, stood, overseeing rescue and retrieval from some of the blackened husks of houses.

"The shard, if you would, my daughter" Daeghun said, once Bevil was out of earshot

"How can you treat Bevil like that?" Phaedra protested. She understood Daeghun's urgency, but still…

"He had no need to hear what I am about to tell you" Daeghun answered coldly "And he speaks far too much of what he has no right to understand!" He shook his head, a tremor running over his features, of urgency, of…unease… "Now, please, give me the shard" He reached out, his bony, calloused hand almost shaking, Phaedra was staggered by his response, emotions she had never seen in her foster-father before, what secrets did this shard hold to affect him so deeply? Nonetheless she dutifully lifted her own hand and opened her fingers, where she had held the shard the whole journey back from the ruins, feeling the pulse of magic from within it tingling over her palm, a rhythmic feeling that seemed to mirror the beating of her pulse in her wrist. At the sight of it, Daeghun gave a hoarse gasp, quickly stifled, but nonetheless he took it from her, holding it fleetingly between his fingers as though it were a precious memory he at once longed for, and feared above all else "This shard is not the only one of its kind Phaedra" He began, and his voice was perfectly level, and perfectly under control, but Phaedra sensed that it was taking a tremendous amount of effort behind his outward stillness to keep it that way "We found it days after that terrible battle that consumed West Harbour sixteen years ago. It was one of a pair we discovered, but I have no doubt there were others, perhaps now lost. I had this, and the other, examined by a mage from Neverwinter, no, not Tarmas, another but he claimed to be able to detect nothing magical within them, he could tell us nothing of their nature"

"I sense something from is father" Phaedra pointed out, the more she had held it, the stronger the sense of magic had become. Her whole self yearned to touch it again, how unsettling "There is something there"

"Strange" Daeghun turned the silver piece over in his hand, gazing at it intently, the light upon its silver surface gleamed within his hard green eyes "Perhaps it was awakened by this attack" He raised his head, met her eyes "Then it is even clearer, the goal of this raid was the shard. There is no other explanation, and as long as it remains here, we are all in danger"

"And, the second shard…?" Phaedra questioned, almost afraid to hear the answer

"That remains in Neverwinter, in the care of someone I trust" Daeghun explained, then sighed, as though he were being forced to give up information he did not wish to share "My half-brother, his name is Duncan Farlong" Phaedra started with surprise. Daeghun had never spoken of any family, let alone a brother in the great city of Neverwinter itself! "Duncan, like Bevil, has many flaws, so I prefer not to dwell on our kinship" Daeghun continued, seeing her shock "But he can be trusted, he will have kept that shard, as I instructed him"

"What do we do then?" Phaedra rubbed her head against her sleeve exhaustedly, barely able to keep track of these dizzying revelations. But she knew that Daeghun would not have told her this lightly, he would have something for her to do

"We cannot allow this shard to remain in West Harbour" Daeghun said "That is clear, not while these creatures are looking for it. There is only one place it will be safe, where you will be able to discover what information we require on it, and the purpose of these Astral beings in hunting it, Neverwinter. You must take the shard there, in the Docks District of the city my brother runs an inn, it is known as the Sunken Flagon…"

"What?" Phaedra staggered backwards, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing "That's it, you want me to leave, to go for ever?" This was impossible. Daeghun had never been a demonstrative parent, but this cold logic, discussing, ordering her to leave without a trace of emotion in his voice.

"It is the only way lass" Daeghun shook his head "You harbour some affection for this village, do you not? This shard puts everything here at risk. There is no one who has the ability, the learning, to take it to the city but you. I cannot believe you would want any more to die, as Amie did…"

"How dare you?" Phaedra cried, her voice harsh "How can you say that? You don't care about anyone, not her, not me. I would do everything for this village, but you…!"

"I know what I must do, daughter" He was still so calm, but, as always, his voice cut across her own, and forced her into silence "But I also understand what I cannot do. You could not have saved Amie, Phaedra, no one could" Silenced completely, Phaedra raised her trembling hands to her face, even her anger at Daeghun melted away before the torrent of grief that accompanied his words, oh Amie…

"Why father?" Phaedra whispered helplessly "Why, did this happen, to us, to everyone?"

"Once, I asked myself that question Phaedra" Daeghun glanced away, his gaze focusing on something far in the distance, like the memory of a face "But there is no answer. You can only decide how you choose to act upon it afterwards, to dwell on grief, to let it crush you, or do what you must" So, he had faced that choice, and chosen the latter course, but did she truly have to make herself as hard as Daeghun had in order to escape this pain

"I…I…will take it then" She gasped, a short, sharp breath, her lungs seemed starved, choked, by this sorrow

"That is the best way to honour your friend" Daeghun said. He paused, and sighed, his green eyes softening slightly, for a moment "Now go, get some rest. You must leave in the morning"


	6. Chapter 6

_So, Chapter 6, and Phaedra leaves West Harbour, next chapter will be introducing Khelgar Ironfist! Hope you're excited!_

_Thanks to whiterabbit369 and to jeandark for reviews. It's so nice to get such a positive reception on my first story, it really motivates me! If you have anything critical don't hesitate to say it either though! I'm always looking for ways to improve_

_Thanks to TheSparkleQueen for putting me on alerts too, and jeandark for favourite and alerts._

_And thanks again to voltagelisa for another review, alert, favourites and all-round general support!_

The mere was silver beneath the iron-grey sky. The dawn had brought with it a sullen covering of cloud, soon rain would wipe West Harbour clean. But it would take a lot more to erase the effects of this attack from the hearts and minds of West Harbour's people. During the night a bonfire had been raised and the bodies of the invaders burnt, the embers still smouldered and smoked in the midst of the Starling farmland. Most of the villagers were still in a state of shock, clustering hopelessly about, asking questions no one knew the answer to. Phaedra knew she should stay, help with the rebuilding of people's lives and their livelihoods, but during the night she had thought long and hard and settled her resolve. The shard, it was magic, she felt it every time it was near, and there was no other reason the invaders could have come. She had to take it away, far away, before they came back. But it was still so difficult. She stood up upon the hill above the village, near her home and gazed down at the simple, unmarked mound of earth, Amie's grave, feeling the wind touch her golden hair, stirring it about her, and she sighed levelly. Could she truly do this, do as Amie would have done, do as Amie had always wanted?

"I'm so sorry Amie" She murmured, what right did she have to live Amie's dream? "I just wanted to say…" She slowly lowered herself to the floor before her friend's grave "I'm sorry" Reaching forward, she touched the earth on the surface of the grave, stirring the thick, black soil under her fingers…

"Phaedra" Daeghun, she turned her head, her foster-father stood just behind her, his gaze inscrutable, he bore with him a leather bag in which he had packed carefully prepared supplies, food collected from Daeghun's winter stalls, and some of his hard-earned coin. With luck, it would be enough for the journey ahead "Are you ready to leave, my daughter?"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded slowly, standing and brushing down her dress, scattering black clumps of earth. Carefully she examined her gear one last time, making sure she had everything she needed. She wore a grey gown, simple and serviceable, but resonant with memory, Retta Starling had made it for her once, in simpler times, and also her well-worn leather boots. Across her back was her trusted longbow, and a quiver filled with arrows, one of Daeghun's daggers hung at her belt, alongside a small pouch which carried the silver shard, that Phaedra wanted to keep close. She knew she looked like…someone else, like an adventurer perhaps about to set out on a quest, like a true warrior.

"Good" Daeghun slung her pack across her shoulders, completing the effect. "Come, there is no time to waste. You must be away from the village before noon. As we speak those creatures may be gathering again"

"Do you think they will follow me?" Phaedra asked softly

"Yes" Daeghun replied curtly "But moving you will stand a chance, as it is West Harbour won't survive another attack. Be cautious and remember what I taught you, the Mere will serve you, if you walk it with wisdom" Phaedra nodded gravely. She was leaving West Harbour, perhaps for ever...leaving the people she knew as friends, the place she knew as home, what awaited her on the road to Neverwinter, and within the city's great walls, places she knew only though books? But then Daeghun's hand fell upon her shoulder, gently pressuring her to take that first step…and so she did, knowing that she stepped over the precipice to a whole new life. Together, then, she and Daeghun made their way down from the graves toward the boundary of village and Mere, Phaedra glanced back once, seeing the mound of dark earth upon the ridge, beneath the sparkling rays of light that escaped the thick cover of grey cloud, remembering Amie…then she had to turn away, and let that memory fall aside. It was important most of all that she focus on the future now.

Down at the gateway, she felt her heart leap to see Brother Merring, Georg, Tarmas, and both Retta and Bevil Starling waiting upon the dark, wet pathway, each looking concerned and exhausted. Daeghun sighed irritably, but Phaedra was very glad to see them. She didn't want to leave West Harbour without firmly fixing the memory of all her friends into her mind, without hearing their voices one last time.

"Elf!" Tarmas blustered, as they approached, the concerned little group fanned outward as all five came to meet them "What in Mystra's name do you think you're doing?"

"Sending Phaedra off alone the Gods know where just when we need her the most!" Retta Starling snapped, seizing Phaedra's arm protectively. A middle-aged woman, aged by the griefs and troubles of a hard life, her beauty long since faded, she had lived through many sorrows. But she had weathered them all, preserving the warmth of her home, and her motherly kindness, to many of West Harbour's children, Bevil's friends especially. Perhaps she had been the source of that rumour…about marrying Bevil, for it was true she had longed for such a match…now seeing Phaedra off seemed to be more than she could bear.

"I am sending her to Neverwinter Retta" Daeghun said, his voice calm and cold "You of all people know she will be safe there"

"Neverwinter?" Georg repeated, aghast, shaking his head "Why?"

"I think we found what the creatures were looking for" Phaedra explained carefully "I have to take it to Neverwinter, to keep us all safe"

"You found…it?" Georg gasped hoarsely

"Aye" Daeghun answered, stepping forward to the centre "It is a shard, a silver shard, from the battle sixteen years ago"

"A shard?" Brother Merring whispered, horrified "So many dead, over a trinket?"

"No…that doesn't make sense Daeghun!" Tarmas erupted "You just found this item? Where? I, for one, have sensed nothing of the sort? And where were you during the first attacks anyway…?"

"I was at my wife's grave Tarmas" Daeghun fixed the wizard in a cold stare "We elves do not forget our grief as soon as do your kind, nor do we set aside loyalties paid in blood. Do you truly think I would betray this village, for which Shayla gave her life?" Tarmas stepped back, silenced.

"So, this shard?" Georg continued thoughtfully "It…is magic?"

"We're trying to find out more" Phaedra answered "That's why I have to leave"

"Well, that does sound important" Georg considered, he sighed "I can't say I like this…but if you're really right, we can't afford to let this go"

"Is this it then?" Retta murmured, her hand tightening around Phaedra's arm "You're really leaving…I don't believe it…"

"Retta" Phaedra reached forward, laid her smooth hand over the older woman's wrinkled one "As soon as I know its safe, I can come back"

"But you won't stay, will you?" Retta sighed "That's what happens" She paused sadly "I promised your dear mother I'd look out for you. But if you're set on this, there's nothing I nor anyone else can say which would stop you. Here, take this…" She pulled a bundle from the folds of her dress, a cloak "I made it for you, for this harvest, wear it and think of old Retta from time to time"

"I won't ever forget you" Phaedra whispered, taking the garment. It was fine wool, dyed a deep sky blue, but sturdy enough to shield one from the worst of the weather, Retta had always taken such care, even in the smallest thing.

"Somehow I knew you'd leave some day" Retta sighed "I wanted to ask you, maybe, while you're in Neverwinter, could you look up my dear Lorne? I don't know if you could find anything but even the smallest thing would help put my heart at rest"

"Of course I will Retta" Phaedra gently kissed the woman who had been like a mother to her from her earliest years, perhaps, in leaving, she could do some good for the Starling after all, as well as inflicting such sorrow and worry on the family. She would do what she could.

"Gods bless you Phaedra" Retta murmured, stepping back, tears pouring from her watery blue eyes, and letting her hand fall from Phaedra's arm.

"Well, it's come to this, I suppose Blake" Georg said, as Phaedra turned to him "I don't like this at all, but your father's right. I've seen you in action; you're one of few I could trust with something so important. But, here's some advice. In West Harbour, we look out for each other, but in the cities it's a different story. Listen, you have…you're a pretty young woman Phaedra, there's a kind of man who you should look to avoiding" He sighed roughly "You've got sense, look past a few pretty compliments"

"I will be careful" Phaedra promised

"Somehow I don't think this will be as simple as your father claims" Georg shook his head "But fare you well wherever the road takes you"

"Phaedra, if you find yourself lost in the shadows, there is an enclave of the Church in the Blacklake District of Neverwinter" Brother Merring advised "Dawnbringer Natisse is a good and wise woman, she will be able to help you" He lowered his head "I always knew your destiny would lead you away from this place, but I only wish it was under better circumstances." He reached into the robe under his neck, drew from it a glittering chain, upon which hung a bronze medallion, with an etching of the sun sending out rays of light upon it; his amulet of Lathander "Here, take this" He handed it to her, it fell over her pale hand, a glittering sheen dangling down beneath her fingers…

"I can't take this" Phaedra gasped

"No, you must" Merring's hand closed over hers "It is yours now, along with the blessing of our Lord. He shall always be with you"

"Lathander's blessings, or no, you've chosen a most inconvenient time to leave" Tarmas began snappishly, as Phaedra turned next to him "There are still questions about this attack, questions I mean to see answered. But with Amie dead, and you off to Neverwinter it won't be so easy" He frowned darkly "That girl, I raised her, but I didn't ask her to sacrifice herself on her behalf! If you do find that mage again, don't be blinded by emotion like she was!"

"I understand" Phaedra answered gently. He too grieved for Amie, perhaps even more than she did. His bluster was only a way of hiding such shock and confusion as could have completely destroyed him.

"There is little more I can do for you then" Tarmas replied, softening slightly "Take this" He handed her the book he had been holding, an ancient tome bound with leather and inscribed with magical runes "It contains a few useful spells that should help you on the way" She took it, smiling sadly. From now on, she would learn from others…but Tarmas' teachings would always be with her. It was with a heavy heart that she turned lastly, to Bevil.

"So, you really are leaving?" He said, swallowing hard "I never really thought it would come to this"

"I…I know" Phaedra sighed "Neither did I" Bevil laid a gentle hand on her shoulder

"But you have to do what you can to protect the village" he said softly "And that's leaving. Maybe, if things were happening differently, I'd come with you, but I also have my duty. For me, that's staying here, doing what I can to help everyone get back on their feet"

"The village is in safe hands then" Phaedra answered quietly.

"I'll do what I can" he replied "But you look out for yourself understand? And don't forget you're a Harbourman, there's no way you should let those city dwellers walk all over you!" Phaedra tried to speak, but the sorrow she was trying so hard to suppress clamped about her throat painfully. First Amie, now Bevil would be lost to her until she found what this shard was, how to stop those creatures coming a second time. She could hardly bear it, as she gently embraced him, without collapsing into a flood of tears. "When you're a grand adventurer, I'll be sure to tell everyone that you grew up a swamp-smelling Harbourman" Bevil almost choked as he spoke, but managed to hold back "Good luck Phaedra"

"Is that all?" Daeghun said, as Phaedra exchanged a last, grief-stricken glance with every one of them. "Come, the road awaits you."

"Farewell" Phaedra whispered. "I won't forget. As soon as I can, I will come back" She wasn't sure if they all heard, but Bevil certainly did. He jerked backwards, as though stung…hadn't his brother promised the same thing?

"You will travel to Highcliff to the east Phaedra" Daeghun ordered "There you will find a ship's captain, Captain Flinn, an old acquaintance of mine. Tell him that you're my daughter and he will take you on to Neverwinter free of charge on his ship, the Double Eagle"

"Why not travel over land?" Georg asked thoughtfully

"Do not breathe a word of this Georg" Daeghun snapped "But that is exactly what they will expect. The passage north will be watched so her only hope is to travel by sea. Perhaps I am being too cautious, but I would rather not put my daughter in unnecessary danger." He nodded slowly, turning again to speak to her "Phaedra, remember travel fast and light. I now you have a trusting nature, but I urge you to be careful. Something is not right here, this attack is only a facet of some greater scheme"

"Father…" Phaedra whispered

"There is gold in your pack, should you need it" he continued "And supplies to last you to Highcliff. And Phaedra…I hope you realise that these shards cannot be the only ones. The creatures will no doubt attempt to search for others, as should you, if you ever hope to see this mystery resolved" He stepped back, nodded curtly "That is all then, the journey awaits you, there is no more time for sentiment"

"Goodbye father" Phaedra turned, glancing deeply into his green eyes. For a moment a glimmer of emotion welled within them, a flicker of the deep, abiding agony of Daeghun's long, long life.

"Go daughter" Daeghun said "There is nothing more to say" Phaedra stepped back, taking in in one painful look the village of West Harbour and the people that had made it her home, one last time, one last. Then she at last felt herself turn away and begin the long journey, one agonising step at a time. At the crest of the hill, she turned back just once more. Daeghun had already left, nursing the agony he could never express, Retta had buried herself against her son, crying helplessly, Brother Merring, Georg and Tarmas were walking away, each to their separate homes, each to their separate lives. Only Bevil still watched her, as though he would never look away, as though he could never look away, as though he had a thousand things he'd wanted to say, but he only had the words now she'd gone. She still felt that gaze long after she had left the village behind.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7; my apologies for moving so fast, hope you can keep up! I just have most of this written already, and I really want to share it, and hear what you think._

_Thanks to all my reviewers and fans, see how you like this chapter, let me know!_

The Mere of Dead Men, silent as a tomb, the grave for a thousand heroes, the grave for uncounted villages, the grave for Phaedra's old life, for the hopes and dreams she might have once had. As she walked, cloaked in the profound silence, she felt the ghosts of the past walk with her, a past she seemed to leave further and further behind with each step. The bleak silence of the Mere, mist-cloaked, serene, and the steady step along the small, well-trodden path, set her mind to a strange, restful contemplation as she examined the events of her past with a new clarity. Amie…wherever she was, was at rest, and someday, Gods willing, Phaedra would see her again. Phaedra knew she had to look past the tragedy of her death, to the happiness of her life, she carried her friend's dreams and hopes with her, best to see it that way. Daeghun, through and despite all his anguish, which had scarred him so deep, she saw that he did value her, did love her. As did Bevil, she realised with a stab of sad resignation. And she loved him too, as her oldest and dearest friend, but not in the way he loved her. Perhaps had she have stayed in West Harbour they might have been married some day, but she felt that something would always have drawn her away from him, away from West Harbour. It was better this way; she did not want to hurt him.

The path before her was a small, rudimentary one, barely rising from the slick mud and dank pools of the swamp. It was no easy trek, she found herself thinking of the old tales of heroes and adventurers that Bevil had so loved. None had spoken of so much walking, but then again this hardly seemed like one of those adventures. She gently touched the shard within her pack, feeling the tingle of power against her fingers. She would do what she had to do, to keep everyone safe.

Daeghun had possessed a map of the Mere, hanging above the fireplace where Phaedra had once spent many a night waiting for her foster-father to return from his haunts of the swamp depths. She remembered it now, scrawled by Daeghun's own hand with careful accuracy and skill, according to it, there was an inn, the Weeping Willow, along the path. Though the Mere of Dead Men wasn't easy to travel it was surrounded to the north by the mountains known as the Spine of the World, a savage land infested with barbarous humanoids, orcs, bugbears, and even it was rumoured with the legendary Fire Giants. For most merchants the Mere was the preferred path, and a number of inns had sprung up along the routes to cater to their needs, the Weeping Willow was one such, and it would serve Phaedra's needs quite adequately. Daeghun had tended to spend even a few nights out in the swamps, but for her, especially with the thought of those terrible monsters stalking at her heels, a night out in the Mere was not an appealing prospect. Thankfully by her estimate she was sure she could reach the Inn by twilight.

As the shadows lengthened, and her thoughts grew darker, she finally spotted the warm glow of the inn ahead. Here the path had grown wider as it linked up to one of the main trade routes through the desolate Mere. The mists were gathering over the dank and shadowed pools, and Phaedra found her pace increasing, clinging to that candle flame on the gathering gloom of the horizon. The way the mist gathered, like the ghoulish dances the dead made upon their graves according to Harbourman superstition, was terrifying, and it would shield any pursuers on her trail. She felt something watching her, something cold and implacable stalking in the shadows. By the time she reached the inn she was practically running to flee from the Mere's malevolent presence.

The inn was built upon a small incline rising above the boggy ground of the Mere, a building larger than any in West Harbour and skilfully crafted from local wood, a thatched roof, and two stories, the glass windows gleaming with candle and torch light from within. It had a small fence sealing the land away from the encroachment of the Mere's dark influence, but Phaedra could see that the job was still a work in progress. The inn owned a small area of farmland as well, with strands of barley shuddering in the cool breeze, and a small number of cows and chickens. Phaedra chided herself for her fears, foolish they seemed now she stood before the flickering glow of the inn. A warm meal would be most welcome, she thought as she turned into the inn's lands, and perhaps some friendly conversation.

But as she rounded the gate she walked straight into what was clearly not a civil exchange. Three men, drunken brutes stood squaring up to a squat burly dwarf, the four stood just within the gate, within the land owned by the inn…

"You're a small one to be travelling this road by yourself dwarf" one of the men growled, raising his fist threateningly. Phaedra could smell alcohol just by looking at him.

"Why don't you try and do something about it then" the dwarf answered "I'm getting a little bored waiting for you to get started" Though Phaedra had never seen one of the mountain-dwelling dwarves, there were many tales of them, and this one was unmistakable. He stood only about to Phaedra's chest, but was built solidly, almost as broad across the shoulders as he was tall. He wore a set of battered chainmail and a large axe was set across his back, but made no move toward the weapon. Though his hair was closely shaven across his head, he more than made up for it with a beard that reached down to his chest, brown and curly, somewhat matted like the pelt of a bear. His face was marked with a number of scars, and it looked as though his nose had been broken more than once. His brown eyes sparkled with an excitement that seemed wholly inappropriate to the situation, his cheeks were red as though rubbed raw, and flushed with enthusiasm, and no doubt alcohol as well.

"Excuse me" Phaedra walked over "Is something wrong?" She had been something of a peacemaker back in West Harbour, but as the man whirled angrily on her she suddenly realised she'd probably be less than welcome to intervene in this fight.

"What in the Hells is that to you, half-elf?" he snarled "This is between us and this dwarf, and whatever money he has on him"

"So punch me already!" the dwarf bellowed "Even the lass can see you're too scared to back up those noisy threats!"

"That's enough from you dwarf, unless you want a blade in your gullet!" the man hissed "Look, half-elf, this don't concern you, just move along"

"This isn't worth someone getting hurt over" Phaedra stood her ground, speaking as gently as she could manage with the lout's rancid breath in her face.

"Hey…you're a nice-looking girl half-elf" the drunk hissed "Why not just walk on inside then once I've pounded the dwarf into the dirt we can meet up for a drink eh?" Phaedra winced, drawing backwards and the dwarf roared with laughter

"By the Gods man!" he cried "If your face and that breath of yours didn't drive the poor girl off then that certainly will!"

"Alright that's enough!" the man bellowed, wheeling violently on the dwarf "You ever see a dwarf being gutted lads?" Phaedra gasped as he pulled a sharp blade from his belt, his companions, laughing maliciously, revealed their own swords. The dwarf only smiled, and as Phaedra watched in horror and the three men advanced slowly, he rubbed his fist experimentally as though he were prepared to fight them off with nothing more than his bare hands!

"Stop!" Phaedra cried, but the men were so drunk on alcohol and mindless blood-fury that they didn't even seem to hear her. The dwarf on the other hand, to her utter shock, gave her a perfectly lucid wink. Well there was only one way to stop this! As she began the first spell that sprung to mind, the dwarf suddenly leapt into action, swinging aside from the blade of one of his attackers, he pulled a punch straight into the man's face, and a sickening crack sounded so loud that Phaedra almost lost the thread of her spell. As the dwarf pranced into another attack, she suddenly let it loose. A burst of white light radiated forth so bright and with a burst of force so powerful that Phaedra fell backwards. She heard a scream, a thud, the dwarf cried out in surprise.

Then suddenly it was over, Phaedra gasped with pain as she pulled herself up. She had studied that particular stunning spell theoretically, but she really hadn't expected it to be so powerful. In front of her, the three drunken brutes were lying prone on the floor, dead to the world, the spell had done its work then. Standing over one of them, who had blood seeping from a broken nose, the dwarf was scowling furiously.

"By the Gods, lass!" he growled "Warn someone before you break up a brawl like that"

"Are you alright?" Phaedra asked, she had been careful not to include the dwarf in the spell's effect and was glad it had worked.

"Yeah…I guess so" he shrugged, brushing himself off "Thing is, I was kind of looking forward to giving those puppies the beating they deserved. Imagine pulling knives for a good honest brawl, some people just can't fight fair I suppose" He grinned, glancing down at his fallen foes with a certain triumphant air. Phaedra blinked, unsure whether he was being serious or not. His attitude seemed remarkably cavalier seeing as the men had just been threatening his life, but she suddenly remembered how he had goaded the drunkards mercilessly, and the swagger with which he had approached the fight in the first place. Remembering suddenly what stories she had heard of dwarves like him, fond of strong drink in large quantities and of fist-fights and brawls, she decided she probably ought not to be surprised.

"Sorry, I thought you were in trouble" she said

"Trouble?" the dwarf snorted with genuine amusement "From those drunken humans. Clearly you haven't heard the name Khelgar Ironfist before" He glanced at her to see if this was true, and she shook her head, at which he frowned with disappointment, but then instantly brightened again "Well, now you have" he added cheerfully

"I'm Phaedra Blake, of West Harbour" Phaedra replied

"So tell me" Khelgar asked, looking curious "What's a thin slip of a half-elf girl from a swamp village doing out here, and with some pretty showy magic up her sleeve as well" Phaedra hesitated for a moment, but dismissed her doubts and Daeghun's words from her mind. Khelgar seemed entirely sincere, and scarcely any sort of type to be with those who might hunt the shard she bore.

"I'm on my way to Neverwinter" she said

"Hey!" Khelgar laughed "I'm on my way there too. Say, why don't we get on inside and have a drink, then I can tell you the whole tale?"

"Yes thank you" Phaedra smiled back at him, something about him put her instantly at ease, he seemed to be just simply carefree as though nothing bothered him in the world, something she found rather refreshing after all the troubles she had faced thus far. "What should I do about them?" She glanced down at their stunned victims.

"I'll tell the innkeeper on the way in, he'll get them inside" Khelgar said, casually stepping over one of them. "This isn't the first time, I tell you"

ooooo0000oooo

"So I punched him for asking" Khelgar was saying, as Phaedra sipped the warm milk provided by the innkeeper "As he was spitting blood and teeth onto the floor he made a few choice remarks about my heritage, so I asked him to take it outside…and well I guess you know the rest" He took a long draught from the mug of ale before him, it seemed as though that constituted an end to the rather lively tale of how he'd faced up to the three drunken brawlers here in the tavern…

"So anyway, why are you going to Neverwinter?" Phaedra asked, glancing around the warm, well-lit interior of the Weeping Willow. The rooms were upstairs, including the one Phaedra had rented for the night. The walls were decorated with a sweeping mural of a willow, its slender branches trailing over the walls in a great swirling pattern, and the innkeeper, a tall, middle-aged man stood cleaning a few ale mugs by the wooden bar, as Phaedra watched, he cast a dirty look at Khelgar. He hadn't really appreciated having to clear up the three stunned bodies. However he did have other concerns, Phaedra and Khelgar weren't the only ones sitting down in the Willow's common room, arranged over the inn's haphazard layout of roughly crafted tables and chairs were a couple of groups, merchants and their guards, few spoke, seeming more prepared to down increasing quantities of ale…

"Well I heard there's a monastery there that will teach anybody how to be a monk" Khelgar explained "And I figured I'd give it a try"

"A monk?" Phaedra stared at him. The idea of a serene, warrior-priest, a disciplined warrior serving inner perfection, was so at odds with what she'd seen of Khelgar's impulsive, ale-drinking character that she wasn't sure if he was joking or not. Monks were somewhat legendary, even in West Harbour she had heard of their cloistered monasteries, where they strived to achieve physical perfection through ascetic exercises, honing their minds and formidable spirits alongside their bodies.

"Aye" he said earnestly "That's the short of it"

"But why?" Phaedra questioned

"Well the thing is I didn't always want to be a monk" Khelgar began, but suddenly he stopped, his head tilting as though he caught something in the air. "Hey, did you hear something?" Phaedra glanced up. Everything seemed quiet to her, almost too quiet. Khelgar slowly stood up, pulling from his shoulders the large waraxe he had borne there, whatever he had heard, this was serious.

"What is it?" Phaedra asked unnerved. She pushed herself upward from the table, drawing her bow from her back, holding an arrow at the ready.

Then suddenly there was a crash from outside, Phaedra staggered back involuntarily, she knew this, she knew what it was, how? Then the door slammed open, split by a blade right in two, and framed by the dark, profound night was a rearing shadow, a Bladeling. Its fearsome scaled, spined form, grey sallow skin, bone spines, it bore a fearsome curved blade, hooked twice at the tip, and around it the darkness gathered, though its eyes burned with a fierce fire.

"The Kalach-cha!" it crowed "Find it!" Phaedra almost screamed, how had they found her? Raising its sword it roared, and a swarm of the vile grey dwarves, thralls once again, poured into the inn around it, bellowing inhuman war cries, their own forest of blades gleaming, the Bladeling pulled in behind them, baying for blood. No…she could not let this happen! She would fight!

Phaedra let fly an arrow, moving almost automatically, through the shock and fear pumping through her veins. The shot swung unerringly at the nearest dwarf and struck him down just as Khelgar cannoned into the fray, his axe swinging violently. Phaedra, whispering enchantments, cast forth a web of protective spells around him, the slow motion of her hands drawing light in the air which glowed around the dwarf, but he barely seemed to need her protection, he moved so fast and with such vicious effectiveness from foe to foe that none of them were even able to strike at him. The merchant guards quickly joined him, their blades flashing, forcing the dwarves back, as Phaedra fired arrow after arrow, cutting off all sense of revulsion, of pity as the monsters fell beneath her shots, these were no innocents and they would keep killing until she stopped them! She whispered another spell and a loop of electricity launched from her fingers and leapt into one of the dwarf foot-soldiers, he screamed harshly, falling to the ground, clawing at his neck, then in an instant he was dead. The Bladeling commander hissed, its alien eyes met with hers, and she saw it recognising the threat. At once it flung itself forward, its vicious blade dancing with deadly precision, it moved effortlessly through the fray, casting aside any who got in its way, its thalls and enemies alike, making straight for her. Phaedra aimed an arrow at it, but as she let fly its blade swung with superhuman speed, sweeping sideways, catching the arrow, it cluttered uselessly into the wall. Chanting arcane words frantically, she flung a bolt of fire forward with a sweeping gesture, drawing magic, but the spell dissipated uselessly against the steely scales of the creature. Momentarily shocked, Phaedra staggered backwards against the table, then suddenly it was in front of her, its blade swung. As it lunged, she leapt backwards onto the table, the blow missed by a hair's breadth.

Suddenly one of the guards darted in. He struck at the Bladeling as it pulled back to attack once again. Focused on Phaedra it barely managed to avoid the blow, but somehow it lunged out of the way. In the next instant it quickly struck back, with nothing more than its bare arm but the blow sent him flying against the wall. But the second's distraction was all it took, and Phaedra fired an arrow from point blank range straight into its neck. It froze, gasping, gagging, and clawed at the arrow with one hand, a hiss emerging from between its lips, opening and closing pathetically, as a watery grey blood flowed from the wound…then it fell back, crashing to the floor. Phaedra breathed a desperate gasp of relief, pushing herself up and breathing heavily. By Lathander that had been so close, she had almost been killed! Quickly she glanced around the stricken inn, the attack seemed to be over, the dwarves slain to the last, their cold limp bodies lying in the midst of shattered tables, chairs, and a trickling growing pool of blood the smell of which rose to Phaedra's nostrils, choking her. The guards, those who remained, were shocked, stunned, glaring down at their dead opponents as though hardly able to believe their alien appearances.

"By the Gods lass" Khelgar came up next to her, through the blood spattered over his armour and face he seemed unhurt, none of it was his though "You know these creatures eh?" Phaedra nodded slowly, moving over to where the guard who had bravely attacked the Bladeling lay, smashed against the wall, his limbs scattered sideways, his back arched, his eyes wide and unseeing. He had saved her life. She carefully knelt over him, felt gently at his pulse, but it was silent. Her eyes fluttered, tears flickering in her lashes, but she could not look away from his face, an ordinary face, like anyone's, but here it was, the man who had saved her life and given his own, she did not even know his name…

"Thank you" she whispered, reaching forward to close his eyes with a gentle touch of her fingers

"Say, for a slip of a half-elven you sure seem to get into a lot of trouble" Khelgar came up next to her, his voice, despite the typically carefree choice of words, was sympathetic "Are you alright?

Phaedra tore herself away from the body, standing up unsteadily. The man's death had stricken her profoundly, as though this single incident encapsulated all the tragedies that had followed her since this began. Beneath her furiously beating heart, charged with fear, she felt a sea of grief so deep that she could barely breathe. The shard nestled at her belt, it was this, it had brought more deaths, more grief and those monstrous, cursed creatures had killed more to recover it, what horror it was to have to bear this!

"I'm alright" she whispered at last

"I can't believe it!" the innkeeper shuddered, padding over on unsteady steps, he looked utterly shaken, though he had not taken part in the battle "Gods, this is the end for my business! Once word gets out…"

"You're lucky you still have a business!" Khelgar thundered

"What are these things?" someone asked, Phaedra glanced up, seeing the cluster of shocked men but she could not speak, could not explain, the words simply would not come. It was all too hard. A part of her knew she should leave, move on, before they came after her again, before she put more people in danger by her presence. But she was so exhausted, barely able to stand let alone walk on into the Mere, and grief weighed her down. If she could just stay for one night…just one night, then she could leave…she was simply too weak to do otherwise.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8's the shortest chapter yet, I'm sure you'll be relieved to know. We're just getting to know Khelgar a little bit now, before we head onto Fort Locke and Neeshka next chapter._

_Thanks to Llandaryn for the comprehensive review of Chapter 1, if you get this far I want to thank you again._

_The rest of you, keep reading and reviewing!_

Phaedra had woken, from long habit, at the crack of dawn, and performed the Morning Rites to Lathander. It was a simple ritual, but profoundly important to devotees of the Morninglord like herself from the small inn bedroom, asking a special blessing for the journey ahead. Far away it seemed, back home, Brother Merring would be enacting the same prayers. Perhaps he would think of her and ask the Morninglord's protection on her, even so she had to keep her wits about her from now on. After what had happened the night before she now knew better than to be complacent. It amazed her how quickly the creatures had tracked her down, after only a day's travelling. What else would be waiting for her on the journey ahead?

Preoccupied by these melancholy thoughts, she left her room, carrying her packs and bow with her, and walked down the stairs to the inn's main room. During the night the guards who had succumbed to their wounds had been buried in the courtyard, Phaedra had stayed awake long enough to witness the interring of the man who had saved her life, whose face she swore she would remember and let remind herself of the cost of what she was doing. The bladeling and the dwarves had been consigned to the flames. Within, now, the innkeeper was desperately trying to undo the damage from the battle, straightening tables and chairs, scrubbing bloodstains from the floor. Mostly the place was empty, she supposed many of the survivors must have left even earlier, last night all talk had been of fleeing as fast as possible. However to her surprise she caught sight of Khelgar was standing by the doorway, looking as though he was waiting for someone. When he spotted her he walked over purposefully.

"I'll make this short, lass" he said "Since we're both travelling to Neverwinter and trouble seems to follow you like a faithful hound, why don't we go on together? I'm sure to get a lot more practice with you, and you look as though you need a little help"

"You want to travel with me?" Phaedra asked, suddenly noticing that he had brought with him not only his fearsome axe, but also a hefty pack, and he was wearing his chain mail again.

"Why not?" Khelgar shrugged "You seem alright for a slip of a half-elf, and you're handy with that bow of yours. But the road's a lot more dangerous these days, you might welcome the help"

"Well, thank you Khelgar" Phaedra smiled for the first time in a while "You're welcome to travel with me" It hadn't taken her long to decide, despite Daeghun's harsh warnings back on the path out of West Harbour. Khelgar had helped her out greatly, and he seemed entirely guileless, nothing about him even suggested a capacity for any kind of treachery. Besides, she was vulnerable to these creatures at short range, he could be a great help if they ambushed her again.

"What are we waiting for then?" Khelgar grinned, and Phaedra felt her heart warm already, despite everything, and she knew she had made the right decision "You ready lass?" Phaedra nodded "Well then, let's be off"

Travelling with Khelgar now from the Mere was certainly very different to the earlier serenity of Phaedra's journey towards the Weeping Willow. He always seemed to have something to say, and took a moment of contemplative silence as a personal insult. As they walked, the Mere seemed to become more hospitable, the mists had scattered and the sun was shining brightly sparkling on the many pools spread across the grassy, soft patches of swampland overgrown with reeds and dank grasses, like scattered jewels. Phaedra found herself telling Khelgar the entire tale as they trudged onward; she even showed him the shard she held close. Though he was interested he couldn't tell her very much, remarking that he had never been much of a metal-smith, leastways one of the skill which would be required to discern the nature of the mysterious silver piece. In general he seemed most fascinated by her accounts of the battle of West Harbour, what foes she had faced so far, the fact that some unknown extraplaner race was hunting her did not bother him in the slightest.

"If they send another pack after us we'll send them running straight back" was all he had to say on the matter. Phaedra found his confidence some comfort, but still, having seen what she had, his words also gave her pause, these creatures were not to be taken lightly. However she sensed any words on her part would have no effect. Having explained her situation though she decided to ask him a little more about his "Well we of the clan Ironfist have a long and glorious history, only I'm no scholar so you'd have to ask someone else about that" he began once she had "And me personally, I've made quite a name for myself down south as a brawler, fighting's what I do, it's been my life since I left the Ironfists behind"

"Why?" Phaedra asked, then hesitated as Khelgar glanced up to her with puzzlement in his gaze "No, it's just I was wondering, why are you so eager to fight?"

"What?" Khelgar glanced down, confused, he hardly seemed to be able to understand the question, as though he couldn't imagine himself without considering the savage brawls "Eager to fight? I suppose I am. Well, see it this way lass, others might take pride in their craft, or in a well-cast spell if you happen to be a sorcerer like you, but for me, nothing compares to the feeling when you're the last one left standing after a brawl in some rowdy tavern, and there's drinks to go round for afterwards"

"And, what does this have to do with becoming a monk?" Phaedra shook her head, each to their own as Retta might have said. If Khelgar was to travel with her, well, she would try to understand him at least.

"Well it all began a couple weeks back, in a tavern down south…" he answered, grinning "It was a typical brawl, there were chairs getting smashed, people going flying around the tavern, you know the sort of thing" Phaedra nodded, though she certainly did not "I'd just pounded someone into the floor, when I noticed there were a bunch of skinny humans sitting in the midst of all this, just drinking water, water I ask you!" He shook his head, as though the idea offended him "While everyone else is having a great time, there they were, just sitting. So I ran on over, and asked them what in the Hells they were doing"

"You shouted at them?" Phaedra found herself beginning to smile

"Well, maybe I dragged one of them off his chair, and maybe I smashed a mug on his head…" he continued ruefully "But anyway they attacked me, now I know how to brawl but these humans, they moved so fast I couldn't land a punch, it was like there were two, three of each of them at once. I got smashed into the floor, used as a bar rag, then thrown right out through the window, by the Gods it was incredible, best beating I've ever had! So, as soon as I'd stood up and brushed off all the blood, I went on over to those humans and thanked them for it. They seemed a bit surprised, but bought me a round of ale all the same, couldn't get them to have any themselves though"

"They were monks" Phaedra nodded, the monastic orders, some dedicated to one God, others to nothing more than the art of fighting, were formidable indeed, their almost supernatural abilities in battle a product of years of training to hone the mind, to bring such an inner peace that fighting came almost instinctively.

"Yes" Khelgar nodded enthusiastically "Imagine, a whole life dedicated to brawling, they train for years in these monasteries of theirs, learning how to fight. By the Gods I'd like to know what it is they learn"

"Are you sure that's all of what being a monk is about" Phaedra said. She'd heard that for monks the state of mind was as important as the state of the body, they aimed for inner perfection, not exactly what Khlegar seemed to be aspiring for

"It sure is!" Khelgar protested vehemently "Those monks beat me like I was a yearling cub"

"I'm sure it's a little more cerebral than that" Phaedra answered carefully

"You mean like head-butting someone?" Khelgar asked, completely seriously "Because they sure could head-butt hard, it felt like a bull charging into you"

"Being a monk isn't about violence" Phaedra smiled helplessly

"Shows how much you know" Khelgar shrugged. Phaedra almost laughed, only the seriousness on Khelgar's face made her stop. Well, once they got to Neverwinter, she might stay around to find out how Khelgar's quest went.

They camped that night in a cave Phaedra discovered just off the path, a sort of hollow buried in a small hill. It was warm, dry and thankfully uninhabited, rock walls, the earthen floor covered in a fine layer of sand. Lit by the warmth of a fire Phaedra conjured, Khelgar declared having a mage around was very useful, it became quite warm and homely. After a plentiful dinner, Khelgar ate almost as much as he talked and bore the weight of an ox in supplies, they fell to talking of her Astral pursuers once again. For Phaedra, the knowledge of their continuing pursuit hung very close in the flickering shadows cast by the flames before her. Conversely Khelgar approached the subject casually, almost gladly, he was thinking the same thing she was, that the creatures would be coming for her, but for him that was an appealing prospect rather than a terrifying one.

"They seemed to say something about a kalach-cha" Phaedra remembered "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Well its no proper dwarven curse, that's for sure" Khelgar shrugged "You think they were talking about that shard of yours?"

"Maybe" Phaedra answered "Somehow it sounds familiar, like I've heard it somewhere before…"

"Another mystery then" Khelgar snorted "You seem to carry plenty of those around with you"

"Yes" Phaedra sighed, so much had happened over the last two days but she still knew so little. "I think we should get some sleep, it'll be a long walk to Fort Locke tomorrow."

But long after Khelgar was asleep, his heavy breaths loud within the small hollow, she lay awake, wrapped in her soft woven blankets and the bedroll between her and the floor, wondering. Why was the shard she bore so important to the creatures? Where had they come from? And why did the comforting hum of its magic seem so familiar? As she drifted between dream and reality, the name Kalach-cha rang in her mind like the tolling of a bell, but somehow it was the beat of her heart that spelled out the alien word. What did it mean? And why did it resonate so deeply within her?


	9. Chapter 9

_So, Chapter 9, Reader(s). We're getting on now, I loved writing Neeshka, hope you enjoy reading her as much. Just let me know if you think she's out of character, or any other problems so I can make things better. I've tried improving punctuation for those who made a comment on that, let me know if it's better, or if it needs more work. Thanks!_

_Meanwhile my thanks to Voltagelisa for continuing help, and for giving me a really good idea! You know what I'm talking about._

Thereafter the threat of the Mere seemed to slowly diminish, the path, more widely travelled, became wider and dryer, the clinging vegetation less strangulating and less poisonous and the deep pools dried and sank into the earth, making way for a haler, healthier growth of life. Khelgar seemed relieved, but for Phaedra every step forth brought with it a sense of unease and an obscure sadness. All she had ever known lay behind her now, she remembered long nights when Daeghun wandered the Mere alone, when she had knelt in Tarmas' library, poring over old tomes that spoke of the world beyond West Harbour, and the dreams which the words had roused in her feverish mind when she collapsed, exhausted with the books over her knee. Now, she was walking the very paths that led onwards to the great city of Neverwinter. She could never have imagined it, everything had happened so fast.

Despite her pensive melancholy, she couldn't but be impressed by the view stretching out before them as the Mere's lowlands rose into the foothills of the Spine of the World just ahead of them, a lawless region watched over by Neverwinter's stronghold Fort Locke, which was their next immediate destination. These hills were lush and green, carpeted with with life; though in some places bare rocks towered above the swamps, cliffs that broke the mists of the Mere, rising into the wreath of low glistening clouds high above. It was a breath-taking sight, a wondrous, sweeping beauty, so different to the Mere's even serenity. Phaedra gasped in amazement, what other wonders would she see before the journey was over?

"See, now there's a sight after those miles of stinking bog." Khelgar smiled broadly, noting her amazement. "Reminds me of home."

"Home?" Phaedra asked curiously, "Where is that?"

"The Ironfist clanhold," Khelgar answered with a heavy sigh "Across the mountains that your kind call the Spine of the World. Imagine it lass, halls of stone lit by the blistering forge and fire of craftsmen, all buried under the hills, so deep that not even the filthy orcs can find them."

"So, you really do live underground?" Phaedra gasped, trying and failing to imagine it. She had read of the dwarves many times, but talking to Khelgar about the place he really felt was home was very different to reading Tarmas' books.

"Come on lass, where else would we go?" Khelgar shook his head "There's plenty of space up here on the surface, all too much of it if you ask me, but too many elves, humans and the like. Not that I have anything against you and your kin but we'd never be left at peace out here, sooner or later we'd be dragged into one of your surface wars. But we've got enough trouble on our hands as it is, what with the orcs and bugbears at our backs the whole time" He frowned, suddenly seeming almost bitter. Phaedra bit her lip thoughtfully, the dwarves had a long history of conflict, often a tragic one. She didn't like to re-open old wounds "Ah, its okay lass" Khelgar glanced at her, she raised her head, startled. Despite his brusque exterior, it was possible Khelgar was more perceptive than he seemed. "It's not your problem…"

"Oh…" She raised her head, glancing forward along the path, as they walked "It isn't so far to Fort Locke from here, and I think there should be an inn or a place to rest there" Khelgar grunted, and they continued walking, though Phaedra, despite her interest in the subject, remained quiet. She didn't want to upset Khelgar.

From then on the road began to incline steadily, and the Mere's grip over the surrounding countryside failed as the hill rose above the thick, dank swamp. Around the well-worn path which sent up clouds of reddish dust with each step, the ground was rocky, scattered with pieces of shattered boulders that rose from a carpet of thin, dry grass. Behind them the Mere could only be seen as patches of its green amidst a sea of thick, white mist. This was it then, she had finally left it behind. It had been so sudden, between one step and the next, but there it was. She had hoped to be able to see West Harbour from the hills, but it was gone and she didn't even know where it was beneath the rolling, shifting clouds. Would she ever see it again, no…she couldn't think like that! She would return, but, she couldn't help but wonder, would she be the same person when she did? Khelgar, beside her, shook the mud from his boots and watched her sideways, he melancholy of his conversation with Phaedra had been left behind, and it seemed he was ready to speak freely again, if to distract her from thoughts of her own home.

"So this Fort Locke, its one of your human fortresses?" he asked quickly, as Phaedra turned away from the cheerless view and began to wring the last of the Mere's brackish water from her cloak.

"Yes," she answered "Neverwinter uses it to keep watch over the trade routes through the hills." Tarmas had drilled a thorough education in the complexities of the Sword Coast into her mind, with his characteristic thoroughness. Such information would no doubt help her as time went on, another thing she'd have her upbringing in West Harbour to thank for.

"So the routes really are swarming with bandits?" Khelgar seemed visibly excited by the prospect

"Yes," Phaedra smiled for a moment at his returning enthusiasm, but then abruptly felt it fade as a sober thought struck here. A few days before the attack, Georg had been complaining that Fort Locke's patrols of the hills had ceased suddenly and without explanation, leaving the area under the stewardship of the Fort completely open to the threat of the numerous and well-organised bandit clans that preyed on the rich trade route. Unlike Khelgar, she decided she would rather avoid an encounter with the desperate outlaws. Perhaps if they were careful, the pair of them might be able to slip through the hills unnoticed, but she would probably have to conceal that from Khelgar as well. "If we're quick, we should get to the Fortress before nightfall" And she would be very glad of it if they did, another night without the safety of the fort, with the creatures so close on her trail, she could not have done it.

"Lead on then," Khelgar said cheerfully.

Phaedra might have suggested avoiding the main trade route but as it was, she had nothing but a sketchy knowledge of the area gleaned from the old maps, and she knew if she left the road finding Fort Locke would be near impossible. Still she drew some small magic around the pair of them, a minor conjuration, enough to turn aside and confuse an observer, with Khelgar none the wiser they continued onwards with that meagre protection, though she was acutely aware that any strong-willed mind could penetrate these small defences.

As the shadows lengthened thick upon the stone and dusk approached, staining the open sky with black and deep smoky crimson, they came to a narrow, barren pass, sheer cliffs rose up on either side, bare rock, harsh and sharp, there was not much here, a few hardy weeds scattered amidst the rocks but little else. The fort was close, perhaps just along the gorge, if her estimation was at all accurate, and this was a source of some relief to Phaedra since the concealment on the pair of them had worn off and Khelgar seemed more than a little disappointed not to have been spotted yet. But even as she thought it, the dwarf suddenly stopped dead, his ruddy features brightening instantly, this couldn't be good.

"There's something just ahead." He announced excitedly, his fingers running over the hilt of his axe…

"What do you think it is?" Phaedra listened hard. In amidst the rocks, along the winding passage through the hills sound carried far, she heard a sudden burst of raucous laughter and a cry of pain. "Lathander, bandits," she gasped "And this close to the Fort…"

"Bah! Filthy parasites!" Khelgar drew the axe suddenly, looking startlingly belligerent "They'll thank us for sending these outlaws to the Hells!"

"It sounds like they have a prisoner." Phaedra added, staying perfectly still. Khelgar's impatience aside, they needed more information before they just charged into a group of trained warriors. "A woman, maybe." The sound was muffled and distorted, but the tone of voice was clear, defiance, anger and fear.

"All the more reason to charge them!" Khelgar snarled, yes, he was right. She would not walk by and let this happen, no bandit would be able to work against magic after all.

"Alright," She pulled her bow in hand, drawing a single arrow and slotting it into place. "But quietly Khelgar. Let's make sure we know how many of them there are first"

"Fine, if you have to," Khelgar frowned disgruntled "But sneaking around like that, it's no real warrior's way."

Nevertheless he closed in behind Phaedra, as she moved forward as silently as she could, each step a whisper on the stone, hugging the edge of the cliff, her arm running over the sharp rocks. Khelgar muttered something about elvish trickery, he had difficulty moving his stocky frame with Phaedra's grace, but he put in quite an effort, though he was almost undone by the clank of the plates of his armour.

"Leave me alone!" the female voice from earlier suddenly cried, loud and clear. Phaedra froze, the bandits had been closer than she'd realised, back along the path the sound must have been muffled by the rock, now it was startlingly close. "I've done nothing to you!"

"Well we'll have to let Commander Vallis decide that, now won't we?" a man's voice, thick and crude sounded, Commander? "But I'll give you a little warning now, tiefling, he doesn't take kindly to thievery, I'm afraid that pretty neck of yours is probably going to go through a rope"

"What is this, lass?" Khelgar glanced to her, his voice hoarse and quiet "Doesn't seem like criminals to me."

"Vallis said a there was a bounty on bandits, he didn't say they had to be alive." another man's voice "And I reckon she's a little too feisty to drag back to camp, as she is. Why don't we have a little trial ourselves, right here?"

"Come on Khelgar" Phaedra moved out from behind the rock, there was something wrong here, obviously these weren't bandits, but then what were they? Confronting her down along the rough rocky path, the cliffs high about them, were five men in identical suits of armour, uniform, silver chainmail, with roughly woven surcoats of grey, and flowing grey cloaks down to the knees, scabbards at their belts each held fearsome blades. It was a uniform she recognised, Greycloaks, as they were called, men from Neverwinter's standing army, obviously men from amongst the garrison stationed at Fort Locke, since the city had no other outposts in the immediate area. The five soldiers surrounded a single figure, a woman, closing her in, cutting off her escape, their captive was quite unlike any woman Phaedra had ever seen. Her ragged boots, patched cloak and cracked leather armour had obviously seen better days. Though she was unarmed, the soldiers had obviously seen to that, it was obvious she was an adventurer of some sort. Her unruly red hair, drawn back from her forehead to curl down, cut short, and her dark eyes were ordinary enough, but the two horns, stubs really, of bone, that emerged from her pale forehead, slightly curved, flattened against the skin, and the utterly unexpected sight of a tail, the skin darker than her own, the end a brush of red hair, the whole tail curling around itself with agitation, that snaked between the folds of her armour, marked her as something Phaedra had only ever read about…a tiefling, a creature in whom the blood of the Planes intermingled with the blood of humankind. Somewhere in this woman's ancestry, close by the conspicuousness of her planer traits, a demon or devil had mated with a human and produced a line of creatures part one world, and part the other. The blood of the infernal planes was potent, and such a progenitor would produce offspring that bore its marks for many generations hence, but such instances were rare, and tieflings themselves were rarer still.

"Hear that demon?" one of the men, a sergeant by the look of his emblazoned armour, with its bronze epaulettes, leered viciously at his captive. He looked more like a ruffian than a trained soldier, his equipment patched, his beady eyes greedy and filled with cruelty. "I think they want me to kill you."

"Hey, step away from her or you'll get an axe through the back of your skull!" Khelgar bellowed, running forward at once, Phaedra falling in behind him. Were it not for their armour these men might as well be bandits. She didn't quite understand what had happened yet but they were Neverwinter's soldiers, perhaps she could talk them into treating this woman fairly, whatever she had done.

"What in the Hells?" the sergeant turned, drawing his sword violently, then seeing Khelgar and Phaedra he smiled unpleasantly, and lowered the blade, slightly "Well, well" he said, appraising them both carefully "Are these friends of yours demon?"

"I'm your enemy to be sure!" Khelgar snarled…

"Stop Khelgar," Phaedra moved in front of the furious dwarf, then met the captain's gaze as steadily as she could "Well met sir." She said politely, best to approach this diplomatically, be sure exactly what was going on before they did anything rash "We are travellers, passing through to Fort Locke. It is good to see Greycloaks on the road at last."

"We're doing our duty." the man answered in a mocking, almost sarcastic, tone "But you know there haven't been all that many travellers lately, aside from stinking, thieving tieflings of course."

"No wonder!" the tiefling snapped "The way you harass perfectly innocent people. I'm a citizen of Neverwinter, I'll have you know, I demand my rights!"

"Why are you holding her?" Phaedra asked diplomatically. The sergeant's brazen gaze was making her very uncomfortable, set as it was where her dress was drawn against the pale flesh of her neck, but Tarmas had always advised her to talk her way out of bad situations if she could.

"Well you see the reason there haven't been a lot of travellers, much like yourselves I imagine." The sergeant replied, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, enough to make Phaedra stare at him with confusion…who did he think she was, and what exactly did he want from her? "Is that some bandits have set up a camp on the road this side of the Fort, and this demon here just happens to be one of them."

"For the last time, I'm not with those bandits!" the tiefling cried defiantly "Are you deaf or just plain stupid?"

"Stupid!" the sergeant gasped, with mock outrage, to the amusement of his comrades "And here I thought I might just let you live…But hey you're not as good-looking as your friend here so why in the Hells should I bother?"

"Hey watch it Greycloak!" Khelgar snapped violently "You're not killing anybody!"

"Are you going to stop me, dwarf?" He laughed cruelly, looking Khelgar up and down, his scornful gaze highlighting Khelgar's stature, though in Phaedra's eyes the dwarf's fury would not have gone amiss in someone ten times his size, the sergeant obviously chose not to notice this. The other soldiers joined in one the joke, slowly moving closer, their hands running to blades on their belts.

"No one needs to get hurt." Phaedra protested alarmed, this was not going the right way at all! "We can just talk!"

"Well, well, if I had known all bandits were so charming, I'd have deserted long ago." the sergeant glanced knowingly at his companions

"What?" Phaedra started forward, shocked "You think we're…!" At that he suddenly raised his sword, and turned it point-forward towards her, she stopped at once, gazing into his sharp eyes, she felt physically sick as their gazes met, such empty greed in his, a will to do anything, even claim she was a bandit and this, a Greycloak, one of Neverwinter's soldiers

"Commander Vallis is going to just love this, three bandits straying into our hold as easy as you please." he said, in his voice now there was no amusement, only cold threat "He won't need the whole story though, but don't worry, you won't be able to tell him anything, not after we're done with you" Phaedra gripped her bow tight, her knuckles aching as blood pounded in her wrist, fear burned through her, what evil was being done here? But she forced her will to bear against it, she had faced awful, monstrous creatures, more dangerous than these men could ever dream of! How dare they stand here and threaten her? She was a sorcerer!

"That's enough!" Khelgar roared, his anger echoing the sudden rush of her own "Get away from her, or I'll rip you to pieces with my bare hands!"

"I think we've heard enough Sergeant" one of his men said, glancing covetously at Khelgar's axe "Shall we deal with them?"

"You're not going to submit quietly then, it'll be a lot less painful for you if you do" The sergeant glanced over them with a lazy languor, as though subduing them would be a chore in itself "Well then, shall we get started?" Khelgar moved in closer behind Phaedra, he, unlike these half-witted, covetous soldiers, knew when Phaedra was about to cast a spell.

"Go back to your fort!" She ordered clearly, anger burned in her, clear, ferocious, more powerful than she had ever felt. Her village had been nearly destroyed, it lay back along the path in a state of ruins, because it had not been defended by men like this, who stood in front of her in the deluded belief that he could overpower and take whatever he wanted from her! This ended now!

"Or what?" the sergeant sneered crudely. The greedy smirk hadn't left his face when he hit the side of the cliff at tremendous speed, propelled by an immense burst of force launched from Phaedra's hands. He let out a strangled gasp, his armour ringing against the stone, then he collapsed to the floor, unconscious, but unharmed, more than he deserved, but Phaedra was not ready to harm a man, even one as odious as him.

"A wizard!" one of the men cried, leaping backwards "Gods defend us!" Now they understood, perhaps they would think again before waylaying travellers under the aegis of Neverwinter! All at once they began to withdraw, staggering back, swords slipping back into scabbards, their faces alight with horror, few even dared to glance back to their stricken sergeant…

"Get back to your fort" Phaedra whispered, the aura of power around her was so palpable that even they sensed it, identical looks of terror and incomprehension on their faces. They had learnt now, what it felt like to be in terror of their lives, there was no sense in hurting anyone else, she would let them go, but they were not going to waylay travellers again "Now, and take your sergeant with you" They practically stumbled over themselves in their haste to obey, one man gathered up the unconscious body, slinging his officer over his shoulder unceremoniously, before they fled in a group, armour clattering and ringing as they ran on up the path, no doubt towards Fort Locke and safety. Well, thank the Gods that had worked…

"Did you have to let them go?" Khelgar grumbled at her side "It'll be some welcome we'll get at the fort."

"I'll tell the commander what happened." Phaedra shook her head "Then those men will get the punishment they deserve."

"You mean Lieutenant Vallis, right?" at that the tiefling, now standing by herself, gave a sharp burst of laughter, and Phaedra and Khelgar quickly glanced to her "You're joking right? It's him who's behind all this or, well, his crazy bounty scheme." She paused, smiled broadly "Thanks for helping me out by the way. Might I just say, you were pretty amazing." She chuckled "That overgrown slug didn't know what hit him."

"You're welcome," Phaedra smiled back, with the evident corruption of those five Greycloaks, it was pretty clear whatever charge they had been bringing against her was probably false "No one should be threatened like that."

"Hey, you're kind of nice." She started, as though startled "Oh, sorry to sound so surprised. It's just most people run off when they realise I've got devil blood, normally it's the horns you know, and all those rumours about tieflings being cursed probably don't help. I'm Neeshka, that means something in one of those ghastly lower plane tongues by the way, courtesy of grandfather I think" She spoke very rapidly, as though her mind leapt from one thought to the next and her words had trouble keeping up. She was slightly taller than Phaedra, but thin and wiry, her features were lean and angular, up close her horns seemed less noticeable, they weren't much, only just protruding from her skull, but her eyes seemed to burn as though a hidden fire were kindled within.

"My name is Phaedra, and this is Khelgar." Phaedra gestured to the dwarf "What happened to you anyway? Why were they threatening you like that?"

"See, I was on my way to the east, but that means going through the fort" Neeshka explained, running her hands over her lean wrists "And normally I don't get such a good reception from the 'Cloaks, if you know what I mean. Anyway if the invisibility potion I brought from that mage hadn't been watered down, I'd have made it okay. But, just as I'm rummaging through those thugs' packs, I suddenly become visible, just typical! So naturally they're a little surprised…and I'm sure you can guess the rest"

"Wait just a second, so you were trying to steal from them?" Khelgar scowled "Are you sure you're not a bandit?"

"No way!" she glared at him, as though the question were one that struck at the very core of her principles "You'd find me dead before I shared my earnings with that sort, really, bandits are the worst…"

"But you are a thief?" Phaedra asked cautiously.

"Well…" She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then shrugged nonchalantly. "I have to get by somehow, and my bloodline didn't leave me many choices. Do you really think those soldiers got that money honestly? They deserved it, I just wanted to make a little for myself on the way. Is that so wrong?" She smiled guilelessly.

"So, where are you going to then?" Phaedra changed the subject abruptly. Put that way, things didn't seem quite so simple as they had in West Harbour. Neeshka, as she seemed, clearly wasn't evil, not by any stretch of the imagination, and not compared with those men she had just sent running back to the fort…

"Don't know, wherever the road takes me I guess." Neeshka answered with a slightly melodramatic sigh, then she brightened "Hey, you're going to Fort Locke right? Can I come along, I'll be good I promise!" Phaedra started with surprise at the thought, not one that had crossed her own mind, but she saw no reason why not…

"What?" Khelgar exploded "No way, she's a tiefling! Devil blood! She'll stab us in the back the first chance she gets"

"Hey!" Neeshka snapped back with just as much fire in her voice "From what I know of dwarves they aren't much better: squat, smelly drunks who'd cut people in half just to prove a point!"

"Bah!" Khelgar spat "Leave her here, the other beasts will take care of her soon enough!"

"Stop that!" Phaedra glared at them both "Look Khelgar, I can't see why we shouldn't help Neeshka, just as long as she needs it." Most of the things people believed about tieflings were nonsense anyway, and Neeshka hardly seemed the archetype of her villainous species.

"Hey thanks!" Neeshka beamed at Phaedra "It doesn't look like the two of you have much of value so I won't be tempted, I promise!"

"I don't like this" Khelgar groaned "She's no good, can't you see that? Next she'll want to come all the way to Neverwinter with us, we'll never be able to get rid of her"

"You're going to Neverwinter?" Neeshka grinned mischievously "Hey, I think I'd like to tag along then. Neverwinter's home, and I've been away from it a little too long"

"I knew it!" Khelgar grumbled. Phaedra glanced between the two of them, frankly there wasn't any reason she could think of not to give Neeshka a hand, the tiefling did seem capable enough, and she might be able to help them out. After all she had come across Khlegar in a similarly lucky situation, and right now they were travelling together, why not let Neeshka come along?

"We're going to need someone who knows the city Khelgar." She decided "Neeshka, you're welcome as long as you like."

"Wow, thanks a lot." Neeshka seemed taken aback, perhaps she had just suggested it in the first place just to irritate Khelgar, but, upon considering it for a second, she seemed eager and sincere enough to travel with them to the city "Maybe I'll be able to help you out on the way, pay you back for getting those thieving bastards off my back."

"If you're coming along shall we go on to the Fort now?" Phaedra suggested, it was quickly growing dark, the expanse of the clear air above the mountains retreating before a great stain of darkness as the sun sank steadily beneath the horizon, even this far from West Harbour, she did not want to spend a night so exposed…

"You're serious about that?" Neeshka raised an eyebrow "Alright, maybe Commander Vallis listens to pretty half-elves, but I better take some steps so that he doesn't have me burned at the stake" She raised the hood of her light, weather-stained cloak, disguising her horns, and quickly tucked her flicking tail into the folds of her armour. Once she was ready she raised her head and grinned, the disguise worked well enough, though from within the shadows of the hood, her smoky crimson eyes still gleamed with an unnatural light, it was unlikely anyone would notice such a small thing, anyway. "Alright, lead on Phaedra!" Neeshka said, nodding to the rock-strewn path "Much as I love the Greycloaks I really think we should get this over with as quickly as possible, anyway I'm right behind you!"


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks to everyone for staying with "Child of Light" up to Chapter 10. Glad to know I'm still being read, and followed._

_Also, thank you Enilas for the encouraging review and putting me on your alerts, and again thanks to voltagelisa for another review and continued correspondance. Hope you all enjoy this!_

Fort Locke, at her first glimpse of the great fortress looming up upon its great plateau, Phaedra stopped, utterly staggered by the sheer scale of it, by far the most massive structure she had ever seen. A vigilant guardian set above a steep curve over the trade route, it was surrounded by palisade walls, thick, heavy trunks of wood bound together by strong iron. At its centre a great keep, a single massive tower, rounded, thick, and built of vast blocks of roughly-hewn stone towered above even the heights of the wall, casting a shadow over the road. Its thin windows gleamed with flickering torchlight from within. Phaedra shook her head with disbelief, how long could it have taken to build? How many men? No wonder Neverwinter dominated this region of the Sword Coast, with so impressive a fortress to keep any enemy at bay. She would be safe here, not even the ferocious Astral creatures would be able to get to her within this fort.

"Impressed huh?" Neeshka smiled brightly at Phaedra's side. "Really Fort Locke's nothing, obviously you haven't got around very much at all."

"No actually," Phaedra admitted. "I'm from West Harbour, in the Mere."

"Ah, I knew it!" Neeshka nodded, satisfied "I recognised your bow, pure Mere wood, just as I thought" Khelgar glanced at her, darkly suspicious but if she noticed, she ignored him "It's a big part of what I do, find out things about people, notice small details and piece them together."

"There's a reason people want to keep that sort of thing secret," Khelgar snapped. "Lass, I think you should reconsider this, like I said something's not right about her."

"Hey!" Neeshka snapped, her eyes flashing "I don't know what happened to the two of you, but I sure as the Hells wasn't involved at all!"

"So, do you know the Hells well then?" Khelgar growled.

"I've never actually been there," Neeshka rolled her eyes impatiently. "What exactly do you think I am?"

"Khelgar," Phaedra sighed before the dwarf could reply "There's absolutely no reason to be so suspicious; just leave her alone" Not that she minded Khelgar's input, when it was sensible enough, but she really was the one who was travelling to Neverwinter herself, and she wasn't about to let whatever Khelgar had against Neeshka endanger what she had to do, or stop her helping someone else along the way because of some senseless prejudice. Khelgar snorted, but fell grudgingly silent

"Thank Tymora" Neeshka sighed melodramatically "Do you two want to get to the Fort before nightfall or not?" They quickly moved on, the reminder of the night gathering was a spur to action. The cool, thin mountain air was quickly darkening even as they walked up a rough stone road which led up onto the plateau, and to the vast gates of Fort Locke.

Close up, the fort might have been even more impressive, the palisade wall was thick and strong, it looked practically impregnable to Phaedra's untrained eye, and the logs used to make it were so massive they must have been brought from far away, perhaps even from Neverwinter Wood, nowhere in the Mere did trees grow so strong and tall. The gates stood wide open, two great doors of thick, dark wood and iron bindings drawn back from the wall, with great rusted, iron hinges that curled backward, holding the vast gates so that they stood backward. As Phaedra, Khelgar and Neeshka stepped up to the gateway, three men emerged from within the fort itself, taking up a position to meet them at the threshold before they passed in within the walls.

Two of them were ordinary Greycloaks, rank and file volunteers to Neverwinter's standing army, in the same uniform as those they had met on the road, though these two looked much more disciplined, but the third wore a surcoat and cloak of pale blue, marked in white with the sign of an eye, the symbol of Neverwinter herself, he was a commanding figure, who drew her gaze immediately to his steady, stern eyes. As she looked at him, Phaedra was struck by a strange sense of familiarity…though she could not place him immediately. He was a tall man with a stocky build, wearing the heavy armour over his shoulders as though it were a light burden, he was evidently well accustomed to its weight. His thick brown hair was drawn back from his forehead, his slightly harsh features held a considering frown, his dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Well met," he said at last in a voice obviously trained to command. "I am Marshal Cormick, of the City Watch of Neverwinter."

"Cormick?" Phaedra gasped. By Lathander; she should have recognised him right away! Cormick was something of a local hero in West Harbour, a son of the village who, like Lorne Starling, had left the Mere behind in search of adventure, and had eventually found a place in the City Watch of Neverwinter. As Phaedra remembered it, he had once been a great friend of Bevil's brother, but where not even Retta and Bevil knew whether Lorne was alive or dead, few in the village weren't aware of Cormick's exploits in the famed city. The commanding figure who stood before her now was older, harsher, than the young man she remembered, but there was such a sense of familiarity about him that she wondered that she could not have placed him right away. "It's me Phaedra Blake, Daeghun's daughter." For a moment she wasn't sure he would remember her, she had only been about ten when he had left West Harbour, then a somewhat awkward child obsessed with her magical learning and archery.

"Daeghun's fosterling?" Cormick started with disbelief, for an instant he studied her intently, then a slight smile of recognition touched his lips, and the harsh angles in his face brightened suddenly, a sight that was intensely familiar, so much so that Phaedra's imagination was cast back almost six years, and for a moment she saw West Harbour as she had known it then "By Tyr, and I wondered for a second there where I'd seen you before" Cormick continued, at once quite informal "Welcome to Fort Locke, Phaedra, sorry about the welcome, since Commander Tarn disappeared we've had to question everyone who comes through here." He turned to one of the soldiers "Tell the Lieutenant I can vouch for this one. She's no danger" he ordered, and the two men saluted briskly and walked off in the direction of the keep in the centre of the fort.

"I knew it'd be a good idea to tag along with you," Neeshka whispered in Phaedra's ear. "Looks like you have just the right connections."

"Well then," Cormick said, gesturing into the fort "You'd better come in." Phaedra walked over, followed closely by Neeshka and Khelgar, at once she glanced all around the interior of the fortress. Within the palisade wall there were a couple of rough buildings, an armoury, a barracks, and a tavern, by the looks of them, all built out of the Mere's rough wood. But among them were numerous small tents and makeshift shelters, obviously hastily and recently set up. The entire complex was about half the size of West Harbour, and within its heart the great tower, the stone keep of the fort loomed, grey and cold before the encroaching night. The streets were almost empty, as twilight fell, but there a few of the Greycloaks and civilians still wandering through. "Refugees" Cormick pointed out the tents "Their homes have been destroyed by lizardlings, or bandits. Most of them have nowhere else to go, and until the High Road to Neverwinter is safe, I can't let them go on to Neverwinter. Things are a mess here right now" The people who were clustered around the shelters looked destitute, thin and cold, with nothing but a few paltry possessions clasped lovingly about them.

"Isn't there somewhere they could stay?" Phaedra asked, horrified. Many of them reminded her of the people of West Harbour, what they could have been had the battle gone worse than it had. Cormick scowled.

"Lieutenant Vallis insists there isn't room," he spoke the name and title with thinly veiled disgust. "And I don't have any authority here," He shook his head. "Ever since Commander Tarn disappeared, things have gone from bad to worse. Its Vallis who won't allow the patrols, he's obsessed with statistics, probabilities, not a grain of honour in the man."

"Your Commander disappeared?" Phaedra gasped, what? Another mystery?

"About a week ago," Cormick nodded gravely. "He was with one of the patrols we lost and Vallis, who's now acting commander, won't lift a finger to find him. I say he's just waiting to pronounce him dead so he can take permanent control. But…that's enough of our troubles here. How is your father? And the village?"

"Cormick," Phaedra murmured desolately, looking away from him for a moment as all she could think of was that awful night. "We were attacked, three days ago."

"Hells!" Cormick swore, utterly shocked. "West Harbour attacked. How? Why?"

"They came out of the Mere," Phaedra whispered, feeling tears sting her eyes as she recalled it. "Creatures, I've never seen before, burning and killing. The militia managed to fight them off, but people died."

"Gods, I told Vallis this would happen!" Cormick snarled, slamming his fist into the walls of the keep shaking with fierce anger "Cyric's Blood! Damn him!" But then at once he seemed to recover something of himself, and the habit of command settled over him as he turned to Phaedra once again "Phaedra, you have to tell him about this." He instructed "Vallis can't just ignore this kind of thing"

"But you think he might?" Khelgar noted.

"I don't know with the lieutenant," Cormick scowled darkly, considering it. "People are just numbers to him, but these are Harbourmen, my people!"

"I'll do whatever I can," Phaedra promised sombrely. Whatever else there was to this, the village would be much safer with the patrols started up again, safer from any other kind of attack, so she would work toward convincing the lieutenant in any way she could.

"This doesn't make any sense," Cormick groaned. "West Harbour..." He shook his head, as though unable to imagine it. "I'll arrange an audience with Vallis right away. Maybe he'll listen this time."

"Witch!" A rough voice suddenly cried, ringing across the courtyard, and Phaedra turned, shocked. The sergeant who had been threatening Neeshka, the one who she had stunned to insensibility just outside Fort Locke, stood in the doorway of the tavern, obviously a little unsteady on his feet. His face was contorted with hatred, his finger raised to point straight at her, at Phaedra. "She's a witch!" He staggered, gripping the side of the door to steady himself, before making his unsteady way over to them, though within a safe distance.

"Gods, here comes trouble," Neeshka sighed.

"What is this Sergeant?" Cormick scowled disgustedly.

"She's one of the bandits, that half-elf witch!" the sergeant snarled, slurring the already almost indecipherable outburst "She attacked me and my men just outside the fort! Spells flying everywhere, I barely made it out alive!"

"Get back to the barracks soldier," Cormick ordered, gripping his sword. "You're mistaken."

"I don't take orders from some Hound Marshal!" the sergeant snapped, his unsteady gaze flicking over Cormick, pointing shakily to the Marshal "She attacked me and she's one of the bandits! I've already sent to the Commander! She's going to be hanged!"

"Really?" Cormick squared his shoulders belligerently.

"Yeah!" the sergeant hissed. "You've got too uppity, Hound! Get back to the city, and leave this Fort to us! That witch is going to pay!"

"Stop!" Phaedra shrieked, appalled, enough that he should even show his face again after what he had tried to do, but to accuse her! "How dare you! You attacked me, now you lie about it!"

"Enough!" At once a voice rang across the courtyard, commanding, authoritative, Phaedra fell silent, as did the sergeant, and Cormick, and they all turned, gazing just up the hill to where the keep stood monumental, but its central gateway stood open and from within a man was striding imperiously, obviously the one who had spoken, his hand raised as though he could impose order upon them at will. He was tall and dignified, his silver armour gleamed in the twilight, polished to perfection. His surcoat and grey cloak were immaculate, his silver-blond hair and beard carefully trimmed, his profile was high and domineering, as he spoke again it was with a clear, cultured voice "I received a rather garbled message from you, Sergeant." He addressed the man standing in the shadow of the tavern first. "What exactly did you mean to accomplish by disturbing me for some tavern brawl?"

"No sir, this isn't a brawl sir!" the sergeant protested vehemently, executing an unsteady salute "This half-elf, she's a witch, working for the bandits, the one who attacked me and the others!"

"I see," the man, who Phaedra realised must be Lieutenant Vallis, turned to Cormick and her. His cool gaze alighted on the Marshal, there was no overt contempt in it, but somehow his every movement, and expression, seemed loaded with arrogant disregard. "Ah, Marshal" He smiled thinly "Somehow I knew you would be involved in this disturbance"

"That man is a drunkard and a liar," Cormick snapped. "This woman is a friend, a fellow Harbourmen, I know she would not attack anyone."

"How quaint Marshal" Vallis raised one pale eyebrow "I shall take your considerations into account, but this is a serious accusation, and this sergeant did indeed return from a routine drill wounded, along with several others who claimed with some conviction that a half-elf sorceress attacked them on the road"

"It's true Commander!" the sergeant put in, swaying drunkenly "She's a bandit, a liar, and a filthy witch!"

"Silence Sergeant" Vallis ordered with cold disdain, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I have no sway over how you spend your hours of leisure, unfortunately, but if you ever show up to drill in this degraded state I will personally flog you. Now get out of my sight, I need no more from you." The man balked, scampering off without even remembering to salute.

"With all due respect Lieutenant, we have more important things to discuss than this ridiculous accusation" Cormick began straight away "Phaedra tells me…"

"No Marshal" Vallis's clipped tones cut across his "The woman has been accused, and the accusation must be dealt with. Discipline, order and efficiency, then we will have leave to discuss your important news"

"Sir," Phaedra put in before Cormick could respond, the Marshal looked about ready to explode. "I didn't attack that man, I was only defending myself."

"So would anyone say, innocent or guilty, would they not?" Vallis tapped the ornate blade at his side "Why should I believe you, a waif emerging from the midst of that cursed swamp, over one of my own soldiers?"

"This is nonsense!" Khelgar snarled "If Phaedra attacked them, how come none of them were killed? How come they got off with nothing more than a few scratches?"

"I only used the most basic spells I could," Phaedra added levelly. "To stun, not to kill."

"Perhaps," Vallis folded his arms, surveying her with apparent coolness, though behind that his eyes glinted with keen discernment. "Or perhaps you merely meant to bind them to your service as slaves to your magic? I have heard tale of such dark powers."

"What?" Phaedra gasped, shocked. "I don't even know how, I'd never…!"

"Lieutenant," Cormick interrupted, keeping his voice under control with some apparent difficulty. "The prejudice against arcane magic has given rise to many wild stories."

"Be that as it may, there is still the question of how and why this woman made the journey thus far!" Vallis' voice rose with indignation, he evidently did not like being questioned "How did she make it through the pass safely? I have it on the best authority that the bandits watch that route constantly, waiting for someone just like her! If she isn't working for them, how did she make it through alive?"

"Though I would never use my magic to enslave anyone." Phaedra fought to keep her voice calm and reasonable, to keep it from trembling, could they truly hang her if they thought she was lying? "I can use it to ensure my safety. I and my companions were concealed for the journey"

"Concealed?" Vallis echoed with consideration "Then how did my men see you, to attack you?"

"Sir, magic does not last for ever" Phaedra answered "I assumed I would be safe that close to the Fortress, but your men had other ideas"

"A tenuous story…at best" Vallis remarked "That does not explain why you have come here at all. It is rare for Harbourmen to emerge from the Mere is it not, the good Marshal notwithstanding of course"

"My uncle lives in Neverwinter, Duncan Farlong." Phaedra answered carefully, better to tell the truth, or at least in part, somehow she suspected that letting the Lieutenant know about the shards was not the best idea "I'm going there to visit him, to help at his inn in the docks."

"I know Duncan," Cormick nodded. "He runs the Sunken Flagon" Vallis glanced up, considering for a moment.

"Your story has its strengths," he said at last. "But, I cannot allow myself to be quite convinced."

"Lieutenant!" Cormick cried frustratedly "Put an end to this farce! West Harbour was attacked and you have a duty to it and all the other Mere settlements! You must start the patrols of the hills again!

"How dare you presume…?" Vallis began hotly, fuming, but then he suddenly stopped, breathed deeply, and the flash of anger fled his even, imperious features while that same, thin, humourless smile touched his lips "I wonder," he said after a moment's pause. "What is your opinion on the matter Sorceress, I assume the Marshal has informed you of our difficulties"

"What…?" Cormick began.

"People are in danger Lieutenant," Phaedra answered quietly, but Cormick instantly fell silent when she spoke. "They rely on the Fort's protection. Please, start up the patrols."

"Under the leadership of my predecessor Commander Tarn, we lost three patrols, and I still don't know to what." Vallis said, suddenly he was all charm, his clear voice even, gallant. "We also, of course, lost the Commander himself, he chose to lead the third patrol and vanished along with it; since I took on his duties my own policy has been clear, conserve our resources and men by suspending our patrols. We have therefore the perfect chance for you to prove not only your innocence in this matter, but also to persuade me that I should listen to you on the delicate matter of these patrols. What I need you to do is to find Tarn, or proof of what happened to him, of course. If you do, not only will I release you without the slightest difficulty, but I will also recommence the patrols the moment I do so."

"You want me to find your commander?" Phaedra asked, startled by the change in Vallis' demeanour.

"At the very least some solid evidence as to what happened to him," Vallis nodded lightly. "The confusion in the matter has caused some…minor hysteria. Of course, it remains a mystery, one I should like to see solved before I commit further men to the area."

"This is low even for you Lieutenant!" Cormick, unable to contain himself any longer, snapped contemptuously. "You know as well as I do…"

"Don't you want to find out what happened to Tarn, Cormick?" Vallis said with cold triumph "This woman and her little band seem more than capable, even if the wild rumours about undead are accurate."

"Undead?" Neeshka whispered earnestly "Err…I'm not so keen on them"

"I say bring them on" Khelgar tapped his axe, a satisfied smile touched his lips

"Exactly my point," Vallis smirked with satisfaction. "They're raring to go."

"And what's to stop me from just running off once you let me go?" Phaedra asked, Vallis' offer made sense, but she frankly didn't trust him. What reason did he have for trusting her?

"Nothing, except the minor inconvenience of me posting your description to Neverwinter" Vallis gave a delicate shrug "But I'm sure an adventurer of your obvious calibre can deal with that, if you're willing to abandon the rest of the Mere villages, including West Harbour. You leave without giving me proof of Tarn's fate, and I will never begin the patrols. I will, eventually, be granted full sovereignty over this fort whether or not you help me and rest assured my policies will remain unchanged, unless you convince me otherwise."

"This is a task for Greycloaks, for trained soldiers!" Cormick protested "You can spare the men!"

"Men this able young woman bested with minimal effort." Vallis countered "Whatever happened to the patrols, she can handle it I'm sure. So, Sorceress, Cormick's unfounded misgivings aside, what do you say?"

"Very well," Phaedra decided. "I'll do it." Every day the Greycloak patrols delayed, the villages of the Mere, and the surrounding farms were in danger. Not all of them were as well-defended as West Harbour, and there were rumours of a lizardling migration, how many more would be driven into the hills as the refugees who thronged in the Fortress did? And if the bandits were as powerful as it seemed, they would be in grave danger, unless the Greycloaks did what they could to protect them.

"Excellent," Vallis smiled with triumph, but the smile once again did not reach his cold eyes. "See, Cormick, she's quite confident." Cormick scowled, but, biting down whatever reply he had, continued to glare to the Lieutenant with venom in his gaze. "The Commander and the three patrols all vanished in an area just north of the large ridge on the old road. There is little of interest there, apart from an old graveyard from the last war, but no doubt you will be able to divine something from the place. And please, do make yourself comfortable in the camp for the night. Once you discover Tarn's fate, I expect an immediate report." In a single fluid motion he turned to leave, glancing back for a second, though it was clear this audience was over. "Good luck, Sorceress," He said softly. "If the rumours are true you may well need it." With that, he glided back towards the stone keep and was gone.

"That's hardly very reassuring," Neeshka said at last, once the Lieutenant had vanished for good "Are we really planning on searching for three missing Greycloak patrols in some graveyard infested with walking corpses?"

"Are you scared fiendling?" Khelgar taunted.

"If you had any sense you'd be too" Neeshka snapped "This isn't some seedy tavern brawl we're talking about! If that pompous ass back there was right these are walking corpses we're talking about, they don't die easily, at least not again…"

"I don't like the game Vallis is playing, and the fact he's chosen to involve you in all this" Cormick said concernedly, to Phaedra alone, as the other two continued to bicker "And I can't help but believe there's something to those stories about undead, three patrols don't just disappear without anybody even knowing what happened."

"I don't have a choice Cormick," Phaedra answered. "I just hope he keeps his side of the bargain."

"That's what I'm worried about," Cormick scowled. "The man's a snake, that's for sure," He sighed. "The inn has a little room left, since it looks like you won't be heading out until tomorrow. Follow me."


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey everyone, we've got to Chapter 11. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you do_

"Let me get this straight," Neeshka said exasperatedly. "Your father told you to get to Neverwinter as soon as possible because of the horde of Bladelings that happens to be right behind you, but we're still taking a detour into the depths of a graveyard infested with undead because Vallis wants a promotion?" After having left Fort Locke just after dawn, they had travelled for some hours, following an ancient, overrun path, over which Phaedra had told Neeshka about her situation, with occasional insistent interjections from Khelgar.

"We don't have a choice Neeshka," Phaedra answered. "He won't let us go unless we find Tarn."

"Having our descriptions posted around Neverwinter's no big deal Phaedra," Neeshka shrugged. "It's happened to me more than once, I know how to stay hidden."

"We're an unusual group," Phaedra answered diplomatically, glancing over Khelgar and Neeshka. "We might find it a little hard to keep out of sight."

"You can say that again!" Khelgar put in, quite sourly, evidently the enforced marching onward and enforced exposure to Neeshka as well were taking its toll on his normally irrepressible good humour. "A sun-worshipping, bleeding hearted half-elven and traitorous, thieving tiefling'll stand out on your average street."

"Don't forget the drunken, obsessive, stinking dwarf with an ego three times his size," Neeshka snapped back. "Make that five times, he hasn't got much height to speak of."

"That's enough, the both of you," Phaedra scolded. Since the beginning the two of them hadn't stopped bickering, every new word from the one seemed to set the other off. But Phaedra sensed that beneath their squabbling, they were beginning to developing a kind of grudging respect for one another. But it was still helpful to steer the conversation somewhere else. "So Neeshka, what's brought you out here?" she asked, feeling curious about the tiefling's past. "What's your story?"

"My story?" Neeshka turned to her, evidently surprised. "Like, what? What kind of story?"

"Well, where did you grow up?" Phaedra suggested, guessing that few people, if anyone, had ever asked Neeshka about her childhood.

"Well, I was raised by priests of Helm; you know "The Protector", "The Vigilant One", boy were they a hard-headed bunch." Once Neeshka started, a whole torrent of words seemed to spill from her lips. "Never knew my mother of course, or my father so I'm not sure which gave me these," She gestured to her horns, visible now that they'd left the fort. "But I'm guessing one of them was a half-devil, meaning my grandfather was the one who started the whole thing off, devils just can't keep to the Hells you know. Something about your world draws them, in grandfather's case I guess it was some pretty human girl. Anyway, the priests of Helm, never let me forget what I was. Keen on the discipline, not so keen on the compassion, you know the type"

"So you left them?" Phaedra asked, wondering briefly if it was so simple.

"Well, kind of..." Neeshka replied sheepishly "You could say, I got kicked out. After a particularly moving sermon I pocketed a bit of the collection money, nothing big, but those priests were really keen on their gold."

"Bah!" Khelgar spat "I'm sure it wasn't the first time. Tieflings can't restrain themselves, greed and murder's in their blood"

"Enough Khelgar" Phaedra sighed, she wanted to hear Neeshka's story, for Heaven's sake. She'd heard Khelgar go on and on in a similar vein so many times already.

"Yeah!" Neeshka smiled smugly. "Anyway, I wandered around for a bit. No one ever really gave me a good welcome as you can imagine, so I had to live by my wits, stealing mostly. Of course, all roads lead to Neverwinter, and so did mine eventually. Now there, a thief can really get ahead."

"You found a home?" Phaedra smiled.

"Yes, as near to it as any tiefling will find anywhere," Neeshka shrugged nonchalantly, hiding a deeper emotion that Phaedra only just glimpsed in her eyes. "It'll be good to go back."

"We'll be there soon," Phaedra promised.

As their path began to fall, steeply, toward a deep-cut valley, all conversation ceased. For out of the valley, which became as dank and putrid as ever the Mere was, an eerie mist drifted over them, haunting, silent, implacable, like a death-shroud upon their uncertain path. The sunlight faded, replaced by an eerie false twilight, exactly what the undead, vulnerable to the sun, needed. Phaedra's heart beat faster as true realisation of what was coming awakened within her, and with it a stalking fear. Undead, the dead that walked driven by a power and the will of another. She had seen once as a child, in the depths of the Mere's rotting pools, a dead body, decaying, wrapped in weeds, and the vision had haunted her since. Her hands shook, moving to her bow. Were they just beyond the mists? Or did they wait ahead, knowing that their prey would come to them? "Lathander Daystar, light the path before my feet" she whispered "I walk in the shadows, walk with me." Though she could not invoke Lathander's power as a cleric could, she nevertheless felt comforted. Lathander would always be at the side of those who brought light into the darkness. The scriptures Brother Merring had read her spoke of the Morninglord's hatred of the undead, the ultimate abomination, the shadow that lurked in the night, that fled the dawn. He would always aid in their destruction, whether directly, or merely by the power of His healing presence.

Reassured, she glanced at both of her companions. Neeshka was staying close, her short sword, a light and nimble weapon she concealed within her armour, was out and ready. Though she was obviously on edge, she concealed any fear with an iron resolve, a steeliness of spirit that belied her light-hearted exterior. Khelgar was all determination, his axe gripped firmly in his hands, his steps measured and careful. He was deadly serious now, knowing as Phaedra did that somewhere beyond the mists the undead walked.

Suddenly Neeshka stopped, mid-stride, and hastily motioned to them. She'd heard something. Phaedra raised her bow, arming it silently, pointing it into the mists, her senses and muscles straining. For a moment they all stood, in a strange, tense silence then something leapt from the fog and Phaedra let fly. The arrow struck the rotting corpse between its loathsome eyes and it fell flying backwards into the fen. But it hadn't been alone, a hideous moaning arose and a horde of shambling forms scrambled out of the mists, corpses in various stages of decay, hung with the stench of dark magic.

Khelgar and Neeshka ran forward. Khelgar was brutally effective, his powerful strokes cleaved through flesh and bone, and he cut a swathe through their ranks. Neeshka moved with deadly grace, her sword dancing from enemy to enemy, her strikes almost invisible. Phaedra let fly another arrow, one of the foremost undead crashed to the floor, but there were others, flailing mindlessly forward they thrashed towards her. She cast a burst of fire into their midst, steam rose ghost-like from the waters as they collapsed. Neeshka was moving fast, but there were so many undead, she leapt under a flailing arm, cut one of them down as Phaedra watched The undead were relentless however, more lurched from the mists, as Phaedra quickly chanted a spell to shield Neeshka from her foes, before letting loose arrow after arrow into the loathsome swarm.

At last the bog fell silent, the undead were vanquished, gone to a second death and at last free of defilement. But there would be more, whatever unholy power had driven the undead before it lurked within the graveyard, and it had no doubt gathered more of its foul minions around it.

"Don't tell me we have to do that again," Neeshka muttered, looking quite sick as she stared down at the dead bodies.

"Exhilarating isn't it?" Khelgar nodded with satisfaction.

"We have to do this Neeshka," Phaedra answered. "The undead might be planning an attack on Fort Locke or Highcliff, or even West Harbour."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Neeshka groaned. "Do we actually want to save Lieutenant Vallis and his precious fort?"

"Look there," Khelgar gestured forward, where the mists had parted. Before them a cast-iron fence, slick with moss and fen water, leered above the swamp surface, broken halfway through. Beyond it the graveyard was built on firmer ground, there was the remainder of the path, paving stones thrown into chaos by the passage of time, snaking between numerous graves, dark stone, eroded by a decade of nature's slow toil. Phaedra gasped, shocked that Neverwinter had allowed her fallen heroes to be so neglected. Now because of the city's indifference, those who had died for it were now forced to walk by necromancy. The mists were stirred further by a chill wind as they moved forward, and parted like a chilling fanfare over the sides of a larger monument, a crypt of some kind, a dark sepulchre once raised for a hero, now haunted by the damned. It was an eerie sight, a tall, blockish structure, its delicate ornamentation worn and cast aside by the harsh levelling of the winds. The door, which had once been tightly sealed, stood wide open.

"Look, I know I said I'd come with you," Neeshka began staring with chagrin into the darkness within that door. "But somehow I didn't imagine I'd be signing up for this kind of thing…"

"Neeshka, I need your help," Phaedra pleaded sincerely. "Come with us…please."

"Well…" Neeshka considered "Alright, but there had better be a lot of treasure down there, and I get first pick of it, right?" Phaedra nodded gratefully, Neeshka's skills were superb and could only be useful against this horror.

"Well, are we going to go or just sit around talking about it?" Khelgar grumbled. Phaedra sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and settling her will. Whatever lurked within that shadowed gateway, her power would guide her.

ooo0000ooooo

The shadowy passageway seemed to shrink as they staggered along through the blind darkness; Phaedra's light spell was a feeble defence against the gathering gloom, serving merely to cast ghoulish shadows against the slick walls. The descent into the crypt's looming tunnels had been hard, more undead skulked beyond every corner, every shadow had seemed to conceal some other nightmarish horror. But now, it was eerily silent and empty, the corridor along which the three of them moved empty of life and unlife alike. Phaedra knew however, feeling the gathering sense of a dark power that hung upon the air, that their struggle was only just beginning. The master of these undead hordes lurked nearby, like a spider at the centre of a web of magic. He was probably aware of them already, making his plans, setting his traps…

Neeshka and Khelgar no doubt knew it too, though they were not aware, as she was, of the spindles of power that ran through the veins of the stone, gathering, growing, leading toward a single point just ahead of where they now stood. Khelgar, though he had been wounded by an unlucky strike, held up strongly, protesting that he needed no more than a bandage round his arm. Neeshka evasive grace had kept her safe so far, but Phaedra knew the both of them would be sorely vulnerable once they attacked the necromancer. It would be up to her to draw his spells, she only hoped she was strong enough.

"Lass…" Khelgar spoke suddenly, interrupting her solemn thoughts "Here, looks like we're here" She looked up, the light spell fell upon a narrow passageway, ending at last in a rough, metal door, covered by thick, red rust.

"This is where he'll be" Phaedra whispered, laying her hand on the surface of the door, feeling prickles run down her spine, this was the centre of the tomb, where the hero of Neverwinter to whom the mausoleum had been dedicated was buried, where the darkness was thickest.

"The Commander?" Neeshka asked hesitantly. They had found the remains of many Greycloaks within the mausoleum, had fought their raised corpses amongst these claustrophobic passages. But, of Commander Tarn himself, thus far there had been no sign.

"Whoever is behind all this," Phaedra answered gravely, clasping Merring's amulet of the Morninglord tight in her other hand. "Listen, you have to let me fight him, I'm the only one who can defend against his magic. But if he sends anything else against me, I'll need you two to handle it" She was surprised by how calm her voice sounded, the prospect was already freezing her blood. She knew so little of necromancy. Could she really defend herself and the others against it?

"We'll be there lass," Khelgar nodded determinedly.

"Just be careful," Neeshka breathed.

"Ready?" Phaedra sighed deeply, gathering the light spell hovering above her closer, feeling the warmth of her magic burn the chill of fear away. Then at once she flung open the door with all her strength, it gave way, crashing into the stone, and the three of them rushed into the room beyond.

What met them was a large space, long and thin, with a high, vaulted ceiling and lined with statues, their cold faces unchanged by time, glaring outwards as though ready for battle. There was a sarcophagus at the far end, and upon it lay the form set in stone of a man, his sword clasped in both hands lying along his body. Behind this, there was some kind of construction, recently added amidst the ancient stone, two iron prongs leered upward, hideous constructions twisted into a half circle. Within their gaping centre there was a storm of eerie blue light, or magic, swirling like a restless sea, silver glimmers of power danced under its surface. It lit the entire chamber with a ghostly light that flickered like swamp-fire. Phaedra felt like an ache the power that flowed from it, it was a portal of some kind. But before she could even think what purpose such a fearsome magic could have, a figure moved before the strange construction, a single, lone figure. With the portal's light shining around him, he was cast entirely into shadow, but she could make out that he stood, back turned to them, and he wore bulky armour over a voluminous robe that fluttered over the stone at his feet.

"You have come then," the voice that emerged from him, echoing unnaturally through the vaults of the room, was cold, utterly without emotion. "I felt you, your glimmer, your small power, seeking, seeking in the darkness." He turned, and Phaedra saw he was wearing a fearsome helmet, elongated like the head of some monstrous beast. Emerging from this, his breath was like smoke, though the room was not at all cold. "You have cost me much, petty mageling," he continued, as Phaedra pulled back her bow, ready to fight "But it ends here"

Phaedra let her arrow go, but the man spat a spell violently and the bolt slammed into a wall of pure energy, arcing upwards into the ceiling of the room, crackling with light so strong that Phaedra stumbled backwards, beside her Khelgar swore violently. Almost instantly the necromancer attacked, a foul wave of shadows launched from his hand, howling with necromantic energy as it roared towards them, Phaedra frantically spoke the dispel hex, white light spilled from her hands, but at once the shadows enveloped it, and she lost all trace of the spell, swallowed entirely by the necromancer's power, leaving them exposed to this curse! This was power of which she knew nothing! How could she defend against it?

"Get out the way!" she screamed, flinging herself into the wall, her back stinging with the impact, Khelgar and Neeshka did likewise, and the spell roared past them all, just. Phaedra felt the heat of the howling energy crackling past her cheek. But she had to attack quickly again, leaping forward, electricity lanced out of her and crackled towards the necromancer but he swirled his cloak and vanished, appearing in a second some three paces away, already snarling a spell. A column of fire roared into existence in front of him, Phaedra's hand snapped forward and a bolt of ice slammed into the fiery conflagration, steam hissed violently, searing upwards and outwards into the room, shielding the mage's form for an instant in a thick, vaporous cloud, swirling, spinning about his dark form, as his arms wheeled in great sweeping movements about him, tracing streams of fire into the very air. As he roared out the words of his spell, Phaedra plunged into the Weave, magic swirled around her, coalescing into a shield of pure white light. The fire slammed into her, pouring over the orb of her shield, surrounding her in a sheath of fire, burning in a great inferno about her. But she quickly cried out the counter-spell, and the flames instantly vanished, their source of power cut off, leaving her facing the necromancer alone, his eyes narrowed, and he raised his arms, shaking with fanatical frenzy.

"Come my children!" he roared, and Phaedra screamed, stumbling backwards as the outburst of sheer necromantic power powered into her. It made her ears ring, pounded in her head, aching, gnawing at her. The necromancer gestured violently, and from his hands streams of shadows poured, rippling, coalescing into five vaguely human forms, five forms etched in pure darkness, their gleaming red eyes hungry and evil. These were shadows, magical conjurations, born of the Plane of Shadows, from the substance of darkness itself!

"We'll take care of this lass, just keep him off my back!" Khelgar bellowed, sprinting forward towards them his axe raised across his body. His wound was seemingly forgotten, even as the Shadows stepped into true existence, their shadowy head searching out the darkness, red eyes fixing hungrily upon Phaedra. Then the Shadows rose to meet him, hissing like snakes, claws of darkness forming upon their hands, dripping with the poisonous energy of the plane from which they were born.

"Khelgar!" Phaedra cried "Don't let them touch you!" She glanced around for Neeshka, then the tiefling suddenly leapt from the darkness, her short sword raised. She struck one of the Shadows deep in the back, the creature screamed with agony, its voice was like the chorus of the damned! Khelgar pounded into another of them, but it moved with inhuman speed, dodging flailing, striking back…

"You shall not slay them!" the necromancer roared, leaping forward, his robes whipping about him "The King of Shadows shall strike you down through me!" He raised his hand, his gauntleted finger extended toward Neeshka, bone-like in its sheath of shining metal. Instantly Phaedra moved in, chanting another counter-spell, the curse failed on his lips as she undid the fabric of his power. His eyes flashed, turning to her, a hoarse breath rattling from the mask, and somehow he drove further power from himself into an almost instant counter, a heated bolt of dark power that seared just past her, as she leapt out of the way, raising her hands to conjure a sweeping sheath of light that ripped towards him.

Suddenly she gasped, feeling suddenly, with an ache of magical intuition, the waves of magical energy surrounding him, pouring into him…from the substance of the portal himself! That portal was feeding him energy! Her power blazed within her, so strong she felt it in her blood, but still she knew she was burning out, every spell drained her and the necromancer was drawing more and more power from his portal. Meanwhile Neeshka and Khelgar were fighting furiously, but the Shadows were so strong! A fatal strike scarcely seemed to affect them; they fell momentarily to the ground, but were almost instantly up again, the substance of their evil bodies reforming about them. There wasn't much time left, she realised, staggering, and then at once she knew what she had to do. She turned, in a single step, beginning to spring toward him, her arms raised, the bow drawn back, instinctively the necromancer flinched backwards, losing focus amidst the magic searing about him. In the moment he was distracted she poured her magic into the gap in his defences, wrapping him in coils of disorientation, of confusion, especially devastating to a mage like himself, but it was only going to give her in an instant, already his own magic was mustered, cutting through the web of enchantment about him. But it was an instant she used to the full extent, fire seared out from her, slamming not into the dark shadowy figure, as he stumbled forward, his dread gaze focusing in on her, widening in horror, but into the portal that reared up behind him, right into the heart of the lambent light. Then at once the spell exploded violently, Phaedra threw up her arms as a burst of white light seared her eyes, the whole room shook violently, she stumbled backwards, and a great wind tore at her, seeming to pull everything towards the portal itself, even as the very substance of it dissolved in front of them. There was a great crash, the necromancer screamed out, once, harsh and in agony, then everything, at once, was silent.

Phaedra pulled herself up, glancing around the room with shock, it…was empty. The portal, that vast, menacing structure at the far end had collapsed in on itself entirely, twisting and warping the metal frame, the magic woven within it had dissipated in that explosion. Phaedra's gamble, that the portal's magic was inherently unstable, that all it would take a simple spell to set it off, had paid off. Just by her Khelgar and Neeshka were clambering upwards themselves, the Shadows had vanished, and, as for the necromancer, he was…dead, lying in front of the portal as though he had yearned to shield it with his own body, but a great stone piece cast down from the ceiling by the violence of the portal's disintegration had crushed him against the cracked stone floor. He wasn't moving…

"Lass, you should warn us before you pull something like that" Khelgar winced, prodding his injured arm experimentally. He then glanced at her, his gaze questioning, concerned "Are you alright?"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded exhaustedly, although she knew the duel had drained her, her head was pounding painfully and her legs felt ready to collapse beneath her, as though the powerful sorcery she had unleashed had bled away all her physical energy, as well as her magical reserves. But she forced herself to keep standing, to stumble over to the dead body of the necromancer, flanked by Neeshka and Khelgar. Crushed beneath the stone, the horrifying mystique of necromancy had deserted him, and his frail body, broken by the impact, looked almost pathetic, until she looked down to that mask, a crude, steel thing, painted white, the visor narrow, it looked ghastly. How could anyone be so desperate to defile the dead? What had driven him? What had he hoped to accomplish?

"Okay, so what now?" Neeshka asked, sighing "We killed some mad necromancer, slaughtered hordes of undead but we're still not any closer to finding Commander Tarn, and I don't think good Lieutenant Vallis will believe any of this without some kind of proof"

"Wait…" Phaedra moved over to the raised casket which still stood undamaged and undefiled in the centre of the room, something about it drew her. Carefully she touched the smooth marble effigy, the expertly carved stone face gazed sightlessly at the ceiling, a handsome, gallant man he seemed, with Neverwinter's emblem of the eye carved into his surcoat. But there was more to this casket than that, she felt something, something lodged deep within the sarcophagus. Carefully she paced around it, feeling under the large, ornate lid, this had been opened and recently. As she tugged at it, it yielded slightly under her efforts "Khelgar" She said, glancing upwards to the dwarf "Help me with this" The dwarf strode over, looking confused, but he nonetheless obediently pulled at the large slab of stone, straining for a moment before he dragged it from its balance across the heavy stone casket, scraping across the marble surface, until it revealed what was inside. Neeshka moved over, her eyes gleaming with avarice.

"What's inside…?" She began, then instantly froze, gasping with shock "By Tymora, is that Commander Tarn?" Khelgar muttered an oath, for lying prone within the coffin was indeed the still form of a man, pale as death. He was large, tall and blonde, in the manner of many from Neverwinter, his armour was of the typical Greycloak design, but decorated with a number of gold insignias, and signs of rank. He was unnaturally still, his eyes closed, clamped tight as though against a vision of horror, but Phaedra saw with a stab of relief the steady rise and fall of his chest, he was still breathing… "Is he undead?" Neeshka asked, shuddering, as she hovered at the head of the coffin.

"No," Phaedra leant over and laid her fingers at the base of his neck, feeling a steady pulse. She sensed none of the dark magic that suffused the bodies of the undead. "He's bound here, by magic." She whispered a dispelling hex, with the necromancer dead, his magical bonds were already decaying and easily gave way, as a stream of pale, pure light travelled from her fingers into the man's flesh, undoing each constraint upon him. He began to stir, slowly at first, then at last his eyes opened, focused on her.

"Where am I?" He whispered, his voice was hoarse, rough, he seemed strangely calm considering all that had occurred, that he was still lying in the stone coffin, but his focus seemed hardly to have encompassed anything else besides her yet "Am I dead?"

"No," Phaedra answered gently, he strained beneath her hand, trying to rise. "Lie still for a moment," She said. "You're safe now."

"I remember darkness," He gasped, taking in a deep, heaving breath, as though he were starved of air, of life. "Are you an angel?"

"My name is Phaedra Blake," Phaedra answered softly. "I'm an…adventurer, we're here to help you." He frowned, his gaze narrowing…then he began to struggle upwards "Be careful" Phaedra warned, but he nonetheless managed to force himself to a sitting position, staring around the shadowed room with an increasing lucidity.

"The necromancer," At once he spoke with greater strength, with command in his deep, rich voice. "What happened?"

"He is dead" Phaedra lightly steadied him, then he looked back to her, stared really, with a strange, doubting stare, the strength of which was quite unsettling.

"You killed him?" He said flatly.

"Yes" Phaedra replied "We were sent by Lieutenant Vallis."

"I am Tarn, Commander of Fort Locke," the man answered. "Our patrols, my men, what happened to them?" Phaedra glanced down to the floor sadly.

"They're dead" She said softly "The necromancer killed them, and raised their bodies. I'm sorry, we had to destroy them" At once rage flashed across Tarn's features, he shook with anger, his arm clenching as though he prepared to strike something, Phaedra pulled back, flinching, from his anger.

"We were lured into a trap," Tarn snarled viciously. "My men killed because I led them here. I didn't think, I didn't suspect…Damn him and his vile schemes!"

"I'm sorry" Phaedra whispered again, helpless in the face of his harsh rage, his anguished grief .

"You say you killed him?" Tarn wheeled on her, pushing himself to stand unsteadily by the great stone casket "How? Why, I can't believe…" He breathed haltingly, great, heaving sobs racking through his body…

"Tarn" Phaedra gently touched the distraught man's arm "Your men are at rest, they won't be disturbed again"

"I failed…" Tarn groaned "I was trained for battle, but this, this…" He raised his head "He tortured me, questions, questions about the Fort, our defences, numbers. I had to answer, I failed them…" By the Gods, so the necromancer had kept Tarn here to get information on the fort, but why? What nefarious plans had he made?

"You failed if you don't bloody pull yourself together" Khelgar forced his way forward, glaring thunderously at the despairing commander "You're still commander of the Fort, and there are men there who know nothing about what's happened here, and they need to know, or you let those killed here die for nothing!"

"Khelgar," Phaedra gasped, but Tarn looked up, his anguished features flushing suddenly.

"You, you're right," He gasped, shaking his head. "I have to report back, no one knows anything in the Fort."

"Was…he actually going to attack?" Phaedra asked, she had wondered at this necromancer's plans, but to attack Fort Locke, even with the undead, would have been insane, there certainly had not been enough of the dread creatures in these catacombs to overrun the Fort.

"No" Tarn replied softly "He didn't have a force near large enough to take the Fort, but that's what worries me. He has to have allies, somewhere close, maybe near Highcliff. Tyr…you have to help me get back to the Fort, they have to be warned, now"

"Yes, Tarn, we'll take you back" Phaedra nodded, though it was not related to the shard, this necromancer's plot interested her, worried her in fact. It seemed to come straight from the pages of one of her histories, the tales of dark days in the past. But what did it mean? And was it somehow tied up within the threat in the Mere she had begun to sense just before she left? There weren't many answers, and this only worried her more. No, she had to focus on the shard for now, taking Tarn back to Fort Locke was the next step on the way, and hopefully he, and Neverwinter, would be able to resolve this trouble before it threatened anyone, before it threatened West Harbour


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12 and things are getting interesting. I wanted to really write about how it would feel to kill someone for the first time in this chapter, but I might have gone a bit over the top, so let me know if it goes on too long._

_Thanks to everyone, please review if you can!_

Fort Locke loomed before them once again, a monolithic dark shadow against the crimson heavens. Dusk closed in around the hills, and the black night approached across the unclouded sky. Phaedra steadied herself momentarily, she felt exhausted mentally and physically, that hideous descent into the mausoleum had drained her, and the trek back toward Fort Locke thus far had been arduous, she felt just about ready to collapse where she stood. Neeshka likewise was barely stumbling onwards, she was pale and wan. Even Khelgar's indomitable character seemed to have sapped away as he trudged onward in silence. Commander Tarn hadn't spoken once since they had left the tomb, an iron determination blazed in his steely gaze, every step they took seemed to energise rather than enervate him, his fort was close, and Phaedra sensed that what he helped to do there would aid him in facing up to what had happened to the ill-fated men he had led.

They moved along the narrow rock-lined pass where, only yesterday, she and Khelgar had first encountered Neeshka, already it seemed much longer since then, and Neeshka seemed to have fitted right in alongside them, just as Khelgar had earlier. Time seemed to pass much more slowly on the road, the experiences she'd had couldn't be fitted into a year, a lifetime, in West Harbour; had it truly been only a few days since she had left the village behind? She wondered how they were coping, and murmured a small prayer, for Daeghun and Bevil especially. As Harbourmen did, they would endeavour to move on into the future, not to dwell on the past. But she still questioned if that was the best thing, we could not simply forget what had happened, or what did those we had lost mean to us? She sighed briefly, as Amie's features floated in her mind, before vanishing like a mist into memory…

"You said Vallis sent you?" Tarn suddenly said, to Phaedra's surprise, jarring her from the quiet thoughtfulness that had settled over her on the journey thus far.

"Yes" she answered, turning to the Commander with an encouraging smile "He wanted me to find out what had happened" She decided it was best to omit mention of Vallis' attempts at blackmail, whatever troubles he and the Commander might have on his return were between the two of them. Frankly, as long as Tarn started the patrols up again, she would be glad to leave the politics of the Fort behind.

"Somehow I don't think he'll be too happy to see you alive" Neeshka, it seemed, was quite prepared to say what Phaedra was not.

"Vallis has always been ambitious" Tarn said softly, looking distinctly troubled. Phaedra frowned, she hadn't liked what she had seen of Lieutenant Vallis very much, but the thought of him, of anyone, being prepared to go as far as Neeshka was implying was not a comfortable one. Would they be caught in the middle of a conflict between Tarn and his Lieutenant?

"Hey, don't give it a second's thought Phaedra" Khelgar fell in beside her with a jaunty grin "If he tries anything, we'll send him wailing back to the city where he belongs" Phaedra started, startled that Khelgar had been perceptive enough to notice her unease. There were greater depths to the dwarf than at first appeared. Still, she wasn't exactly reassured, as of yet.

Suddenly there was a shout from ahead and two men, in the full regalia of Greycloaks, pounded into the gorge at breakneck speed, in spite of the heavy armour they wore. Phaedra leapt back with surprise, pulling to a halt. She felt her hand run to her bow for no conceivable reason, though both of the men had their swords out and at the ready, but thankfully both stopped short, looking quite shocked, upon seeing Commander Tarn step to the fore of the four-strong group.

"Halt!" One of them shouted brusquely nonetheless "By order of Lieutenant Vallis"

"Soldier, get me the Lieutenant, now" Tarn ordered, suddenly clothed in the full authority of a Greycloak Commander once again, his straight posture, the determined set of his jaw remarkable considering the wreck of a man he had seemed back in the tomb.

"There is no need for the posturing, Tarn" Vallis suddenly appeared at the curve of the gorge, immaculate as ever, and weaving a slow, languorous pace toward them. He was fully armed, something which struck Phaedra as exceedingly ominous, as did his use of Tarn's name rather than his title "I am here" Though he spoke softly, the words echoed down the gorge. Phaedra stiffened as he made his way down to them, but Tarn faced his Lieutenant with the same sense of command that denoted his interaction with his other underlings, something the Lieutenant obviously noticed, though he gave little sign of it.

"Lieutenant, order the General Staff assembled" Tarn nodded curtly as Vallis reached them "I need to address them, we're facing a serious threat here"

"Yes, we shall be calling a General Meeting soon" Vallis answered, with a thin smile "But I'm afraid you won't be addressing it at all. Commander Tarn, the loss of the three patrols was directly a consequence of your negligence and incompetence. I hereby relieve you of your command and sentence you to be detained until a consensus is reached on the appropriate punishment for your actions" Tarn breathed heavily, drawing himself to his full height.

"None of those men, nor I, knew what was out there" He said, with deadly stillness "And I accept my responsibility for it. But there is a grave threat out there, a plot directed against Neverwinter and her lands. Damn it Vallis, this isn't the time for your petty schemes"

"So you admit it!" Vallis hissed "Your methods would have brought this fort to ruin! You would have destroyed everything I've accomplished!" Phaedra gasped, the man was raving, his careful of air of dignified nobility had fallen away entirely, he was utterly enraged, frenzied.

"You'll destroy it yourself if you don't listen to me!" Tarn roared

"Enough!" Vallis raised his hand, gesticulating wildly "I am the Commander now! I will be obeyed!"

"You don't have the authority" Tarn snapped "These men know who their commander is…" His blazing eyes turned to each of the men flanking Vallis, but they met his gaze clearly and without hesitation, either they truly believed Vallis, or perhaps he had bribed them into obedience. Conflict seemed almost inevitable, but Phaedra pushed herself forward, knowing she had to make one last try to get through to Vallis.

"Lieutenant" She stepped out toward them, reaching out to Vallis peacefully, keeping her voice soft after the rage blazing between Tarn and him. "You have to listen to reason…" But Vallis wheeled on her, rage blazing in his eyes, his features contorted with frenzy…and she realised suddenly that no reason could get through to him. By the Gods, what had happened to Vallis?

"You were supposed to find him dead!" He snarled into her face "How dare you disobey me!"

"You're mad!" She stepped back quickly, never had she seen such all-consuming fury "Stop now!"

"See, Tarn!" Vallis' eyes were wild "This is what comes of her kind, adventurers, running around with dwarves, tieflings…no respect for law! I'll have you all hanged!"

"You are unfit for office Vallis!" Tarn snapped

"Enough!" Vallis snarled "I have the authority! Execute them! Execute all of them!" He leapt forward at once, drawing the sword from his belt in a great sweeping arc that almost caught Tarn across the chest, had the Commander not anticipated the blow and leapt back, avoiding it just in time. Vallis' henchmen ran forward at his command, but Khelgar and Neeshka rose to meet them, as Phaedra stumbled backward and drew her bow out and at the ready, she was awash with confusion, with horror, these weren't Grey Dwarves, these weren't Bladelings! They were humans, people, like her! Neeshka's short sword danced before her eyes, catching the longer blade of the man she had engaged, she kicked out viciously, but he sidestepped the blow, his hate-filled eyes burning. Khelgar pounded into his own foe, slamming his axe again and again into the man's sword as though it were a hammer against the forge. Tarn, unarmed, swung at Vallis with nothing more than his gauntleted fist. No, they all needed her help!

"Stop!" Phaedra cried, reaching for the magic within her, but somehow, impossibly, falling short of it, as though she reached for an edge with her outstretched hand and missed it, sending a lurching feeling right up from her stomach. She staggered, horrified, this had never happened before, this feeling of sudden emptiness. Her magic had always been there for her, now when she needed it, gone…it was impossible, but it was happening before her, inside her, she was entirely cut off! Panic welled up inside, helpless, thoughtless panic, no, she couldn't let herself let go, she had other weapons, her bow and arrows, but she had never planned to kill Vallis, had hoped to use her magic to incapacitate, to stun him…now, if she had only the arrows, she had little choice but to fight a far more violent battle.

"Phaedra, a little help here!" Neeshka cried, gasping, as she tried to fend off her attacker, the Greycloak was vicious, slamming again and again at her shorter blade, giving her little chance to try for the flanking manoeuvres she favoured. She was on the defensive, being driven back and in trouble. Phaedra's hands shook, she couldn't aim, but no she had to, Neeshka was in trouble, she needed Phaedra's help. The Greycloak swung his blade, Neeshka's short sword was pulled from his hand by a single, shattering blow from the thicker sword, striking the stone to rattle out of reach. Phaedra forced her control down her fingertips, grasping at the bow, pulling back the bowstring, slotting the arrow into place. She saw the man, his face contorted with anger and bloodlust, pull back his sword for another strike, Neeshka fell back, and suddenly Phaedra glimpsed in her eyes that same helpless fear she had seen flash across Amie's face, that same helpless terror raking across her as she raised her hands, trying, desperately to escape the blow. In that final split second, Phaedra let the arrow go.

Everything seemed to pass in agonising slowness, she watched as though the sands of time crystallised around that single moment. The arrow whistled through the air, the Greycloak turned slowly and his face changed, a hopeless fear burned in his eyes, then her arrow slammed through his neck, puncturing flesh and bone. He pulled back, stumbling, the sword in his hand fell to the ground, as his hand, trembling, moved to the shaft in his neck, he choked…then his eyes went blank, the light of life blinking out in an instant, his breath rattling, one last, deep gasp, and he fell back against the rocks, his body still, limp and lifeless. Phaedra gasped, staggering herself, as though her own limbs would give way beneath her, the weight of death, of blood seemed to press down upon her, so she had done it, she had killed…a man, like some dumb beast. Bile rose in her throat, and she retched emptily, unable to pull her gaze away from that sight, that man, who had an instant ago gazed at her with horror, agony, and rage in his eyes, now dead, with blood spattering the rocks around him. No, control…she had been around death so much these past days, he had attacked them, she had had no choice…but it still sickened her, her nostrils filled with the stench of blood freshly spilled, sending a flood of nausea up through her skull, forcing her to stagger backwards against the cliff, steadying herself with one trembling hand.

"Lass, it's over" She was dimly aware then of Khelgar standing in front of her, squinting with concern at her, his broad hand upon her arm "Lass, Phaedra, come on…"

"Phaedra" Neeshka leant in over the dwarf "You okay?"

"I'm…yes, I think so" She gasped, clamping down on the turmoil within her, she had to be stronger.

"He was no good lass" Khelgar said, trying to comfort her in his own blunt way "None of them were, just had to be done, like with that necromancer" Phaedra glanced at him, that had been different. There had been no doubt there, no man behind that beast-like mask, only pure evil. But this, a man, who had dreams and hopes, maybe a family, no she couldn't afford to think like this anymore…it was done, she could regret it, but she had had no choice, and she could never change that.

"You saved my life" Neeshka's thin hand took her other shoulder, as both of her companions, her friends now, perhaps, helped her to stand, to settle "Again…you saved me again" Phaedra blinked, saw once again the unearthly dualism of Neeshka and Amie in that single, terrifying moment of danger, where even the vast differences between the two young woman had seemed as nothing to the sheer terror flashing over their faces. Amie had died, she couldn't save her friend, but she had saved Neeshka, she had done that.

"I'm alright now" She said, taking a step, settling herself "Let's just go…" She glanced around into the gorge quickly. The other Greycloak also lay, dead, by his comrade, she swallowed heavily, blood, there was so much blood, his skull had been cloven in two by Khelgar's axe. And as for Vallis himself, Tarn now stood over his nemesis, looking down into the Lieutenant's empty eyes, over his broken body, the splendid richness of his uniform splayed out into the dust. Somehow, sometime during their fight, Tarn had wrested Vallis' sword from his hands and stabbed him through the chest.

"Treachery" Tarn whispered the word, cold and harsh as the edge of an iron blade "I will see to it that you are buried in the Tomb of the Betrayers, Lieutenant" He frowned, his gaze travelling to just above the Lieutenant's stilled chest. As Phaedra and the others watched, he bent down over the body, and pulled something from around Vallis' neck, holding it aloft for a moment. It was a simple charm, silver and bronze, strung with a charm in the shape of a magic rune Phaedra didn't recognise, but Phaedra stepped back with horror, feeling icy fingers close over her heart. Instantly she knew this had been the source of the drain on her magic back during the fight, the devastating block upon her power she had felt so keenly.

"Some kind of Dispelling Amulet?" Phaedra gasped, unsure she had spoken aloud, until Tarn glanced to her, his fist closing tight around the seemingly innocuous amulet. From now on, Phaedra had to be more careful, for such a small thing to cut her off entirely from the magic upon which she relied so much, she needed to be vigilant, to be ready for anything.

"Then he knew well what he planned to do" He nodded coldly, distantly "Come then, I will have these scum removed from here and burned. But now Fort Locke needs its Commander again"

"Commander, wait" Phaedra stepped forward slowly, hearing the whisper of Brother Merring's voice on the wind for a second, once the cleric had spoken of warriors, of adventurers, of how Lathander favoured those who brought the dawn into the darkness, but only as long as they fought with justice, and killed only where necessary. But what separated us from a beast when we killed so brutally? She staggered to the man she had murdered, and looked for a moment into his face "Gods, take you to rest" She had never imagined that she could be capable of this, but perhaps if she remembered this moment, remembered the consequences of it, it would not change her, turn her into a monster. Whatever happened she could not allow herself to forget. She slowly bent over his body and closed those awful, sightless eyes with a light touch of her hand. If this man had truly been innocent, deceived perhaps by Vallis, and Gods forgive her if he had been, perhaps the Gods would accept him. She looked up, and met Tarn's stony stare, consigning her to condemnation for the crime of sympathy, of regret, but she held it with as much cold strength in her gaze. Finally, the Commander looked away.

"We should go" he said, emotionlessly. Phaedra nodded, standing and brushing her hands on her dress, she felt drained. Though she knew in her heart she would have to kill again, to save her companions, West Harbour, to save herself, she could never allow herself to forget the consequences.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13, don't worry in this case it's quite lucky :)_

_Thanks again to voltagelisa for continuing reviews and support_

Fort Locke's tavern was little more than a large wooden hallway, somewhat austere in design, but edified by the warmth and activity within. It bustled with life this night of all nights, as off-duty Greycloaks celebrated the return of their Commander, and the hapless refugees made an effort to drown their sorrows alongside the soldiers. Little, if anything, was made of Lieutenant Vallis, his short leadership and his treachery drowned out amidst the chorus of raucous cheers. In the middle of the celebration, Phaedra sat alone at one of the rough wooden tables, staring blankly into the crackling fire in the hearth just next to where she sat, her thoughts far from the commotions around her. She, Khelgar and Neeshka had rented a room here for a second night. Tarn, after his jubilant welcome back to his position, had retreated to the fort with few words and even less time for his apparent rescuers. He had made it clear she was no longer welcome in his fort, invoking his authority and the suspicions of adventurers and vagabonds common amidst Neverwinter's army and police force. Tarn would restart the patrols, as promised, but the three of them were going to have to leave tomorrow, early. And all this because she had prayed over the dead body of the man she had killed. Tarn was a hard man, or his torment in the tomb had made him so. She lowered her head into her hands, and sighed heavily, she was only beginning to understand, but out here her actions seemed to have consequences, sometimes consequences she hardly suspected. She hardly noticed when Neeshka moved over to the table, but as the tiefling slipped into the seat opposite her, she raised her head and smiled gently. Khelgar hadn't left the bar, he seemed to be enjoying himself amongst the Greycloaks, but Neeshka it seemed had something she wanted to say. She was once again wearing the mantle of her dark cloak up over her head to hide her horns, but the concern in her sharp features was clear as she gazed at Phaedra for a moment before speaking.

"Phaedra," She said slowly. "You sure you're alright…I mean after what happened back there."

"Yes," Phaedra answered. "I'm fine, I understand…it had to be done."

"It must be tough, what you've had to go through,"" She sighed. "That sort of thing's been a part of my life so long, I didn't think…"

"You've seen…killing often?" Phaedra whispered.

"In my line of work, we do," Neeshka nodded soberly. "We see a lot of back-stabbing too…but even I didn't think Tarn would be such a bastard."

"I don't understand it" Phaedra admitted. "What did he actually hope to gain by doing this to us?"

"Nothing, he's just a vindictive bastard," Neeshka shrugged. "Listen, if you ever…" She glanced up suddenly, hearing something Phaedra didn't, then her gaze travelled to the door and a somewhat disgruntled frown crossed her features "Oh…" She said disgustedly "Look who it is." Phaedra followed her gaze, and saw Marshal Cormick standing in the doorway of the inn, behind him the darkness of the twilight, the fire's glow gleamed over the armour plate he wore, rippling through his blue cloak. He was glancing inquisitively around the inn, looking for someone amidst the crowd of revel-makers, looking for her, in fact, for when their eyes met at last, he nodded curtly and began to make his way down to the table where she and Neeshka sat.

"Phaedra?" He said when he had reached them, standing at Neeshka's left. The tiefling had fallen silent and followed Cormick suspiciously with her crimson gaze, Phaedra supposed distrust of the Watch came naturally when one was a thief, but she was sure Neeshka was overreacting. Cormick was decent, he wasn't about to accuse her falsely, as those Greycloaks had. "Could I talk to you a moment?" The Marshal asked, glancing uncomfortably to Neeshka.

"I know when I'm not wanted," The tiefling said dismissively, standing up and sauntering away into the crowd toward the bar and Khelgar. Cormick's gaze followed her for a moment, then he turned back to Phaedra, frowning.

"A tiefling?" He shook his head. "They're dangerous, Phaedra…you know that cursed blood brings cursed fortunes."

"Neeshka is a good friend," Phaedra drew herself upright, offended on her friend's behalf. "She helped me rescue your Commander, she helped kill that necromancer…"

"Phaedra," Cormick raised his hand, his discomfort deepening as a flush stained his ruddy cheeks. "I didn't mean to offend you, nor did I come to talk about your companions" He paused for a moment, and his expression darkened "I heard about Tarn, what he did to you…"

"It's okay Cormick," Phaedra lowered herself back into the seat, smiling gently at the Marshal. "It wasn't your fault."

"I should have been there," Cormick shook his head. "If I'd known Tarn would turn his back on you, after everything you've done…"

"There's nothing we can do," Phaedra sighed, she'd already heard all this from Neeshka and Khelgar alike, all she could feel was exhaustion, but this journey had to go on. She would have had to leave Fort Locke tomorrow at any rate, it was past time to leave the politics of the garrison behind as well. "Please Cormick, don't make things worse for yourself by arguing with Tarn on my behalf" She pleaded

"It won't happen anyway," Cormick answered bleakly. "I'm moving out tomorrow, we're taking a company of Greycloaks to try to escort these refugees safely to Neverwinter" He laid a large, swarthy hand on the table, beside her slender and pale fingers. "Things are tough, we could use your help," He said with more care than the apparently casual offer might have warranted. "You and your friends could go a long way if we are attacked, as you're headed towards the city, maybe you should come with us."

"Cormick," Phaedra's heart sank, she glanced away into the fire. "Thank you but I can't…"

"Why?" The Marshal leant inwards, frowning.

"I'm carrying something, something…someone wants very badly," Phaedra explained quickly. "Badly enough they attacked West Harbour to get it. They know I'm travelling this way, somehow, and they'll be watching for me. I can't put your refugees or your soldiers in that kind of danger. I won't let anyone else die!"

"Phaedra, you can't be any safer on your own," Cormick argued stubbornly.

"I'm travelling by sea from Highcliff" Phaedra answered "It's the only way I can make sure they don't follow me. I don't really know anymore than you do but somehow I think this necromancer and the attack on West Harbour are related. Someone wants the shard, and even if I don't know why, I have to do what I can to stop them killing anyone else"

"No one will get killed," Cormick vowed. "You'll be protected. I'll…protect you…"

"I can't take that chance," Phaedra sighed. "Daeghun insisted I make the journey this way" Cormick paused, seeming to wrestle with himself.

"I trust Daeghun's judgement," He said at last. "But you should know I still strongly disagree." He shook his head "I've been in the Guard nearly five years, and none of us have ever encountered anything remotely like what you have. Neverwinter herself could be under threat, though who would dare, I just don't know."

"I'll find out whatever I can on the road," Phaedra promised.

"When you get to the city, come to the Guard Headquarters in the Dock District," Cormick said. "With luck, I'll have arrived by then, I'm sure our Lieutenant Roe will want to know anything you've found." He glared darkly back towards the looming shadow of the keep through the window nearest them "The Commander's going to need to settle things before he sends a courier to the city, so I'll have an opportunity to tell the truth and get you the reward you deserve from the Watch." He turned back, looking as though he'd personally defy Lord Nasher himself if it helped Phaedra's case "You'll have all the help you need from the Watch, I promise"

"Cormick…" Phaedra smiled gently "Thank you" A ruddy flush touched Cormick's features and he smiled back, the harshness of his face falling away for a moment, he looked young again, untouched by the responsibilities his position demanded.

"Be careful Phaedra," He said softly, then he sighed and the tension seemed to drain out of him somewhat. A momentary thoughtful sadness touched his warrior's exterior "You know," He continued "I still remember the young girl hanging on to her first bow, but now I look at you, and I see an adventurer, just like one of Georg's stories"

"It isn't much like that," Phaedra sighed, glancing away into the fire. She too felt the ghosts of the past drift alongside her. Cormick may have left West Harbour six years ago, but he still remembered it well, still longed to return, if for a brief time, and feel the winds of the Mere on his face.

"Travelling the realms, fighting undead, it sure seems that way to me," Cormick's voice was quiet, rough, as though it came from deep within a well of past memories. "You're nothing like the girl I remember, I guess I've been away from home far too long"

"So much has changed" Phaedra agreed, thinking of bygone days when, as a child, she had wandered the Mere with Amie and Bevil in tow.

"You were the last person I'd have expected to meet out here" Cormick continued, he was looking away, and it almost seemed as though he were talking not to her but to himself, or his memories. "Phaedra Blake, Daeghun's ward" He said distantly "A beautiful young woman on a quest to save West Harbour"

"Marshal!" Phaedra started, blushing furiously, scattering the pensive thoughtfulness that had settled over her at the mere thought that Cormick might think she was beautiful. What could she say to that? She barely knew Cormick!

"Ah, I forget myself" Cormick stepped back, a light smile touching his lips. Phaedra had the maddening feeling that he found her discomfort amusing, as though he was glad to see that she wasn't at all as confident as she pretended. "Good luck Phaedra" He said quickly "Gods willing, we shall meet again in Neverwinter" Then, all at once, before she had the chance to even reply, he walked away from the table, vanishing back through the door and into the still night that had settled over Fort Locke. Left behind, Phaedra shrank back into her seat, raising a cool hand to her burning cheeks.

"Well, he certainly got you flustered," Neeshka suddenly and casually appeared from the shadows under the inn's stairway right next to the table, where she had been hitherto completely invisible, obviously for some time, though Phaedra was sure she had seen her disappear into the crowd near the bar, and certainly had not heard the tiefling return. She reclaimed possession of her seat opposite Phaedra with the satisfaction of a well-fed feline.

"Neeshka!" Phaedra gasped, upon finding her voice through the shock of Neeshka's sudden appearence "What were you doing there?"

"Listening in, of course," Neeshka shrugged blithely, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "I wanted to keep an eye on that Marshal, you know you can't trust a Hound, right?"

"A what?" Phaedra gaped at her.

"A Hound, you know, a Watchman" Neeshka answered "That's what we call them anyway, because it's what they are. And that Hound…" She glanced suspiciously to the door, as though she expected Cormick to still be there "He was sniffing around where he had no business to be"

"Cormick's my friend," Phaedra sighed. "He only wants to help."

"Oh, does he now?" Neeshka smiled mischievously "Looked to me like he wanted a little more than to help you" Instantly, and to her distress, Phaedra felt her blush return, and deeper than before, under Neeshka's amused scrutiny. She doubted the self-assured tiefling had ever shown such obvious discomfort to anyone. "I knew he had an eye on you" She cried triumphantly

"Neeshka!" Phaedra hissed. "I have enough problems as it is without Cormick even being involved."

"You're right, men like him are trouble," Neeshka replied. "Hope you remember that…" Here she launched into a passable imitation of Cormick's West Harbour brogue "When, Gods willing, you meet again in Neverwinter"

"We only just met each other, it's been six years" Phaedra sighed "I hardly know him, and that's the end of it" Neeshka was silent thankfully, but her knowing smile, and the slightly raised eyebrow were clear enough that she hardly considered that 'the end of it'. Phaedra was far too exhausted to continue pressing her point however. She stood slowly, laying her hand on her aching forehead, and tucking the chair back under the table. "I'd better go up to get some rest" She said "Are you coming?"

"Someone better stay here and keep an eye on the dwarf," Neeshka glanced back towards the bar, where Khelgar was in fine form, debating in a loud and increasingly slurring voice with a crowd of the Greycloaks. "By Tymora, look at him, I'll probably have to drag him up the stairs and tuck him into bed myself" Neeshka said acidly

"Oh, should I stay a little bit longer then?" Phaedra offered.

"No" Neeshka glanced at her "Go get some sleep; you look like you really need it." Phaedra nodded, not tired enough to not be a little startled by this expression of generosity on the tiefling's part, but she accepted it gratefully. As she made her way up the stairs, having wished Neeshka a pleasant night, notwithstanding Khelgar and whatever duties the dwarf would require, she was seized by a sudden and violent longing for her bed back home, but she knew she had resigned herself to this fare, wherever it drew her. For now, though, she just needed to sleep, with luck, tomorrow's journey towards Highcliff would be free of all these complications and she would just be able to relax on the way.

oooo00000oooo

"For Heaven's sake Khelgar!" Phaedra snapped, completely at the end of her tether "If you didn't want this to happen, why in the name of all the Gods did you drink so much last night?"

"Don't shout like that lass." Khelgar groaned, looking sideways at her with bloodshot eyes, his normally ruddy features drained of all colour, not that Phaedra could have any sympathy. This was entirely self-inflicted on his part! "And don't move so fast, you're making my head spin"

"Are you even listening to me Khelgar?" Phaedra asked disgustedly "I said…!"

"Yes, by all the Nine Hells I heard your bloody scolding!" the dwarf interrupted, raising his hand to his head as though every word sent rattles of pain through his fragile skull "By my forefathers, you're far too young and too skinny to be my mother! What's the problem anyway, we're on our way to Highcliff now."

"Just stop complaining about it!" Phaedra retorted "We have a long way to go, and you're not helping us get there!" She hoisted her pack and strode onwards along the pathway. The road to Highcliff wove its way through the hills like the World Serpent from all those old tales, sometimes Phaedra had been sure it was leading them backwards, or in circles. Added to that a certain dwarf in her company hadn't stopped complaining about his delicate constitution since they'd left Fort Locke!

It was still morning, a cold morning beneath a heavy cover of clouds. To the east the mountain range known as the Spine of the World reared upwards, the snowy peaks shimmering with thick fog, and to the west Phaedra could finally see the sea, miles and miles of shining water beneath the opaque sky, stretching out into the horizon…into eternity it seemed. But beyond that sea, Phaedra knew, lay the mysterious lands of Chult, the great jungles, read as she might of that place, she could never quite imagine it. The trees beneath the humid skies, haunted by reptilian beasts from the dawn of the world and snake-men, the fearsome yuan-ti, what would it be like to truly experience such an exotic place?

"By the Hells…" Khelgar looked even paler, his hue almost turned greenish, as he stared out into the vast emptiness before them "I don't think I'll ever get used to this"

"Aren't we travelling by sea to Neverwinter, right Phaedra?" Neeshka gave her a mischievous smile.

"Don't remind me," Khelgar grumbled "I always think I've got used to the surface, then I see something like that!" He gestured out into the grey sky, the sea beneath it, but quickly withdrew his hand as though he were afraid he would tumble into the void.

"I think it's beautiful" Phaedra declared, laughing, taking in the glittering expanse of water, with one sweeping glance.

"You would think so," Khelgar muttered darkly. "Give me four stone walls and a solid roof any day."

"You shouldn't have left your hole then," Neeshka smirked. "Would have done us all a favour, anyway."

"My 'hole'?" Khelgar shook his head, glaring at the tiefling belligerently. "Look who's talking, goat-girl! You belong in the biggest and foulest hole of all, the Hells!"

"Technically the Hells aren't truly a hole" Neeshka answered eruditely, Phaedra glanced at her with surprise, then remembered that the tiefling had been raised in a temple. "They're more a sort of interlinking, dimensional chain of infinite space, but, hey, it was a nice try, stumpy"

"Stumpy?" Khelgar's brow furrowed "You can't think of anythin better than stumpy, can you? Well now, that's sad, especially for a Hell-reeking rat!"

"Alright the both of you" Phaedra couldn't help smiling, but she quickly intervened before the grinning tiefling could unleash another biting comment. Once they got started, the two of them could easily go on like this for hours. "Stop arguing, and look out for a place where we could spend the night."

"Yes, your ladyship" Neeshka sighed, rolling her eyes. Phaedra shook her head. She was surprised by how quickly she had come to enjoy the company of Khelgar and Neeshka, to consider them friends, as good friend as anyone in West Harbour, except Bevil and Amie. How easy it was to talk, to laugh, to forget her pressing troubles when she was with them. That, perhaps more than anything else boded well, she felt, for the journey ahead.


	14. Chapter 14

_Great, Chapter 14, and we're moving towards Highcliff, and eventually Neverwinter of course. _

_This is where Elanee comes in, let me know what you think of how I've portrayed her._

_Any more reviews would be really great, and thoughtful!_

It was just before dawn when Phaedra awoke, the sheltered overhanging where they had camped that night, protected by the craggy cliffs, was enveloped in a muted grey half-light, the dawning of a sea-stained morning. Carefully sitting up, and combing back her hair behind her ears, she looked around the small shadowed cave with interest. Khelgar and Neeshka were still heavily asleep, the both of them clustered around their packs and the ashen remnants of the fire they had prepared the night before. Phaedra stood up quietly, wrapping a thin linen shawl around her shoulders, and made her way back along the cliff, to where the east, and the hills, lay before her, the glinting sunbeams were just visible streaming from behind the horizon. It was so beautiful, she breathed deeply of the cool morning air and smiled, before carefully laying down her burdens and kneeling before the sunrise, whispering the prayers she carried with her, her head bowed. A profound serenity seemed to envelop her, Lathander himself perhaps or just the sense of peace that seemed to float so clearly amongst the pure sea air.

"You really do this every single morning?" Phaedra leapt up in surprise, at the sound of Neeshka's voice just behind her. She glanced back, startled, to where the tiefling stood, only a few paces away from her. By Lathander…she must have moved so quietly! Phaedra hadn't even realised she had woken, but she supposed the thief must have honed her instincts and senses to a knife-edge, something she would probably do wisely to remember from now on, Neeshka's abilites could only be a help to her on this journey.

"I try," she answered quickly, somewhat embarrassed by her obvious shock. "It's a special ritual to greet the dawn each day."

"A ritual, this early?" Neeshka yawned loudly, "I sure am glad that Tymora doesn't demand so much."

"Tymora is goddess of fortune, right?" Phaedra did not know all that much of other Gods, there were so many, good and evil or neither, some overt, others completely impenetrable, with their own followers, churches, rituals, that it was quite difficult to keep track of them all.

"Yes, Lady Luck keeps my pockets full of gold and the guards off my back." Neeshka lifted something out from under her armour, a small coin-like medallion bound with a leather strap, marked with a symbol, obviously that of Tymora. "All I need to give back is a prayer every now and then for thanks. All these rituals the other Gods want seem a little exhausting to me."

"But you were raised by priests of Helm," Phaedra pointed out.

"Exactly, you can't imagine how dull it was in that temple," Neeshka grinned mischievously, "I think I owe my current success to how bored I got back in that place, they had some service, some ritual every other hour, I had to find some way to distract myself. It just all went on and on. First thing I did when I left, I found a Goddess that I really wanted to pray to, I mean what thief doesn't need Lady Luck on side?"

"Well, I guess," Phaedra said, wondering what Brother Merring would have had to say. Perhaps he would have told Neeshka that the blessings of Lathander were much more valuable than gold, but Phaedra sensed that such an argument would most likely fall on deaf ears in this case, as it had amongst the farmers of West Harbour. She turned back towards the cave, the moment was over, it was time to focus on moving forward once again, to where that peace would remain once again elusive. "Neeshka, if you get Khlegar up, I'll see about getting something ready for breakfast," She said, returning to business quickly

"I don't want to go near him," Neeshka complained. "Just wave some of that awful salted pork he carries around in his face, it's about the only thing that could ever get him up anyway."

"Neeshka," Phaedra warned through a slight smile she couldn't quite mask ."You've got to do your bit if you come along with us."

"Oh, fine, but why do I have to do the nasty job?" Neeshka sniffed.

"Can you actually cook?" Phaedra inquired, suspecting that Neeshka's unconventional upbringing had left her unequipped with many of the skills Retta had imparted to Phaedra, when she had been younger, no doubt in the hope she'd be a good wife to Bevil.

"Well…no" Neeshka scowled "Fine, you win this time" She turned on her heels, muttering darkly to herself, and walked back towards the cave. After a short pause, smiling and shaking her head, Phaedra followed, ready to get the next day of their journey started once again.

* * *

The skies were heavily, thickly clouded, with oppressive, tight dark clouds, as the three companions travelled, their rough, narrow path winding its ponderous way through the deeply shadowed hills. Everything was quiet, save for a cold wind that whistled through the rocks, but as the road led down into a narrow valley, hemmed in on either side by the rough, impassive cliffs, Phaedra began to feel uneasy. It was a vague unformed feeling, a vague thought, but it was as though she felt the weight of a gaze pressing in upon her back, she found herself glancing up and around, seeing nothing, but never quite reassured. This road could be the perfect place for an ambush, whether by the bandits, or something far worse. And it seemed the others shared her disquiet…

"I don't like this lass," Khelgar muttered at her side as they moved onward through the narrow recesses of the winding gorge. "We're too exposed out here, maybe we should leave the road."

"No, we don't leave the road," Phaedra answered quickly, remembering Daeghun's words back in West Harbour. Though they were indeed vulnerable here, out in the wilderness they might well be even more so. She knew nothing of this country, they could easily lose themselves in these hills, then nothing would stop these creatures closing in on them. Right now all she could count on was to move forward, fast, hope that they got to Highcliff soon.

"Wait," Neeshka froze, raising a hand cautiously. "Did either of you hear something?" Phaedra stopped dead, her shoulders tensing as she glanced cautiously up to the hooded cliffs, her senses straining. She could hear nothing, but Neeshka's hands slowly travelled to the short sword at her belt. Phaedra followed her lead, tugging slowly at her bow, loosening it from her back. "There's…something up there" Neeshka murmured, her fingers running up the hilt of her sword slowly "There!" Phaedra's gaze flashed to where Neeshka was directing, just in time to see the flash of grey, the stirring of movement, the fall of dust from atop the cliff. By the Gods, it couldn't be…not here, not now…

"Archers!" Khelgar bellowed suddenly "Get down!" At the single, harsh shout, instinct reared up within Phaedra, wrenching control over her muscles from her stunned, reeling mind that was still taking precious seconds to catch up. She leapt aside, slamming into the rough, outcrops of rock on the side of the cliff, flattening her body against it, hearing and feeling the others do the same beside her, just in time as a dozen arrows clattered into the rock where she had just been standing, glancing off against the stone and splintering into pieces. Part of her desperately scanned the sides of the cliff, but her magic was subject to instinct as much as her physical self, and it was boiling upwards. Thinking clearly once more, she forged the roiling tide into a simple charm, forcing open the tides of clairvoyance, peering momentarily through the gates of increased awareness, and seeing, with a double-vision imposed upon her own, both where she stood now, and further up along the cliff, and there was movement there. She leapt forward, turning mid-stride, and aiming through the lens of the charm, the arrow flew unerringly to the target, and something screamed out, a terrible screech of agony, inhuman and brutally cut short, no man could have made a noise such as that. As Phaedra leapt back to safety, her arrow was answered by a second volley, more vicious than the last, shards of the poorly made arrows scattering everywhere as they shattered against the stone.

"We can't stay here!" Neeshka cried, as Phaedra blinked away the charm surrounding her. "We're too vulnerable!"

"Run!" Phaedra instructed furiously "Let's get out of the valley, maybe we'll be able to get to them above there!" She darted forward, boots slamming into the hard unyielding stone. Khelgar and Neeshka ran alongside her, the dwarf's loping gait and the tiefling's easy tread propelled them forward as Phaedra struggled along with her dress catching on her legs, for the first time in her life, amidst the mounting terror, not knowing when they would fire again, whether their bows were aimed on her, she had the strangely mundane thought that perhaps wearing such garments was not always the best idea. She turned, ducking as she ran, as there was another sweeping hail of arrows, cluttering into the stone around her, thankfully these creatures, no doubt thralls, were quite inept, she pulled her own bow back, honed to the first slight movement and fired again, cutting down another of the Duergar archers.

Suddenly, as she turned back, her heart leaping with triumph at the shot, Khelgar and Neeshka ground to a shockingly abrupt halt in front of her, as she reached them, she too froze in horror. Standing just in front of them, where the rocks were draped with a film of thick moss, one of the scaled Bladelings, a tall and ferocious creature, its powerful scaled body fitted with the interlocking plates of gilded silver armour, it even wore a helmet, crafted as though it were a face bearing shocking resemblance to Amie's killer, the Bladeling's reptilian features protruded outwards from its mouth that was open in rage or torment, it was smiling though, smiling a cold smile of victory, its yellow eyes fixed greedily on Phaedra, and in its long fingers it bore a thick, curved blade aloft. Nor was it alone, it was surrounded by a platoon of its grey dwarf thralls, six of them, garbed in nearly identical, though less rich, armour of their own, each with a deadly blade in hand.

"Ceasefire, you fools!" It snarled, its pallid arm aloft to signal to those upon the cliffs, cautioning them to stop their arrows, well that was one less thing to be concerned about, but this Bladeling seemed like one of the elite…and he had six minions, could she face them? "The glory of slaying her shall go to me!" It lowered its head, yellow eyes meeting Phaedra's "Kalach-cha" it hissed, and it was clear it addressed her, so that title did belong to her, as she had suspected all along, to her personally, it did not mean the shard "There is no place to run this time, no village to throw between yourself and us. That which you have stolen, give it to me, and I will kill you and these who follow you quickly" Phaedra clasped the pouch with the shard in it protectively in her one hand, even through the rough canvas she felt the pulsing power of the artefact and breathed deeply in unison with it. Her obligations gave her strength.

"If you wish it," She raised her head, golden hair falling aside under the wind, to gaze defiantly at the creature. "Try to take it yourself."

"You are a fool" The loathsome creature hissed, and its teeth glinted as it smiled cruelly "I shall enjoy killing you" Phaedra glanced to Khelgar and Neeshka, each of them met her gaze determinedly, their weapons set. Whatever happened they were ready for it. But Phaedra had precious few seconds, as the creatures began to step forward, blades glinting, their teeth as sharp and cruel, towards them, her mind running over each and every spell she knew, she had to find one which could take out these creatures before those archers decided better on their master's order.

Then suddenly, shockingly, she felt the ache of magic, strong magic, pouring outwards in a torrent across her intuition. She leapt backwards, raising her hands instantly to counter, but to her even greater shock it became clear this spell was not directed against her, no…it was, against the Bladeling. The ground cracked open beneath her feet, she staggered backwards just in time, shards of rock and earth were flung upwards in a hail of grey, as green life burst forth, great, stringy strands of vines, crowned with leaves, curling, whipping, growing so fast, all amidst the Grey Dwarves who let out a chorus of animalistic howls, their leader the Bladeling hissing angrily. No magic she knew could do this! These vines tore through the cobbles of the road, ripping them apart, leaping forth with that impossible growth to grasp at them, growing around their arms and legs, fixing them to the ground, like great curling fingers of the earth itself. The Bladeling fell back, screaming alien curses, the vines burst at its arms, it swung wildly at the plants, trying desperately to cut them through, but there were so many, growing so fast he could not hope to fight this fury. Phaedra and the others stood shocked, even had it not been obvious that magic was behind this, she felt it in their very strands, wrapped up within and around them, guiding them, but it was not magic as she knew it, a different kind of magic…it was a strange, fierce, unguided power, but it was directed…directed from…

Phaedra's head snapped upwards, power was streaming off from a point just up on the cliffs, a point where a figure was clearly visible, a woman, her long hair and robes sweeping about her in the wind, her hands raised to point down toward the Bladeling. That magic wrapped around her, embracing her in a great storm-like current, not from the Weave of Magic, not from Mystra, but from…nature?

"Watch out lass!" Khelgar roared suddenly, Phaedra spun round, the archers! Oh Gods, the archers! Something whistled forward and struck her with the force of…the force she could never have imagined before, sending her sprawling against the rocks, tearing into her leg, a searing, sharp pain, a scream burst from her lips, she clasped at the cliffs, her hands raking the stone. Shaking with the intensity of the agony, she glanced down slowly…Lathander, she screamed in her mind, no! The shaft of an arrow protruded from her body, blood staining the dress, a great flowering stain of dark, spreading fast, she could feel it draining down her leg. Gasping with pain, she tried to peel the heavy fabric away, but it hurt, it hurt so much, Gods, she could have never imagined this pain. Instantly Khelgar and Neeshka were beside her, Khelgar pulled at her, she screamed again as the slight movement sent a new spasm of pain through her whole body. "Lass, come on!" Khelgar bellowed "We need to get to cover!" The archers, they were going to fire again, oh Gods…she limped forward, leaning heavily on the dwarf, but still her leg burned, each movement of any muscle in her leg was like being hit by the arrow again and again. Oh Gods, there was still the Bladeling, the woman…she tried to glance back, but her leg gave a new wrenching stab of agony, and she screamed out again, feeling herself collapse, Neeshka's rough grasp on her arm was all that kept her upright, but somehow they made their way into the dubious shelter under the arc of the rough cliff.

"Kill her!" The Bladeling snarled, caught fast, trying in vain to struggle through the sweeping, clinging vines that wrapped hard around its whole body, slowly strangling it amidst a plethora of tenacious green life "Kill her, you pathetic thralls!" But the Grey Dwarves were caught just as close, however, and the woman turned quickly to the archers. She raised her hands and the chant that roused a storm of power echoed down the gorge, the streams of magic running along the rock sweeping over where Phaedra leant, grasping at her wounded leg, gasping in agony, but still even through it all able to feel the sheer force of this awesome energy unleashed. Above, the rocks flashed with cracks of electricity. By Lathander, their mysterious rescuer was summoning lightning! At once it arced through the air, a great stream of lightning that tore through the archers gathered on the opposite cliff, they screamed, almost as one, as the smell of burning flesh and ozone flooded Phaedra's nostrils, she coughed weakly, clasping again at the rock, as the pain intensified once again.

"Keep her safe!" Khelgar yelled to Neeshka, hefting his axe purposefully "I don't know what in the Hells is going on here but I'm going to bloody well make that…thing pay for this!" He bellowed out a war cry, and careered, his axe swinging toward the bound Bladeling and his bodyguard, who were still desperately struggling with the living chains wrapping around them. Through the mists of agony, Phaedra heard the sound of quick purposeful footsteps, she glanced up quickly to see the woman, their saviour, her long robes billowing around her, leap down from her vantage point and scramble with swift but elegant footing down towards her and Neeshka. She was an elf, Phaedra realised, in the part of her that was still strangely detached from the raw pain in her leg.

"Stay away!" Neeshka cried, pulling at her short sword, Phaedra gasped out shrilly as the tiefling's grip on her tightened. But the elf slowed as she came closer, alighting from the cliff onto the stone path with an almost bird-like grace, extending her hands peaceably towards them, an effect that, strangely, was not at all marred by the fact she carried a deadly sharp sickle in her right hand. She radiated calm, serenity, the weapon seemed hardly a part of her, nor did the power sweeping around her that Phaedra's failing intuition glimpsed for a moment.

"Don't" She said, gently but firmly "Let me help her" Phaedra drew in a harsh, desperate breath, looking deep into the elf's face, gentleness was drawn in every contour, her deep eyes, an elven green, shimmered with compassion, shining with a strange intensity.

"What?" Neeshka snapped, drawing back "Like I'm letting you…"

"Neeshka" Phaedra whispered softly "No, let her…help" Something about this woman, this elf, even through the agony in her leg, was like a calming, healing balm, something so familiar, but at once elusive, she could not remember it at all but it stirred something in her, old feelings, child-like things…

"What?" Neeshka gasped, glancing with confusion at her "You sure, Phaedra?" Phaedra nodded tightly. Somehow she knew, this woman meant her no harm.

"Thank you" The elf moved closer slowly, she reached out, her gaze swept over the livid blood streaming down Phaedra's grey cotton dress, the arrow protruding from her side, it was not quite a clinical examination of the injury, in fact, just beyond the seeming calm of her façade, Phaedra glimpsed a moment's storm of anxiety, distress, though the woman was restraining it well. "Listen to me" She raised her luminous eyes, met Phaedra's "I am going to have to pull the arrow out of you before I can do anything, it will hurt…please, let me do this"

"Do it" Phaedra said through gritted teeth "Please…" The elf nodded grimly, leaning forward to reach for the arrow, her long, delicate fingers closed around it, the slight motion enough to send ripples of sharp pain up Phaedra's spine

"Trust me" She murmured softly, and pulled. Phaedra screamed, collapsing heavily against Neeshka and sobbing helplessly in the face of it, this firestorm of agony. By the Gods, that such pain existed, oh Gods, Heavens help her, and the blood, it was streaming from her, leaving great rivulets of pain in her leg, she was sure the muscles had torn, given way entirely, she certainly could not move the helpless limb at all. She was barely aware as the elf moved to touch the bleeding wound with gentle, cool fingers, but then suddenly something pulsed over her skin, she felt the movement of power like a cool wind across her face, like a trickling stream deep within her flesh, like the heartbeat of nature itself. An itch began in the skin, she felt it, she felt the skin itself stretching over the wound, she felt the flesh healing, the fabric of her body moving in answer to the gentle rain of magic pulsing within it, knitting itself back together. The pain ebbed suddenly, the absence of it for a second almost as sharp as the actual experience of it, then it was nothing more than a slight ache, and it was gone entirely…

"How did you…?" Phaedra whispered, tears were still glimmering across her gaze as she glanced up with awe to the elven woman standing before her, blood still stained the fabric of her dress, but the wound was gone. This woman had healed her, not using a prayer to the Gods, for Phaedra had not felt the power of the Divine, familiar to her from Merring's rituals, but something else entirely. No, this power had come from…nature itself, no power of nature like Silvanus, but from the very fabric of the natural world. Suddenly Phaedra realised what this woman was, something she had only read of, a druid, a woman of the wilds, a channel of nature. Seeing understanding in Phaedra's eyes, the druid smiled gently and offered her a hand, and, wincing slightly, expecting the surge of pain but feeling nothing, she took it and pulled herself up from Neeshka who was still staring at them both with shock at the obvious display of such powerful magic.

"Lass, are you alright?" Khelgar suddenly appeared at the elf's left, obviously full of concern. It was obvious he had made short work of their attackers, bound as they had been by the magic of the druid, his axe hung low and bloody, scarred by battle, and behind him, the grim remnants of their foes…Phaedra looked away quickly…

"Yes," She answered "Yes, I'm fine." She once again tentatively touched the place where the wound had been, now there was not even a scar. She had seen Brother Merring heal small cuts, bruises, childhood illnesses, with Lathander's blessing, but nothing even remotely like this. How powerful must this druid who stood before her be?

Slowly Phaedra lifted her head to gaze upon their rescuer properly for the first time. The woman, by her bronzed skin, somewhat gilded by the sun, her beautiful shimmering green eyes and the coppery hair that hung unbound, flowing gracefully around her shoulders, was obviously a wood elf, as Daeghun was. But she seemed much more youthful than he did, the somewhat ageless quality common to all elves was gentled by the graceful slope of her high cheekbones. But for her eyes she would have seemed little older than Neeshka, but there was such experience, such wisdom in her luminous green gaze that it was clear she had lived far longer. She wore earth-toned garments, a long, somewhat roughly crafted robe hanging down to her ankles, simple but serviceable, and stained from long exposure to the elements. She met Phaedra's gaze carefully but confidently, raising one elegant eyebrow. There was more to her though, something about her, not exactly her physical appearance, but the sense around her, the sense of contained power, of natural beauty, seemed intensely familiar to Phaedra, like the whisper of a half-forgotten song. "You saved us, me, thank you so much" Phaedra gasped "But…why, who…where did you come from?"

"I am Elanee," She said slowly, but with great intensity, yes, there it was again, beneath the apparent nonchalance there was something in her, something that hinted at a deeper emotion hidden close to her deeper self, but to Phaedra, used to Daeghun, it was clear she was hiding something "As for your other questions, perhaps it is best that they wait for the moment. Apparently I am not the only one with a problem with this strange path you walk, Harbourman." She glanced quickly back over the bodies of the dead, a frown touched her flawless forehead

"Wait a second," Neeshka stepped forward, her voice an accusatory snap "You've been following us?"

"I have" Elanee glanced at Neeshka, meeting her glare with a deep, indomitable strength, there was no anger in her voice, but nor did it waver in the slightest "Or rather I have been following Phaedra, from the Mere, but that is not what should concern any of you right now. I managed to slay some number of that monster's bodyguard, but there were some who escaped. Even now they flee back to their masters, if there are not already others of their dark race in this area"

"You can help us?" Phaedra asked, deciding to listen to this elf, something in her was so strangely, hauntingly familiar that instantly she found herself trusting her, trusting her words, despite…this hint that Elanee had been following her, though it was obvious she was not allied with the Astral creatures, was she some third party interested in the shard?

"Yes, I can" She nodded quickly "But you are going to have to trust me"

"Trust you?" Khelgar stepped back, narrowing his eyes. Now that he was sure Phaedra was safe, he seemed to have taken it upon himself to judge their rescuer's intentions, and something in her was obviously not satisfactory to the dwarf, not another mindless prejudice… "Trust an elf? And a tree worshipper at that?"

"I think you will find tree worshipers a rare thing these days, dwarf" For the first time there was a hint of irritation in Elanee's voice, but it was more a kind of mounting impatience clinging to her tightening shoulders, Elanee was afraid…and she wanted to leave the road as soon as possible "So I suggest you hold your tongue"

"Elanee," Phaedra quickly began before an outraged Khelgar could respond "What…exactly do you want, how can you help us?"

"Yes, and what reason do we really have for trusting you?" Neeshka added levelly, where Khelgar was still glaring with overt hostility at Elanee, Neeshka's gaze was more careful and guarded, as though she were still deciding exactly what to make of the druid.

"Because I bring more than words" Elanee addressed Neeshka first "There is a place, a druid's sanctuary, we call it the Maiden's Glade in your tongue, and it lies not far from here. It is a safe place, guarded by magic, and by the powers of nature, and none may enter unless we suffer it. If I guide you there, if I allow you to enter this sacred place, you will be safe as long as you wish and these…murderers shall find naught but a whisper of your presence on the wind" She glanced at Phaedra, somewhat abashedly, perhaps the first time discomfort had pierced her cool, measured exterior "On the way, I will try to explain everything"

"Thank you" Phaedra answered carefully…what explanation awaited her? Elanee had been following her, for how long? Was that…why a strange sense of familiarity seemed to be drawn around the elf, why her every small gesture seemed to communicate something far more to Phaedra than it did to the other two? Was Elanee here of her own accord, or was she somehow connected to Daeghun? The answers awaited her…time to leave now, and find them for herself.


	15. Chapter 15

_I don't know how long that mistake was there, this is the real Chapter 15! I don't know how many people have actually read this though..._

"On this road it is a strange circle of who follows whom…" Elanee said slowly, glancing back along the rough path they had just left, her expression entirely unreadable. She had guided them from the road...through a small pass that had been almost invisible from their path, and into the wilderness. The druid moved lightly through bracken, passing over the wild plants as though they were cobblestones. "I was tasked to track the monsters who sacked West Harbour, but I soon found out, they were tracking someone else, you"

"Did you find out anything from them, about a shard?" Phaedra asked quickly, knowing Elanee had followed these creatures, what she might have discovered of them became even more important that knowing what had led to her obvious interest in Phaedra, or West Harbour "Or about this word they keep saying, Kalach-cha?"

"A shard?" Elanee frowned thoughtfully "Ah...that which you bear at your belt…" She shook her head "No I did not hear of that, they spoke some strange astral tongue unless they addressed their thralls…as for this name, this Kalach-cha, I believe it refers to you in fact" Phaedra nodded, the Bladeling had addressed her as Kalach-cha and from the first time she had heard the title she had somehow known it was hers.

"And who sent you to follow the creatures then?" Khelgar asked belligerently. In stark contrast to the grace and ease with which Elanee glided over the rough wilds, he was tramping and struggling through plants and across rocks, cursing heavily under his breath.

"My order, the Circle of the Mere" Elanee fixed Khelgar in her gaze. Though she revealed nothing openly, Phaedra could see she was secretly amused at the dwarf's predicament. "We are a fellowship of druids, tasked with safeguarding the natural order within the Mere, the sanctuary to where we are heading is one of ours." Phaedra nodded, remembering talk within West Harbour of the mysterious order of druids who inhabited the Mere. Strange folk most had said, but their advice through planting and harvest seasons had served many a Harbourman farmer well. "These creatures are an offence to nature, but my masters were curious as to their purpose in this Plane. I was to find out what I could, while remaining hidden"

"Even from us?" Phaedra asked "The Harbourmen, I mean?"

"Yes" For a moment Elanee's assured self-confidence vanished and a troubled expression clouded her face "But, I have seen you ambushed by those creatures and I saw what they did to your home. I could not stand by any longer. You know more than I could find out from those planer beings no matter how long I followed them. My order will understand my concern; there will be a druid in the Maiden's Glade whose advice will serve us all well"

"You can't trust a tree-worshipper," Khelgar sniffed huffily. "Sure they'll make all sorts of pretty promises but the moment you have to rely on one, they'll vanish back into the forest quick as smoke."

"Don't mind Khelgar by the way," Neeshka answered, smiling sweetly at Elanee. If there was a chance to get at Khelgar, it seemed she was prepared to put aside suspicion for the moment. "There's only two things he's brought to us so far, trouble…and a whole lot of extra weight"

"I've brought trouble, have I?" Khelgar snorted "Who's the one we had to rescue from Greycloaks? And who couldn't even kill a couple of mouldering zombies without Phaedra's help?"

"Enough!" Phaedra snapped, glancing helplessly at Elanee, wondering what the elf would think exactly of their strange little group. The druid smiled fleetingly, but her demeanour swiftly clouded once again.

"This shard?" she asked carefully "May I see it?"

"Of course" Phaedra pulled the shard from the pouch at her belt, carefully unwrapping the silk she had wrapped around it. Again she felt the thrill as she touched the piece of metal with her bare skin, warm against its cold surface, as though some part, deep within her, recognised it. Elanee reached for it gingerly, but stopped short as though reluctant to touch the shimmering surface.

"That metal, it is not of this world" she whispered, seemingly to herself, but then she looked up into Phaedra's face, confusion clear in her eyes. "I don't understand, this…came from the ruins, didn't it?"

"Yes…my father hid it there" Phaedra answered

"Your father, the ranger, isn't he?" Elanee said, but she didn't seem to need an answer "Please, would you tell me everything you know about this?" Phaedra nodded, carefully sorting out her thoughts before she began. Perhaps Elanee might be able to help with a few questions of her own.

As they walked, and Phaedra told her story, she began to notice something very strange. Perhaps it was simply the monotony of the journey, with the sparse hills and gentle valleys going by one after the other but, despite her usually reliable memory she found herself struggling to remember the path behind them. Had they been going east…or south? And how long had they been travelling exactly? Surely they hadn't left the path before noon? Or had they? But she soon began to suspect there was something more to it than her own confusion, a layer of protection around the druid haven to stop anyone, anyone like them, from ever revealing its secrets to the outside world. She glanced at Elanee, the druid was silent as Phaedra went on with the tale…but somehow Phaedra sensed she was already aware of much of what Phaedra was saying.

"I see" Elanee said slowly once they were finished "Now I understand" The elf nodded carefully, but still something seemed not right…as though her reaction were…not forced exactly, but as though she had gone through these emotions already, lived this story already and what she displayed now was but a pale shadow of the grief of that first experience. How long exactly had she traced Phaedra's footsteps, and why conceal it so?

"Now hold on just a minute," Neeshka cried suddenly and with irritation. Phaedra looked around, drawn forcibly from the reverie of reliving her story. They stood now beneath the shade of a large oak tree, which grew from above a small ridge, casting dappled shadows over the path. "Where in the Realms are we? How far is this Maiden's Glade anyway?"

"Trust me lass, it doesn't look much better from down here" Khelgar frowned darkly.

"Not far," Elanee smiled, her hand drawing outward from the folds of her robe to gesture outward into the lush green around them. "For we are already here" She stepped back, and her outstretched arm swept across what lay before them, a verdant green, covered with healthy life, and surrounded by tall, ancient trees. Phaedra blinked with surprise, since when had the barren harshness of the hills given way to this? They must be near Neverwinter Wood, perhaps even on the forest's very outskirts. The druidic spell had been subtle, she had almost forgotten the disjointed feel the journey had caused in her. "This is Eridis" Elanee said, and there was joy in her voice, joy at the homecoming, something Phaedra might have never expected to see in the thus far reserved elf. "The Maiden's Glade in your tongue"

"Eridis…" Phaedra whispered, the name stirred her old knowledge, old memories of Daeghun by his fireplace, teaching her the elegant elven tongue. She had been young then… "That is elvish, Illefarn, right?"

"That is correct" Elanee glowed with a radiant joy, as though simply being in the presence of so much rich life rejuvenated her somehow. "You surprise me…" She smiled warmly, welcomingly. "Can you not feel it? Magic runs thick here" Phaedra nodded, suddenly sensing the druidic power investing every branch and blade of grass, running through the glade like a torrent, how had she not noticed it before?

"It doesn't look like much" Khelgar muttered, well he was hardly the most perceptive of them.

"Here the druids could retreat to safety whenever their lives were threatened" Elanee continued, ignoring Khelgar's comment "The magic here and the animals would protect them as long as…" She stopped, shock pierced her composure, she looked up, her eyes skirting the grove as though she sensed something, something deeply disturbing. "Wait…" She gasped, her fear so clear that Phaedra felt herself tense, her hands running to her bow "Something's wrong, Kalil…"

Suddenly a piercing howl split the air, a harsh animal sound that echoed across the forest, high and rough. Phaedra launched backward with shock, her hands drawing her bow from her back. Then out of the forest raced three streaking grey forms, wolves, the animal launched towards them! Phaedra wasn't the only one who automatically primed her weapon, but Elanee threw herself between where they stood and the animals "Stop, don't hurt them!" She screamed, whirling violently to face them, her hand outstreatched. As Phaedra gasped, staggering back, the elf called out something in a strange, almost animalistic, language and the three wolves skidded to a halt just in front of her. But still it was clear…they were not here to protect, they were haggard starving creatures, their ribs clear in their rough grey flanks, they bared their teeth, black blood wedged between the wickedly sharp blades, as low rumbling growls emerged from their throats, where the skin hung from their flesh, they were almost starved to death! "No, this shouldn't be…" Elanee whispered, but she faced them, her hand held up in a commanding gesture, absolutely still…

"Are those the animals that are supposed to be protecting us?" Neeshka muttered, lifting her sword at the ready. Phaedra moved slightly closer around Elanee, an arrow slotted into the bowstring. The druid herself seemed to have entered some kind of trance trance, her eyes closed, one hand reached toward the three wolves, murmuring something under her breath. Was she trying to communicate with them? Perhaps she could calm their rage.

But then in an instant everything seemed suddenly to go wrong. Elanee's eyes opened, Phaedra saw her hands snap to her belt where she carried the sharp sickle, then the largest of the wolves leapt forward, its jaws snapping open, savagely growling. Phaedra instantly let fly, the arrow struck the wolf mid-leap and it lurched backwards, collapsing to the floor with a pathetic whine, but dead in the next instant, blood draining to the verdant soil. Elanee's sickle whistled through the air, a trail of silver light, and the next wolf howled in pain and was silenced in a spray of blood. Phaedra pulled back her bow again ready for the next shot, but the last of the wolves was already fleeing back towards the safe shadows off into the forest and away from the path, yelping and howling. There was a moment's silence, as they stared after it, all shocked by the sudden attack, its sudden bloody end…but Elanee…

"Elanee?" Phaedra moved over gently to the elf, Elanee was staring out into the trees, her face a storm of emotion, desolation, despair, fear…

"How can this be?" she whispered mournfully "Those wolves…" She turned to Phaedra, her eyes shimmered with crystal tears "They were filled with hunger, cursed, driven mad by dark magic and bloodlust." She shook her head, in despair and shock "I don't understand, this place is protected, should be protected

"I think we should leave" Neeshka warned, glancing around into the shadowed recesses beneath the trees, fearful, confused "I really think we should leave…"

"No…!" Elanee cried piercingly, raising her hands, pleading "No, please" She shook her head, trying to regain some composure, some sense through the clear shock "This place is breached somehow, I must find out who, and why. I need your help, please"

"Phaedra?" Neeshka glanced at her questioningly "Are we really going to do this?"

"We have to Neeshka" Phaedra answered firmly "Elanee saved us herself. And somehow I think this has to be connected to the attack on West Harbour. The druids have protected the Mere for generations…"

"Whoever did this, the answer must lie in the Sacred Grove ahead at the centre of this Glade" Elanee said hesitantly "There's always, should always, have been a druid stationed there. Oh Gods, I hope…he's alright…"

Her sickle raised high, and her will set, Elanee began to move forward deeper into the grove. Phaedra, following, noticed how tense she was. If the druids' strict devotion to nature forbade the slaying of animals like those wolves, then Elanee had just done something against her creed, would…she be alright? Though she understood that she barely knew Elanee, sensed that the elf was still hiding something, she still wanted to help her.

"Here, here it is" Elanee said, stopping short, her voice so soft it barely could be heard above the wind touching the leaves above their heads. They stood now before a shadowed glade, where the grass stood tall and soft, and beneath the trunks of the great trees, simple white flowers bloomed amidst the shadows. This place had never been touched by the hands of any race, never crafted, never tamed, sculpted simply by nature. Phaedra felt the magic of this Maiden's Glade, even more palpably here, the patient strength of the ancient rees harnessed by the druids for a protective veil drawn across this place, which should have endured as long as these trees stood, but something was very wrong. "Kalil!" Elanee suddenly cried, stumbling forward without the grace that had seemed such a part of her, flinging aside caution in her fear "Kalil, please"

"Elanee, wait!" Phaedra pulled in after her. There was no way she was letting Elanee go in there alone, this sanctuary was breached! What kind of evil would wait there?

Elanee screamed, Phaedra instantly leapt to her side, her heart missing a beat, and gasped with horror as she saw what lay in the centre of the grove. An animal, a huge bear, ancient, of monstrous proportions, so vast it was like a mountain of matted fur amidst the grasses, its huge teeth bared in pain and rage, its side was rent open with a gaping wound, dark, crimson blood streaming out amidst the pure, pale lilies. It was…breathing, it was alive…huge, heavy, heaving breaths that shook its whole vast body.

"No, Kalil!" Elanee screamed again, falling to her knees before the beast, her hands reached forward as though she yearned to touch it, but something pulled her back…what was this? This beast…was…it something Elanee knew?

"By the Gods" Khelgar breathed, circling around where Elanee knelt and Phaedra stood just by her, both staring toward the monstrous bear with shock. "What is this?"

"Elanee…" The bear's eyes fluttered opened, as from its bloody teeth the whispered name emerged, a haggard harsh breath, its eyes were bloodshot, huge, a flame of savagery, of animalistic fury and pain against which it was powerless burned within, but kept in chains against a single spark of…awareness, intelligence. Phaedra gasped with awe, she had heard the tales of druids taking the form of the creatures of the wild, and this beast must be one of these…but what could have happened to have marred him so dreadfully?

"Kalil" Elanee gasped, leaning over, her hand at last touched the creature's muzzle, stroking the fur beneath his straining eye, something which must have taken no small courage, for there was fury and hunger in Kalil's eyes, and he seemed scarcely to have himself under control, the muscles of his jaw clenching, his teeth running over each other "Who…?"

"I tried to stop it" Kalil's body shook with the effort of answering "The Circle…is broken, Elanee"

"The Circle?" Elanee gasped "No…it can't be. How?"

"The Mere speaks with a different voice now" Kalil groaned "It took Vashne, and the others…they are lost. But I tried to find Naeven and you…I went into the Mere, oh Silvanus, what I saw there…it twisted me, this disease, this plague, and it trapped me in the form of this beast, full of rage and hunger…oh…the hunger…"

"The Mere did this to you?" Elanee shook her head, she seemed scarcely able to believe but for the fact that this was so clear before her, her friend, her comrade, broken… "How?"

"Something stirs there, at the heart of the Mere" Kalil shuddered, as though the thought of it caused him even more pain than even that awful wound across his side, the rip through his flesh, exposing white bone "Ancient evil…a shadow, a hunger. It moves, it has taken the animals, it turns the waters dark. It took me, I came here to find…sanctuary, I fought it within myself. But I could not heal, instead I brought its evil here, into this sacred place…I could not change back, I tried…I tried so hard." His eyes opened wide, focusing so clearly upon Elanee, he had something to impart, something so important he would fight this pain for a few more precious seconds "Elanee…do not search for the others, it will take you as well." He gasped "It is all lost, the Mere is lost!" He cried out the last words, and his voice was both bear and man, his whole body shuddered, racked by a storm of agonising pain. Phaedra stumbled back with horror, but then the wild eyes closed, every muscle in the vast creature went slack, a strange peace descending over the body, its jaw dropping open, a last, heaving breath pushed out…then it was still, all still…he was dead…

"No!" Elanee screamed at once, one single, awful scream "No…" She gasped, at once quieter, her hand gripped Kailil's muzzle "Kalil…no…"

"He's…dead?" Phaedra whispered, horrified, what could have truly happened to the druid, his words had made no sense, but what they revealed was troubling, horrifying. The Mere…had killed him? How could such a thing happen? It was impossible, but he had spoken of an ancient evil, and Daeghun's voice ran in her mind 'This attack is only a facet of a greater scheme'…if someone, something, hoped to isolate the Mere villages, the druids who guarded and protected the land would be one of their first targets. But why, what would want to do this, and to what purpose? Surely this was not all about the shard, she had left the Mere, the creature which had attacked West Harbour surely knew that, why would they do something like this then? And could it truly have been them? What power could put such horror into the Mere that it itself turned on its greatest guardians, these druids who knew its way better than anyone else?

"What, how did this happen?" Neeshka asked the question running over and over again through Phaedra's head.

"I don't understand" Elanee gasped tearfully "None of this makes any sense, I have been absent from the Circle for some time, but this…it's impossible"

"It has happened lass" Khelgar said bluntly, but not without sympathy, to the grieving elf "Now I don't know much about the ways of you druids, but what he said, about the Mere going dark seems familiar. All the way along the road, all I heard were stories of bad harvests, lizardling attacks, people vanishing…you think that's what he meant?" Phaedra nodded, suddenly remembering the troubles surrounding the last Harvest in West Harbour, could this be related to the druid's death?

"We…the Circle…were worried" Elanee glanced up, thinking hard "These events, we knew of them, spoke of them. Some said they were not part of the Balance of things, unnatural…I remember Naevan…" She fell silent for a moment "But I have not spoken to them for some time. To find Kalil dead, and the others he said were lost…" She glanced up at Phaedra "It has to have something to do with the attack on West Harbour and the shard"

"That shard is trouble" Neeshka shook her head sullenly "The sooner we get it to your uncle in Neverwinter the better"

"Yes" Elanee nodded slowly "I think…that would be best"

"Wait, you're travelling with us" Khelgar glanced to Phaedra for guidance.

"That was always my intention" Elanee stood, gazing coolly down at the dwarf, she had already drawn her composure over her like a veil "As long as Phaedra has no problem with it"

"Of course you can come" Phaedra said gently "I am sure you'll be able to help us, and we both need to find out what's going on here" She glanced to Khelgar "Besides we should be able to trust her, she saved our lives"

"Unlikely" Khelgar muttered "I could have taken on that Bladeling and his puppies without her help"

"Hey…I mean, sorry to interrupt everything" Neeshka stepped in "But we're still standing in some cursed Glade filled with blood-thirsty animals, and it's not long until dusk" Phaedra glanced up, the sky was darkening swiftly, a great streaming red light stained the hills to the west, the clouds lit from below floated low over the ground. "So unless we want to wake up with a wolf's jaws fixed around your throat, I say we move on, and quickly"

"Wait…" Elanee protested "I just…wanted to bury him" She looked down again at Kalil, and for a moment the mask slipped once again, raw agony flashing over her face "Goodbye, my friend" She whispered, kneeling down beside his body.

As Phaedra, Khelgar and Neeshka watched respectfully, she laid her hand on Kalil's broken body, her power slowly gathering about her, then something moved beneath her palm. As she stood and stepped back, tearless, Kalil's body suddenly began to decay, as though years were passing by in seconds, the tortured, tormented face of the bear gave way to gleaming skull, his flesh withered on his bones, as they ground into dust, sinking away into the rich soil …all of it, gone within minutes, so that at last nothing remained of the bear's tortured body.

Phaedra gazed at the elf with awe as Elanee's eyes were fixed upon the earth, druids it seemed had power over death as well as life, it was good Kalil would not lie unburied. His body would become part of the grove, as Elanee had no doubt intended. But his soul would fly to the Gods of the Druids, to Silvanus Treefather, to Chauntea….

"Elanee…?" Phaedra murmured, aware she should be saying something comforting. But Elanee's eyes were dry as stone, her features set, the same flinty endurance she had seen so often in the Harbourmen, in Daeghun…what had happened to make Elanee so afraid of her own feelings? And it was fear, Phaedra knew that well, fear that if she gave into her grief once, her sorrows would overwhelm her.

"We should go" Elanee said at last, her voice distant and cool once again "There are many leagues yet before we reach Highcliff, and safety" With that she turned, all the elegance and icy pride of the elven people in her steps. Phaedra hesitated a moment before following. Elanee's pain was so clear, but how to reach it? And still no answer to this haunting familiarity the elf awoke in her, perhaps it would be time soon to find out a little more about their new travelling companion.


	16. Chapter 16

_Hey, it's another short chapter, just to establish where we're at with Elanee etc. Sorry if it's too short, but I promise we'll be getting started on Highcliff next chapter and then things are really moving on. We'll be in Neverwinter in no time, you'll see!_

Elanee travelled light, she bore very little other than the clothes on her back, her small sickle, and a pouch of medicinal roots. This at first confused Phaedra, but once she saw the expert ease with which Elanee guided them through the quickly darkening wilderness to an almost invisible small alcove-like cave in one of the hillsides, she understood the reason. Elanee could take all she needed from nature. Even Khelgar seemed grudgingly grateful to the druidess especially when Phaedra had lit a small fire in the midst of the cave and began to prepare a simple stew. As a child, desperate for her foster-father's approval, she had attempted to learn some of his craft and though she had soon realised her path lay elsewhere, she was thankful she still remembered something of Daeghun's skill at survival in these wildernesses.

"What do you mean you don't eat meat?" Khelgar suddenly bellowed, and Phaedra looked up startled, by Lathander she'd almost forgotten to take the stew off the fire! Her friends had always been right about her, she just couldn't stop slipping into daydreams. Amie had…abruptly she closed off that thought before it had even taken full flower.

"What's wrong?" She asked, lifting the rudimentary pot from its place over the fire. Retta had taught her a little about cooking, mending, the crafts of a housewife, enough to get her on her way out here.

"The elven lass says she's never eaten a morsel of meat!" Khelgar explained, extremely agitated "Not once!"

"Druids are known for liking animals Khelgar," Neeshka put in, grinning. "It kind of makes sense if you think about it, but mind you don't strain yourself too much."

"Of course I know that fiendling!" Khelgar snapped. "But don't you ever…you know want to try a bit…"

"To be frank," the ghost of a smile hovered around Elanee's lips, as it always seemed to where Khelgar was concerned. "The idea utterly disgusts me…since I was very young I have walked with animals as friends and companions."

"Oh…" Phaedra couldn't help blushing with shame, "Should I put this away?" She vaguely waved to the stew, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Wait just a minute" Khelgar cried thunderously "Lots of animals eat meat, wolves, bears…that's a part of your precious natural cycle or whatever it is you druids spend all your time talking about…so why shouldn't we?"

"This is no obligation, you may eat meat whenever you wish" Elanee shrugged. "Druids…in a way have the choice not to enforced upon them. If you ever became one of us, you would feel the same way…it simply comes of living and communicating with animals"

"There's no chance of that" Khelgar grumbled. "Not for all the gold in the world."

"I suppose I see now why there are so few dwarven druids," Elanee nodded, studying Khelgar intently for a moment.

"A fact for which you should all be very grateful," Neeshka added, mischievously, at which point Phaedra felt it prudent to distract Khelgar's attention, so she quickly served the meal. If there was one thing Khelgar would give not an inch of ground on, it was the honour of his race, which of course made Neeshka take questioning that as her first choice in a wide range of Khelgar-baiting jibes.

When they were done, they quickly prepared their bed rolls. Seeing as how the Bladelings had managed to track them down so fast twice…who could know how they had done so, Phaedra wanted to make sure they were moving as early as possible on the next day. To Phaedra's astonishment she discovered that Elanee had actually brought nothing to sleep on and she quickly leant the elf a spare, but she couldn't help but wonder why. If Elanee had left at the bequest of her council, surely she should have been better prepared? Even though as a druid she may have been able to find most of what she needed in the wilds, the lax in her preparation was still a puzzle. But still…Phaedra couldn't find it in herself to mistrust Elanee…she could only hope the elf chose to reveal more as time went on.

ooo00000ooooo

Amidst a fitful sleep, Phaedra found herself dreaming of a sword. It was somehow buried in her chest, and yet it was in her hands at the same time, and she was looking for something, using the sword, which glowed like a beacon, as she walked though a shadowy landscape. Just as she thought she might have found it, she suddenly awoke and the dream shattered into a few small fragments of memory, forgotten in an instant as she pushed herself up, and glanced around the unfamiliar recesses of the cave. It was dark, a few hours before dawn yet and Khelgar, by his heavy breathing, was still fast asleep, as was Neeshka; curled up in one of the cave's corners. But Elanee…Phaedra instantly leapt up, scattering her blankets and bedsheet, by the Gods, Elanee was gone! She hastily pulled a shawl from her packs and wrapped it around her shoulders, hurrying out from the cave and into the clean, biting cold air beyond.

Their little cave faced south, and stretching out before her was the Neverwinter Woods, a great field of darkness, far out into the distance, touching at their base the mountains of the Spine of the World which were shrouded in clouds. There was mile after mile of forest, trees bathed in a sea of the moon's silver light…a magnificent sight during daytime, but now, in the early hours of morning, a serene and strangely calming one. But…Elanee…

"I am sorry, did I wake you?" At once the elf's voice, calm and collected as always, sounded from just behind her. Startled, Phaedra turned. Elanee was standing in a moon-flooded niche, just by the cave's mouth. Relief instantly flooded through Phaedra, she had been right about Elanee. No dark suspicion of Daeghun's whispers in her mind had been confirmed by her absence.

"No, I dreamed…" Phaedra answered hesitantly, thinking hard. "I dreamed something…" But it had faded, vanishing from her mind on the night's cool wings.

"The moon haunts you then as it does me," Elanee glanced up to the full moon, hanging like a silver lantern in the blue velvet sky of the early morning "The Lady Eilistraee is playing tricks on us"

"Do you think she means us to find something out here?" Phaedra asked; she knew little of her mother's gods, but she would be glad to have their blessings. If Lady Eilistraee had planted her dream, perhaps it meant something important…

"Perhaps," The flicker of a smile touched Elanee's lips under the moonlight "Or perhaps she simply means us to find something about ourselves. Or she is simply playing games. I too know little of the Maiden, she is a goddess of the drow, the dark elves, and the moon elves. I serve the Treefather, Silvanus." Silvanus was a god Phaedra did know, not an exclusively elven deity either, he was god of the woods, the trees, the wild places, consort of Chauntea and patron of the druids.

"Elanee…" Phaedra walked over, wrapping her shawl tightly over her shoulders. "This shadow over the Mere, the troubles Kalil mentioned, is there anything more you can tell me?"

"Not much more…" Elanee sighed "I no longer feel the Mere's pulse as I once did, it is as though a great darkness passes over the Mere and where it touches everything falls silent. The waters grow dark, the plants cease their growth…and the lizardfolk, guardians of the land, flee." That made Phaedra think of that lizardling tribe back near West Harbour, their wise shaman, was he alright? Would he know anything about this? But the thought of West Harbour soon drew her back along the paths of her memory to that village, and she could recall it, through the leagues that separated her from it, almost perfectly. This evil, this shadow, could it be a danger to the village as well? "You are worried about your home, aren't you?" Elanee suddenly said, glancing intently at Phaedra.

"Do you think they're in danger?" Phaedra asked anxiously.

"I do not know," Elanee replied softly, and something about her made Phaedra suddenly suspect that the matter touched her more deeply than it appeared. "This shadow; it lies within the deepest heart of the Mere, in places only the lizardfolk know, where even the Circle did not go. Perhaps someone will stop it before it grows any larger, but if the Circle is lost I do not know who could." She sighed "You have a great love for your village, I see that. It is strange to one of my kind…we wander the land, we stay nowhere long…but wherever we can feel Nature, there we may be at rest."

"It was the people of West Harbour who made it home" Phaedra answered, suddenly longing to speak of the village to someone. "I couldn't bear it if they were hurt…"

"I see," Elanee said "I have always been solitary but I understand the strength of such bonds." She looked away "I…I have something to ask you; I have been hesitant to ask this, your own journey is important to you, but perhaps if there's a chance, if we find out anything, would you help me discover anything about the Circle?"

"Of course," Phaedra nodded. The Circle was obviously important to Elanee, and besides as she said if there was danger in the Mere, the Circle would be the best equipped to deal with it. "I will do whatever I can."

"You are a rare soul Phaedra Blake," Elanee smiled gently back. "I thank you…" She turned away, looking out into the dark depths of the heavens, alight with the silver stars. "It will be dawn soon" She smiled, but once again the practicalities of their journey were foremost in her mind "You should get some rest before we leave. And you should not worry about the journey ahead. I know secret paths to the village of Highcliff, paths our enemy will not know. We should reach it by noon tomorrow"


	17. Chapter 17

_So, here we are and things are moving on to Highcliff in Chapter 17. Hope you enjoy my depiction of it._

_Oh, by the way I haven't really had any reviews since all the way back in Chapter 9, so please anything to say would be really great! It doesn't take all that long, give it a shot!_

_I'm going away for a week from tomorrow, so there's going to be a bit of a long wait for the next chapter, and I won't be able to reply to reviews for a while. But I'll definitely do my best to get things going on both fronts as soon as I get back._

"Highcliff," Phaedra murmured; the name of this village, like so much about the lives of its people, was direct, blunt and decidedly unromantic. The four of them had wound their way, under Elanee's confident direction down toward the sea through the wilderness and had approached the village by a little used path from the east, down along the shoreline. On one side were the great, towering limestone cliffs which had obviously given the village and the surrounding area its name, monoliths of natural splendour, and on the other the timeless expanse of the sea, calm and clear beneath the noonday sun. It had been a strangely peaceful experience, this journey down toward the village, Elanee's trail had indeed been a safe one, and the incessant feeling of pursuit had seemed to fade for a while. But now they had reached Highcliff. Would those creatures which stalked in her footsteps find her now they had left the safe, deserted trails, could she then bring that scourge here, to the innocent village which stood just above the cliffs, their destination?

But now there was no turning back, no matter her concerns. For they had just walked now into a large bay, surrounded by the implacable fortress-like cliffs, the bay beneath the village of Highcliff, its port and dock. Just before them was a small jetty jutting out into the deep sea, tethered to it were two large ships, constructions Phaedra only recognised from her books and they were certainly a lot larger than she had imagined. Bastions of wood, with their tall masts billowing with canvas sails, which hung slack currently, as they were docked securely to the rough jetty. One of these had to be the Double Eagle. By the towering ships, there was a small crowd of people clustered around the jetty, seemingly engaged in a lively discussion, an eclectic group, in a variety of different outfits that suggested sailors alongside provincial villagers. Behind them, the cliff itself had been carved into a snaking ramp, inlaid with wooden stairs, this wound its precarious way up toward the top of the cliff where the village itself was situated, hidden currently behind the cliffs. "Not much, is it?" Neeshka said, glancing critically over the roughly crafted dock, the two towering ships. Phaedra glanced at the tiefling, small as the dock was, it certainly seemed like 'much' to her. "I used to live in the Docks of Neverwinter, remember?" Neeshka continued, noting her surprise. "This sorry little place just doesn't compare."

"I gather it used to be larger," Phaedra explained. "But after Neverwinter seized the monopoly on sea trade, Highcliff essentially became the city's principality. Farming's more important to the village these days than sailing." Even this village, minor as it was in the histories of the Sword Coast, had been a part of her education with Tarmas.

"Are we going to go over to that dock or are we just going to keep talking about it?" Khelgar snapped irritably. Phaedra nodded carefully in response. It was obvious Khelgar was not relishing the prospect of an extended journey at sea. Taking the first step she led him, Neeshka, and the now silent Elanee, along the rocky shore, the waves lapping against the pebbles just beyond where they walked.

"What in the Hells are you doing, captain?" Just before they reached the crowd by the jetty, a sudden disturbance broke amidst the uneasy bustle of people, a rough shout, and a ripple of movement ran through the crowd, as a single figure, an elderly man, pushed his way to the fore, his voice raised in question. He was an ageing gentleman, in a state of high anxiety, his haggard face and the stress clear in his wrinkled brow, he had obviously faced a serious trouble for some time now. "The Elder has forbidden anyone to leave."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the man facing him, the one who stood at the forefront of the crowd, a tall swarthy character with the grizzled countenance of an experienced sailor, asked contemptuously ."I've waited in this pathetic village long enough, we should have reached Neverwinter a week ago! If I don't leave now, I'll lose everything! Nothing's going to stop me this time, especially not those damned lizardlings, my crew can make it through!"

"Don't be a fool!" the older man snapped, he appeared to be some kind of leader here, perhaps the Harbour Master of this small jetty, certainly he faced the captain with an assured sense of authority, despite the younger man's contempt, and he spoke, it seemed, from long experience "There's no way you'll be able to get out of the bay, you'll lose your cargo, and your entire ship as well. The lizards won't let a single ship through!"

"That's enough, old man!" the captain snarled harshly, raising his clenched fist threateningly towards the aged Harbour Master. "No one tells me what I can and can't do with my own ship!" He turned violently to glare up at the smaller of the two ships, which Phaedra noticed was crowded with a group of other sailors, his crew no doubt, all gazing doubtfully down to the confrontation on the shore, uncertain of what was to be their next move. "What are you just standing there for?" the captain bellowed to them, his harsh voice echoing in the enclosed bay. "Bring up the sails! Man the oars!" Instantly the ship's deck became a hive of activity, as each of the men quickly found something to occupy themselves, the whole process seemed mystifyingly complex to Phaedra, but somehow everything seemed to fit together, and the last adjustments were made to the ship within seconds, as the captain turned, satisfied, to the Harbour Master. "My men can handle a mangy gang of lizards, easy," he said."Watch and learn, you two-bit yokel."

With that he turned and walked up the rough wooden gangplank which led from the jetty to the deck of his ship, he seemed the picture of confidence, and the ship's sail billowed outwards in the wind, seeming to echo his confidence, just as Phaedra, Elanee, Khelgar and Neeshka reached the small crowd, who stood watching the ship as it slowly began to move out into the water, the soft lap of water parted beneath its forward momentum, as the oars on its side began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm filled the bay. "Excuse me?" Phaedra spoke up, having waited a second or two and noting that none of those present seemed willing to take their eyes from the ship, which they watched with a palpable air of uncertainty and apprehension, she certainly didn't like the sound of what she had heard there. Was travel to Neverwinter still going to be possible?

"Yes?" the Harbour Master in the end turned to her distractedly, rubbing a hand over his forehead with exhaustion. As he finally seemed to see her, a glimmer of interest appeared in his tired old eyes, but it swiftly faded under the crushing exhaustion present in his every movement "Sorry, things are just far too busy right now. I can't waste my time showing round visitors"

"What is the trouble?" Phaedra asked concernedly, moving closer so as not to lose his attention, so he knew she was serious "Why were you trying to stop that captain from leaving?"

"You mentioned lizardfolk?" Elanee said, raising her voice above its customary quiet murmur, as she peered anxiously from behind Phaedra's right shoulder.

"Aye that I did," The old Harbour Master sighed, resigning himself to answering, it seemed. "We've never had any trouble with their kind before but they just appeared…a couple of weeks ago, out of nowhere, from that accursed swamp no doubt. But they're blockading the bay, every captain who's tried to leave this harbour has run into them. They just appear out of the sea, Gods know that they swim well enough for lizards, and…and they sink every ship that tries to make it through, we've lost…three trade ships already, and most of us need this trade to survive. I don't know how they do it, or why. But one thing is for sure, the good captain you just saw thinks he's going to get a bonus for bringing his cargo to Neverwinter early…" The old man shook his head "He'll lose far more than that, they'll sink his entire ship, you'll see."

"Harbourmaster!" Suddenly one of the men who gathered around him cried, pointing out into the calm waters of the bay. "They've seen him!" Phaedra gasped, turning to face the cool sea breeze, scanning the waters with her keen elven gaze. The ship was just moving towards the edge of the bay, confident, regal and undamaged, then suddenly she glimpsed something, a dark shape, darting just beneath the surface of the water, and another and another…Lizardfolk? They moved with such speed, cutting through the water with deadly swiftness, leaving barely the hint of a wake in their passing on the surface. How…why…?

"I told him!" The Harbourmaster watched helplessly, shaking his head, his aged hands clenched into tight fists at his side "I told that fool" Suddenly the dark shapes in the water turned with swift grace, vanishing behind the bow of the ship, as the deck became a scramble of activity. The captain's harsh shouted orders filled the bay, though no words could be discerned amidst the reverberating echoes against the high cliffs. Something seemed to strike the ship, it shuddered violently, the creak of protest as wood splintered drowning out even the captain's orders. As Phaedra and the others watched in horror, a fissure broke open in the vessel's side, flooded with white, rolling waves, the wood cracking to two pieces cleanly, the ship splitting into half, the two sides of the deck rolling upwards against the water, men tumbling from its sides into the waters.

"By the Gods," Khelgar gasped, awestruck, as indeed they all were. The Lizardfolk…had done this? They had to be much more advanced, and indeed aggressive than those who inhabited the Mere, but why would they do such a thing? She had never heard of Lizardfolk swimming, let alone entering the sea, what could have driven them to attack ships, and what did they hope to gain out of it?

"Get out there, all of you!" The Harbourmaster sprang into action, gesturing out into the water to the men surrounding him "The captain was a fool, but we're not leaving his men to the lizard's mercy!" Instantly his men were on the move, in what was clearly a well-practiced exercise, they plunged into the water, battling the rising waves and foam, struggling towards the stricken vessel. The Harbourmaster, watching with clear anxiety, turned for a moment to Phaedra "Look lass, I can't help you now" He said quickly "Find Elder Mayne up in the village if you need anything" Phaedra nodded, stepping back, her gaze fixed upon the ship plunging into the disturbed waters, falling to pieces beneath the tension ripping through the wooden shell that had just a few moments ago seemed so impressive. Amazing…that the lizardfolk should be able to destroy it effortlessly, but it was no more puzzling than they should attack it at all, they were indeed territorial, but unless the people of Highcliff had offended them in some way that should not have been a problem. Even if they had, why attack the ships in particular?

"Why does this always happen to us?" Neeshka groaned at her side "Let me guess, we're going to have to be the ones to sort this out"

"Seems like if we want to get to Neverwinter, we're going to have to" Khelgar answered

"Lizardfolk" Elanee was deep in thought, obviously going over the same questions as Phaedra in her head "I've never seen this type of behaviour…what could have caused them to be so aggressive?"

"There's no reason you can think of?" Phaedra turned to the elf, her thoughts went to the tribe of lizardling near West Harbour, this must be a different clan "Nothing at all?"

"We…heard of lizardling migrations, perhaps the larger Lizardfolk came with them" Elanee answered "But this far from the Mere…it's impossible. Unless they were desperate…but they should never have come so close to a settlement, and attacking like this, it shouldn't be happening"

"What makes you think so anyway?" Khelgar spat "Damned lizards, same as the orcs and all those other beasts…"

"The lizardfolk have walked the paths of the Mere for generations before your people began to dig their stone halls, and the wisdom of an ancient people such as they is not to be trifled with" Elanee said sharply "So beware of who you think to call beast, dwarf"

"Oh, so you tree-worshippers even stoop low enough to defend the lizardfolk, do they?" Khelgar tossed his head dismissively "I should have know…elves aren't so different to lizards themselves, both cold-blooded, honourless…"

"Khelgar!" Phaedra snapped, with a flash of real anger, her mother had been an elf after all, something Khelgar seemed often to forget. "That's enough!" Khelgar stepped back, his ruddy skin flushing. Phaedra breathed deeply, calming herself down before she spoke again "Elanee is right" She said "I know something about lizardfolk, and this is really strange behaviour. We have to find out more, the Double Eagle looks like it is grounded here as well, and without it…so are we."

"Well then, where do we start looking?" Neeshka nodded her agreement, resigning herself, it seemed, to whatever happened here. No matter if they had to sort out this problem themselves, which, by current patterns, was not at all unlikely.

"Someone up in the village has to know a little more about this," Phaedra answered. "Perhaps we should start with this Elder…then I'd like to find this Captain Flinn my father spoke of"

"Yes," Elanee replied, clutching her rough robes in one hand. "That would be the best way to see this mystery resolved."

Phaedra turned back a moment toward the stricken vessel, her gaze narrowing thoughtfully. It looked like the crew were swimming back towards the shore, helped along by the Harbourmaster's men, but there was no longer a sign of the lizardfolk at all, so they had not meant to kill anyone then? And it did not seem that there had been any casualties, this was no callous, bestial act of aggression, it was calculated, planned…But why attack these ships? It just didn't make any sense, but she resolved to find some way to sort whatever the circumstances were between Highcliff and this Lizardfolk tribe…and she was going to do it without bloodshed.

Highcliff was so like West Harbour that an acute pain stuck deep within Phaedra as she looked over it for the first time, having ascended the rough wooden steps up the ramp running up and alongside the steep imposing limestone of the cliff. It was somewhat larger…more prosperous perhaps, the people wore richer clothes, and it had its own armourer, merchant and a tavern, as well as a sturdy palisade wall and more extensive fields stretching out around it, but the resemblance was still there, and very powerful. She sighed heavily, would she bring danger here, to these people, simply by her presence, perhaps they had lost the creatures by Elanee's guidance, but then again perhaps they had not, could she risk it? Things in the village were already tough, people seemed anxious…strained, and with good reason perhaps…they must be wondering how long before the lizardfolk were going to attack the rest of the village? And how much did the village depend on the trade through its docks?

"I guess we should find this Elder," Phaedra said at last, glancing around the village again. Though most of the people seemed preoccupied with their own concerns, a large and rather raucous crowd had gathered just by the tavern, drinking…at this time of day?

"Sailors, from the ships," Khelgar noted. Phaedra could see he was itching to go over there and join in, which did not seem the best idea, considering her prior experience of Khelgar and taverns. Mind you, maybe some of those men were from the Double Eagle…and it was possible they could know more about the lizardfolk attacks, if they weren't too intoxicated to be lucid.

"Do you think Captain Flinn is there?" she hesitated for a moment, they looked like quite a rowdy bunch, no doubt Khelgar could have handled them, with his extensive experience in such matters, but she would prefer not to get involved if at all possible. Open-air brawling would not be the best way to make a good impression on the people of Highcliff.

"In my experience, captains don't normally spend time in the muck with their lowly crews," Neeshka pointed out. "He'll be inside the tavern, probably drowning his sorrows in strong drink over all their lost revenue while they're stuck down here."

"We can find him later," Phaedra decided, hopefully when they did so those sailors would be insensible, and unable to take issue to them for whatever reason. "For now the Elder's seems to be more important."

"Alright," Khelgar looked disappointed, but he quickly followed Phaedra as she made her way toward the centre of the village, the group attracted numerous glances ranging from interest to open hostility, the latter due to their obvious status as adventurers, so eclectic a group as they would be unmistakeable, and it seemed the attitude to adventurers was a constant in such small communities. Phaedra kept her eyes lowered, unwilling to attract any more attention than she had to. The well-trodden, clear path along which they travelled led to a small square of sorts, cleared ground, evidently large enough to accommodate the whole village and no doubt utilised when matters required the input of every person in Highcliff, by the fresh footsteps ground into the earth, it had been used extensively over the last week or so. There was a simple home in front of the square, but still somewhat larger than most of the others, presumably this housed the Elder of Highcliff, an authority determined as the eldest and wisest in the village. And indeed, the Elder was present. An elderly man, stooped and frail, his features strained with helpless consternation, standing just in front of the house and surveying the village as though he longed to be able to do something, but found himself constrained by events moving beyond his control or comprehension. He wore simple clothing, the vestments of a farmer, weather-stained and patched, but his aged features, and large, sad eyes gave him a quiet but clear authority. The impossible problem facing him evidently weighed heavily on his mind, and he stood in front of his home as though to find some comfort in the familiar.

"Excuse me, sir?" Phaedra walked over, and the old man looked up, meeting her gaze carefully. "Are you the Elder here?"

"Yes," He answered slowly, but clearly, gazing over each of the four of them cautiously. "I am Mayne, I lead this village. If it does not seem blunt, young lady, who are you exactly and what brings you to Highcliff? We do not see many adventurers here."

"We are travellers," Phaedra answered quickly, thinking of the great adventures Bevil had liked so much, tales of Lord Nasher Alagondar and the Hero of Neverwinter, that was what came to mind when she thought of adventurers, not what had happened to her. "We're looking to get to Neverwinter"

"Impossible, I'm afraid," Mayne answered, more sympathetically. "The highway's gotten so bad lately that you'd need a small army to make it through there…bandits, orcs, some even say they've seen undead, it's just not safe. Neverwinter is so busy playing war in Old Owl Well that it can't even defend its trade routes"

"I was told to find a boat, the Double Eagle," Phaedra said.

"And we've heard about the lizardfolk, can you tell us anything at all about them?" Elanee added quickly.

"The Double Eagle's been grounded for almost a week here," Mayne sighed, glancing down towards the shoreline, though the ship was not visible from here up on the cliff "Captain Flinn seems like a good man, he mentioned once he was waiting for someone, that is you, I presume?"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded, wondering for a moment exactly how Daeghun had got word to Captain Flinn so soon about her impending arrival.

"I am afraid I cannot let the Double Eagle leave the harbour nonetheless" The Elder answered "You were down on the beach for the attack this morning, weren't you? Phaedra nodded, and he continued "Then you saw what the lizardfolk are doing, they are completely relentless" He said "I have no idea where they're coming from, or why they are doing this…but no ship has got through their blockade since they first attacked about a week ago…and the outlying farms are under siege as well, they are bleeding this village white"

"Surely there must be a reason" Elanee said intently "Are you sure there have been no incidents with your people, offences, violation of territory?"

"I have heard of nothing, and believe me I have tried to find out anything that could explain this" Mayne replied "No lizardman has ever set foot in this territory since before there were people here…so I don't know what they're after. But they're slowly strangling us…cutting off our food…"

"And they haven't killed anyone yet?" Khelgar asked, seeming surprised.

"No…that's another thing I don't understand," Mayne shook his head heavily. "They destroyed a few farms up along the ridge…but they left the farmers alive, most of them left now though. All of them, in fact…except that girl, Shandra, Shandra Jerro."

"Who?" Phaedra stepped closer, intent on hearing what information she could.

"Young woman, a little older than you," Merring explained, his grey eyes clouding over. "Lives alone on that farm…rather odd really, strange family she had, but she's the only one left now…"

"Could she know something?" Phaedra asked, Shandra Jerro…an unusual name…

"It's possible…we…haven't had any word from her in a few days" Mayne replied "If she's still alright, she's closer to them anyone else. A brave girl, Shandra, but…" He lowered his head "Look, I don't really know why I'm telling you all of this, unless you think you can do something"

"Maybe we can" Phaedra answered "If you give us leave to explore the area, I'm sure we could find something. After all, we need thse ships started up again as much as you do"

"You think you can do it?" Mayne looked puzzled for a moment, glancing over the four of them again, attempting to puzzle them out once again. "Well…perhaps you do look the part. Look, if you find out anything, if you can find these lizardfolk and stop them, everyone in this village will be so grateful…we just want this nightmare to end"

"We'll do whatever we can, I promise" Phaedra nodded, this was a village like West Harbour, she had to do what she could to help them.

"Strange…you seemed so young, and such a lovely girl" Mayne looked into her face intently, no doubt trying to see through the village girl to the adventurer "And you're offering to help us like this."

"I am more than that, Elder" Phaedra promised, not every village girl would have sorcery up her sleeve.

"Evidently," Mayne replied. "If you really think you can do something, Shandra's farm is up along the north road, next to the ridge. If anyone knows where the lizardfolk are, it'll be her"

"Thank you sir" Phaedra stepped back slightly "I'm sure we can find something that will help you"

"Gods bless you then" The Elder answer "I've heard some dark rumours lately, and ever since the war…the northern hills have never been quite the same. No one really goes up there anymore; some say there are some dark magics left behind from one of the battles"

"Would it be a good idea to start looking tomorrow then?" Neeshka suggested. She had been quiet up until now, hidden in the folds of her cloak, but evidently the thought of heading up to the hills at twilight had been too much for her to keep silent over it. "Dark magic, probably best not to go up there at nightime then"

"She's right" Khelgar put in, surprising Phaedra for a second. Disagreeing with Neeshka had seemed to be a cast-iron principle for the dwarf, but perhaps familiarity was finally beginning to wear down their rivalry "That…tavern looks good for the night" Oh, so it wasn't really about Neeshka, just that he wanted to drink…again, and probably get into some kind of brawl. Phaedra realised she really should have predicted that from the beginning.

"It's got a bit rowdy since the sailors got here" Mayne warned "They've caused us no end of trouble, being stuck here all this time" He shrugged "But I wouldn't recommend going up to Shandra's farm until its light either. Look, I don't know much about magic, but since that plague in Neverwinter, and the war here…it seems that lately we've been living in troubled times, and evil can only breed evil. Watch where you walk, girl…be safe, all of you"

Oooo000000ooooo

"Yes…I'm Captain Flinn" the sour-faced middle-aged man looked up from a half-full tankard of ale, evidently not his first, as he was leaning unsteadily over the ale-stained table, and he reeked of alcohol. He was wearing the simple weather-stained garb of a sailor, his sole extravagance a leather hat, fitted with a long white feather "Who's asking?" He said darkly. They were speaking in Highcliff's local tavern, rather smaller than the Weeping Willow, and that at Fort Locke, perhaps as it was meant to cater only to the villagers, as it was, with the crowd of unruly sailors scattered about, it seemed exceptionally crowded, the air sour with stale sweat and spilt ale.

"My name is Phaedra Blake" Phaedra answered "And this is Neeshka, and Elanee…and…well Khelgar is over there" She gestured to the bar, where Khelgar was already embroiled in a heated discussion with a group of sailors. Violence was probably inevitable…

"And what exactly does a group of your evident capability want with a humble sea-captain like myself?" Flinn asked bitterly. Clearly sitting around here waiting for permission had not agreed with him, perhaps it was the obviously considerable amount of ale he had drunk that made him so disagreeable.

"My father Daeghun sent me…" Phaedra began, and suddenly Flinn's face lit up with recognition, shock and gladness in equal measure, so he had indeed been expecting her, how strange…

"By the Gods" he gasped, cutting across her in earnest eagerness "He told me you were coming, but I didn't imagine you'd make it up here, with things as they were on the highway. How in the hells did you do it?"

"How did he get word to you that I was coming?" Phaedra asked, as Flinn quickly stood up to make an effort to reverse his previously surly demeanour. She wasn't quite ready to discuss the details of her journey with someone she'd just met, until she was sure of the connection between Flinn and Daeghun, at least.

"Well you may not know this but your father was raised by the wild elves" Flinn continued eagerly, ignoring the deflection, and Elanee gasped at his answer. Phaedra shared her surprise. The wild elves were a reclusive, almost feral, sub-race of the elves, so sundered from their kinsman that they had almost no part in the affairs of the other elven races, they had lost much of the lore, the high learning that characterised the elves, but were unequalled in knowledge of the land and its creatures. For Daeghun to have been reared by them, it fitted of course, with his knowledge of land, but he had never told her, not even mentioned it once, how many more secrets had he kept from her? "He knows something about animals…" Flinn continued, oblivious to Phaedra's unease "It used to terrify me when we travelled together I can tell you but he trained hawks. These birds I swear could find anything he wanted…well just a few days ago one of those birds came here and gave me a note from Daeghun saying you'd be on your way"

"Wait a second…" Phaedra shook her head, dazzled by the stream of revelations about her father, how ironic…she was finding out more about Daeghun from someone she had just met than she ever had from him. "You said you used to travel with Daeghun? You were adventurers?" That was another complete surprise…why had Daeghun kept this all from her?

"If you can call it that" Flinn nodded "Going down into dungeons for a paltry few gold coins, being chased by orcs, goblins, undead, crawling through trap-ridden holes. Back then your father was a good man to have around, but I couldn't go on like that for ever." He sighed heavily "But look, I'm getting distracted by tales of the glory days. Your father said you needed passage to Neverwinter…but that's impossible"

"So we've heard" Neeshka put in, nodding.

"Look, Captain I spoke with Elder Mayne" Phaedra said "There might be a possibility to negotiate with the lizardfolk…if we can find them"

"Negotiate…?" Flinn looked stunned "Look girl, I know you made it up here and I know you seem to have got the help of a few strangers along the way but…Gods…the only way to deal with these walking beasts is at the point of a sword, and somehow I'm not sure you can handle that"

"Captain, the lizardfolk must have some reason for what they're doing" Phaedra explained "We can find it, and we can solve this…without bloodshed"

"Wait a second, you think you're actually going out there?" Flinn shook his head disbelievingly "Listen to me girl, lizardfolk don't talk, they won't negotiate…all they want is slaughter!"

"Slaughter?" Elanee interjected, quietly but with great force "The lizardfolk do nothing without purpose, and I promise you that never would they seek a conflict with your kind for the sake of mere slaughter. There is another reason…and we shall find it"

"Do what you wish druid…" Flinn leant back, glaring back at Elanee coldly "I'm stuck here until those damned lizards are dealt with"

"Thank you for your time Captain" Phaedra interrupted gently, unwilling to antagonise Flinn any longer. "We will do everything we can to stop this"

"You'll die out there and what use to your father will you be then?" Flinn said, but he quickly sat down once again to nurse his drink, slouching back against his chair, unwilling to back up his warning with real action. "But go, if you really want…I can't stop you" With that, it seemed their conversation was over.


	18. Chapter 18

_Hey, it's been a while really since my last update, but here it finally is._

_Chapter 18's just continuing where we left off last week, it's Shandra and a lizardman (I know how much you like them, right voltagelisa?)_

_Thanks to elvenlover for favourite and review. Also thanks to Gaspode for the favourite! _

"Why do you always have to defend the lizards?" Neeshka asked, curiously turning to Elanee as they walked on along the pathway down towards Highcliff Castle and the farms further down the valley, Phaedra glanced quickly to the two of them, happy to see them being civil to one another. "I mean…they're pretty mangy, aren't they?"

"The lizardfolk are a key part of Merdelain, though those who live there may wish it otherwise" Elanee answered softly "Among them, some tribes have great wisdom in the ways of nature, and the Balance, even greater than the Circle could ever hope to learn. These tend to the Mere, nurture its life as I do" She paused, corrected herself with a clear, open sadness "As I did…" But it was gone in the next instant, and when she spoke again it was her normal, quiet, measured tones "Others of these tribes act simply on desire and instinct but they are no less valued, for everything has its place within nature."

"You don't think those we're dealing with are like that?" Phaedra asked. It was early morning, and everything, it seemed, was enveloped in a kind of eerie serenity, with the thick clouds muffling the sky above. There was no wind, and the trees on either side of the path hung still and quiet against the grey horizon.

"No" Elanee shook her head "They obviously knew to attack the ships and farms. This is no crazed feeding frenzy, this is calculated, and likely meant to drive the people of Highcliff away"

"Look!" Phaedra pointed, at once spotting their destination. From the well-worn , dusty, caravan path they were travelling, a smaller foot path snaked away just to the left and through between a large, tangled copse of spindly trees, and beyond these she caught a glimpse of a building, a strong, tall roof poking out between the grasping branches. "I think that must be Shandra's farm"

"It's still inhabited" Neeshka added, keenly scanning the house, and, as always, picking up the key details. "The chimney's still smoking anyway"

"Then it has to be her" Phaedra said firmly "Come on!"

"Who'd want to live all the way out here" Khelgar grumbled and they stepped through onto the footpath, scattered with pine needles, the air heavy with the scent of the old trees. "This girl must be crazy, all on her own, with bloody lizardfolk leaping out from behind every tree"

"She must be a lot tougher than you anyway" Neeshka laughed, but they thankfully reached within sight of the farm before Khelgar could take issue with that.

It was certainly large for a single inhabitant…the sort of building constructed over many generations, with each successive inhabitant making their own unique mark on the building, whether it was the elaborate pattern of foliage carved with delicacy and precision above the firmly closed door, or the sturdy, weather beaten barn which stood beside it, an old building, but strong. The fields stood bare, obviously newly harvested, certainly this Shandra was dedicated to this work, they must have taken days of solid working to clear.

"Hey, who are you?" At the sound of the voice that made them all start, someone emerged from behind the back of the house, a young woman, probably around twenty years old, stood with her sleeves rolled up for work and her hands bearing a large bucket of water, there on the path leading around the farmhouse. She was pretty, beautiful, in an entirely unself-conscious way. Something about her had a strange sense of familiarity, echoing some distant and half-remembered thought but fading like mist when Phaedra tried to grasp it. Or was it actually something more concrete than that, something written in the structure of her face, traced across the stubborn set of her chin? But her gaze was soon drawn to the young woman's eyes, clear, light blue, almost grey, with a direct challenging stare uncommon to the village farmgirl and the whisper of familiarity drifted away. Her blonde hair, run through with sun-kissed brown, hung free down her cheeks to her shoulders, uncombed, unbound, in a manner that would be almost considered improper in West Harbour, but Phaedra got the distinct sense that this woman would not have cared in the slightest. Instantly, alongside that thought, she felt a small sense of kindred with the sturdy farmer. Her skin was bronzed, but unlined, unspoilt by her work, though her hands, upon the bucket were calloused, and she wore the rustic smock and leggings of a farmer at work. She could almost have been the typical rustic beauty were it not for that direct, challenging gaze and also were it not for that strange sense Phaedra had from her, a sense that she was much more than she appeared. Phaedra glanced at the others, wondering if they had picked it up, but it seemed they had not, for none showed any sense of it. They all glanced at the woman, Shandra, with nothing more than vague interest, as she stepped a little closer to them. "And you'd better tell me what you're doing on my land" She added, almost as an afterthought, when her studying gaze had travelled over all four of them.

"I am Phaedra Blake" Phaedra explained, walking up into the farmland, followed by the others "And this is Neeshka, Khelgar, and Elanee. Mayne sent us to find you Shandra"

"Elder Mayne?" Shandra looked surprised, laying down the bucket, but she quickly recovered her composure, and that enviable sense of challenging directness "Look" she continued briskly "If he's asking me to abandon his farm, forget it. I just brought the Harvest in, and if I let these lizardfolk get to it, it'll be his people who suffer come winter"

"No" Phaedra answered "We just wanted to talk to you"

"Talk?" Shandra raised an eyebrow quizzically "You're obviously a group of adventurers, though, no offence, you look a little young and delicate to play this part convincingly Phaedra Blake. I can't see what possible use I can be to you"

"You can tell us about the lizardfolk, that'd be a start" Khelgar said, somewhat snappishly, as though the long walk, the taunts from Neeshka, and the long wait since his last fight had been wearing on him. Shandra glanced down at him, her nostrils flared, her eyes flashed like flinty crystal…until the dwarf reluctantly backed down, lowering his head and his axe. Well, good on Shandra, Phaedra thought, smiling with a strange sense of pride in the spirited farmer.

"The lizardfolk" Shandra sighed, looking up again to Phaedra "They're big, have a lots of scales, and a massive grudge against innocent farmers like me. I've seen them rustling around in the bushes around here, had to scare them off with a pitchfork once or twice, but I don't know anything more than anyone else, certainly not any more than Mayne does"

"Well, then…" Phaedra considered for a moment "Is there anything you've seen, anything out of the ordinary maybe? Anything at all?"

"Right…" Shandra stepped back, brushing the stray strands of her gold hair from her face, a seemingly commonplace gesture that nonetheless impressed a sense of careful, natural grace. But it was also…strangely familiar, where had she seen someone do that before? "It might just be nothing, but for the last few nights, something's been happening up at the old fortress, the place they used to call Highcliff Castle. It's just ruins now, deserted, empty for nearly seventeen years now; we lost a lot down here during the war" She turned slowly to the east, a careful frown touching her features. Following her gaze Phaedra glimpsed through the spindly trees the rough grey stone of a cliff in the distance, rising above the flat farmland around it, upon it there was some sort of broken stone structure, rising up higher, towers hollow and empty, roofless, half-broken… "A couple of nights ago…" Shandra continued softly "I started seeing some kind of light up there, lights really, maybe like a fire or something. Someone's up there"

"The lizardfolk?" Elanee frowned questioningly "This is not like them, they shun human buildings…"

"Well, that is what I saw" Shandra answered "But there is a chance it wasn't even lizardfolk. Look I don't trust tavern rumours as a rule, but things have been so strange and dark lately…Anyway, last time I was in the village I heard someone saying that there were undead up there…"

"By the Gods…" Neeshka sighed "Not again"

"How?" Phaedra asked earnestly…if this was true, it couldn't be just a coincidence. There was some link here "Is there a graveyard up there?"

"This whole countryside is a graveyard, but not a marked on" Shandra replied darkly "There was a huge battle here, in that war, the one against the warlock, and Neverwinter lost. Lots of men died, lots of innocents too. I know a few farmers who unearth old bones every season, and that's not all…some of them pick up stranger things, demonic totems, skeletons that aren't even human…you can just feel the evil in them…"

"I thought I felt something" Neeshka murmured, more to herself perhaps than anyone, drawing her arms closer around herself "It's in my blood"

"We'd best go up and investigate" Khelgar put in swiftly "Undead or not, it's where we'll find those lizards for sure, and I'd be glad to send another necromancer to the Hells"

"Wait!" Shandra raised her hand, suddenly looking alarmed "You're not really…what exactly are you four trying to do anyway?"

"We need to find out what these lizardfolk want, and why they're attacking Highcliff" Phaedra answered "And if there are really undead, we know how to deal with them" She hoped that sounded more confident that it ought to have done, considering she had fought only one necromancer really, still…she would do what she had to.

"Gods, this is so strange…" Shandra shook her head slowly "You…and undead? But if you say so…I'd give anything to have this nightmare ended, with the Lizardfolk and everything else." She stepped back again. "I'd be grateful if you were careful out there though, you seem like good people, not like most of the adventurers who pass through here and I'd hate to think something happened because I told you about those lights on the hill…just look after yourselves" Through the unsure, hasty tone of this speech, Phaedra could detect a sincere note of feeling, and was grateful for it. "And if you can do something to help to stop this…I hope you know to do the right thing"

"Thank you for your help Shandra" Phaedra answered, feeling an obscure wish to take the young woman's hands in her own as she would have done for a good friend like Amie, or for a sister. "We'll do what we can to stop this, I promise…"

"Thanks" Shandra looked away, looking a little embarrassed "No one else has really cared enough to try, not Neverwinter, not one of those sailors back in the village. I hope you can do it, I really do" She stepped back toward the house, picked up her bucket, but did not turn away yet. Her gaze, slowly becoming softer, more curious, did not leave them either, but she did not speak, so Phaedra first, then the others following her, made the move to leave.

"We're really doing this again?" Neeshka sighed "I don't believe it"

"Cheer up fiendling" Khelgar answered "There may not even be any undead up there" But his broad smile, the hand clasped tight in readiness around his axe, were clear enough that he did not believe that in the slightest, nor would he have wished it at all.

"Yeah, well, with our luck, how likely is that?" Neeshka shrugged, then turned to Phaedra and smiled sheepishly "I'm with you Phaedra, I just wish there were slightly fewer undead and slightly more gold involved in this little journey"

"We should get moving" Elanee, from where she had stepped to the front beneath the shadow of the pine trees, reminded them "I think we would all rather reach this castle before dusk falls" There was a definite universal assent to that, so Khelgar and Neeshka, alongside the elf, made their way to the bounds of Shandra's land. Phaedra, though, stopped just before she stepped through the shadow beneath the copse of trees, and turned back just once…seeing Shandra Jerro still standing there before the farmhouse, a still figure, her golden hair and the clean tan of her farmer's outfit bright in the striking sunlight. Shandra was still watching her, with an expression of confusion, as though she searched for something lost within Phaedra, an expression Phaedra somehow knew was mirrored in her own features. Somehow, deep within herself, deeper than she could truly express, the vague thought came to her from nowhere that this could not be the last encounter she had with Shandra Jerro, and when they met again it would be hugely important. Slowly Phaedra raised her hand, and waved to the farmer in farewell, Shandra responded in kind…then Phaedra turned away and walked from out of Shandra's sight, troubled and confused by this strange encounter. But she had other things to deal with, as the sight of her friends up along the path waiting for her reminded her quickly. Time to move on…

ooooo0000ooooo

Morning had passed, it was now a still, cold noon and they had wound their way up from Shandra's farm through the unnaturally silent fields, and the ruins of many farmhouses once like hers. Their fields had been run down to total wildness as their owners had fled the lizardfolk scourge. It was a disheartening sight and an eerie one especially to Phaedra who had grown up in a farming village like Highcliff. She saw now why Shandra had been so concerned, what with all the grain of the harvest lost, how could Highcliff feed itself when winter came? But by now, where they stood now…any signs of human habitation had long since fallen away. They were just beneath the hill upon which the ruins of Highcliff Castle were constructed, the same they had seen from Shandra's farm, but since then the castle itself had remained out of sight. It seemed, however, as though the mere presence of the castle had been enough to ward away any farmers, no farms were built beneath its baleful shadow, just as that scar in the earth in West Harbour had been avoided so closely, what was it about that war sixteen years ago? Beneath their feet the cobbles of the path had been warped and cast aside, obviously by that self-same conflict, they remained the only sign that this had once been a thriving trade route, before the war.

"Ready?" Having stopped for a moment to catch her breath, Phaedra glanced at each of her companions in turn, addressing the question to each of them "Somehow I don't think this is going to be very easy"

"Yes of course we're ready" Khelgar was certainly raring to go, and took it upon himself to speak for the others as well "Undead, lizardfolk, it doesn't matter just as long as we get to crack some skulls, it's been too long since we had a real fight!"

"I am ready" Elanee nodded serenely.

"Neeshka?" Phaedra turned to the tiefling last, wondering why Neeshka, normally the one who was first to comment, had been so quiet this whole journey.

"What?" Neeshka looked up quickly, her expression flashing from the unusual strangely pensive one that she had borne since they had left Shandra's farm into clear confusion "Oh yes, I am ready…" She said, sounding not at all like herself.

"Is something wrong Neeshka?" Phaedra frowned, concerned about the tiefling.

"No, well, it's just I feel something…" Neeshka explained slowly "It was strong back at that girl's farm, but it's even stronger here. It's like an ache under my skin, I can't really describe it"

"It must be the old demonic traces from the war" Elanee noted "They have to be very powerful around here…"

"Can you hold up?" Phaedra asked quickly, could these traces have any actual effect on Neeshka's infernal blood?

"Sure" Neeshka gave a weak smile "I'll be able to do what needs to be done"

Phaedra nodded, relieved, and so they began to make their way along the path. Quickly it began to wind up around the hillside, the air was so silent and still, cold and chill, even though it was nearing midday. Speech soon froze in Phaedra's throat and she began to concentrate instead on watching the path ahead of them, her bow clasped close. They passed through the ruins of a mighty wall halfway up the hill, broken, cast down, but Phaedra still felt the metallic tang of infernal magic draped over the stones like a vile filmy layer of pollution, how much power must have been unleashed against the fortress for traces of it to still remain, even now? That war had been nearly seventeen years ago, around the time of Phaedra's birth, but the records were so confused and disorganised that even Tarmas had not been able to tell her anything of substance. Contradicting reports, confused statements by witnesses, so few had survived the battles that nothing was certain, except the involvement of a powerful warlock and his host of demons. Neverwinter had almost lost the war, its army, already devastated by the plague known as the Wailing Death, had been decimated…but somehow the warlock had been defeated, driven back, nowhere other than West Harbour itself. But even those villagers who had been present then, like Retta or Daeghun, had had very little information and even less inclination to speak of their experiences.

They passed through the broken husk of an ancient gatehouse, overrun by the invasive undergrowth, and looked finally upon the shadowed ruins of Highcliff Castle. The second wall was as completely destroyed as the first, a few piles of carefully crafted stone and little else, the buildings were empty shells, roofs and windows decayed, doors fallen in, plants and small animals their only inhabitants now. The great keep itself had fared little better, its structure remained largely intact, built strong, but there was a great, gaping hole in its side, bricks warped and cast aside in such a way as to still seem wholly unnatural…more magic. The door had fallen away, the doorway collapsed, it did not look like very much of what had once been within remained intact.

"So…where do we think these undead, lizardfolk and other assorted enemies are hiding anyway?" Neeshka glanced around warily

"They're here somewhere" Phaedra walked over, the keep's ruins sprawled quite extensively over the plateau, there were any number of places where these monsters could be hidden. "Shandra was telling the truth, I am sure of that"

"Well then why don't we have a look around then?" Khelgar suggested

"Keep together" Phaedra warned, was that the stench of death on the wind…or nothing more than her imagination? Carefully she began to move, the ruins cast deep shadows, and the Keep reared upwards above them like some monstrous idol to some long-forgotten God of decay. She knew she had to concentrate, stop her mind playing tricks on her, they could be being watched even now…cold, dead eyes in the darkness…

Suddenly an inhuman cry of pain split the air, and Phaedra leapt backwards in shock and horror. What was that? Gods…what was it?

"Sounds like company!" Khelgar bellowed, his axe leaping into his hands, his body tensed to run...straight into danger?

"Wait…!" Phaedra cried hoarsely, but he had already pounded off in the direction of the sound, past a shadowed alcove and passageway overrun by thick vines. By Lathander, did Khelgar even think about what he did before he did it? Ever? Swiftly she sprinted after him, leaping over the broken stones, her heart pounding. She was aware that Elanee and Neeshka were thankfully just behind her. Then, just before they reached the entrance to the keep, a gaping maw of darkness within the decaying wall, Khelgar ground to a halt in front of them, and Phaedra stumbled to his side. "What in the name of the Heavens were you…?" She froze in astonishment, the words dying in her throat. The battle, it seemed, had already begun…

A lizardman warrior, huge, ferocious, armed with a great stone axe with a long handle that it wielded in two huge clawed hands, was grappling with a group of the undead. They were just as they had been back near Fort Locke, animated corpses, in various stages of decay, skeletons, dripping with raw flesh and blood. The lizardman was fighting fiercely, his axe swinging, cleaving through rotting flesh and bone, cutting down the undead one by one, but more of the animated bodies was circling round him, trying to get in close from all sides before he could strike them down. He was being overwhelmed, there were too many of them!

"Who do we kill?" Khelgar shouted roughly, over the lizardman's fierce roar of rage, of berserk fury, as it struggled to cut down the next of its enemies that lunged at it with nothing more than bare, rotting hands and teeth. Phaedra gestured violently in answer, a spell on her lips, power in her fingers. A bolt of fire burst from her hand, searing with arcane heat, and launched into one of the undead closest to the lizardfolk. The creature collapsed, screaming a scream that scarcely sounded human, though this body had once been such. Its flesh burnt away within seconds, bones falling to pieces about it, ash scattering in the wind. The lizardman turned in answer, his glimmering eyes fell upon Phaedra for a moment, then he launched back into the fray.

"Kill the undead!" Phaedra cried "We can be sure they're our enemies" As she spoke she felt the passage of magic from just behind her. Elanee was channelling the powers of nature, a freezing ball of sheer ice crashed into another of the creatures. It fell without a sound, unable even to scream from its decaying throat. By now Khelgar was fighting three of the creatures. Phaedra let an arrow fly, his nearest foe collapsed, then Neeshka darted in, her sword dancing through their foes with a deadly grace, while Elanee moved over to the right flank, her sickle flashing as it cut through loathsome undead flesh, the metal glowing with the harnessed power of flame. But then the lizardman roared with agony, one of the undead leapt, clawing with its loathsome fingers onto his huge, broad back, biting deep into his flesh, drawing swathes of crimson blood, quickly Phaedra let loose an arrow into its head, and the lizardman cast its now still body aside. Ignoring his wound, he fought onwards, engaging the next of the undead, then the next.

Finally it was over, and the undead slain, heaped, decaying bodies cast aside from the path, into the stone. The lizardman, standing in the centre of the carnage, panting with exertion, turned at last to Phaedra, his huge shoulders relaxed, his huge axe lowered almost to the ground, in what was clearly a gesture of peace.

"Warmblood creature, do not attack Slaan" he said, in his strange, slightly garbled, hissing voice "You save Slaan, Slaan grateful. Not attack if you don't" He was tall, taller than any in the clan that lived around West Harbour, and much more bulky, a true lizardman rather than the smaller lizardling species, but in other ways he resembled them closely, the mottled scales, the squat proportions, the gleaming eyes, though his were an unusual sort of amber shade, daubed over his dry scales was a complex sort of design in mauve ink, running over his shoulders and chest. His axe must have weighed a tonne, but he held it with ease in his broad arms, as thick as tree trunks…

"Elanee, would you heal him?" Phaedra asked quickly, noticing the blood streaming down his back, though he seemed not to respond to the pain, just as he had fought the undead with so little concern for his own safety. Was the secret some kind of berserk rage? "Slaan, we're not going to hurt you at all" Phaedra continued.

"We're not…?" Khelgar muttered disappointedly from behind her, thankfully Slaan didn't seem to hear. "Oh, alright" Elanee began to move over to Slaan slowly, her steps faint whispers on the broken stone, never leaving the watchful lizardling's amber gaze. Her own eyes were lowered slightly, her hands spread in a gesture of goodwill. Evidently she had some experience with his kind, which was to be expected for a druid of the Mere. At last she reached him, and her hand lightly touched his wounded shoulder. For the first time Slaan gave a sign of the pain it must be causing him, his teeth clenching, a low hiss emerging between them, but, clenching his muscles, he stood firm as Elanee began to murmur an incantation under her breath, warm light gathering around her palm, glowing against his skin like clear sunlight shining through crystal water. When she removed her hand, the wound was entirely gone.

"You…are warmblood shamans, strong magic, yes?" Slaan glanced over each of them once again, his gaze staying longest on Elanee as she stepped back towards Phaedra without turning away from him, a gentle smile on her face "Slaan must thank you, Slaan owes you life"

"Listen, Slaan" Phaedra said, time to get on to what they had really come for. Slaan had to be one of those attacking Highcliff, and there was still the matter of these undead, about which he must know something. "What were you doing up here in these ruins?" She asked "And…you must know something about these creatures"

"Slaan here with strongest warriors of the tribe" The lizardman warrior answered "We meant to attack human boats, stop them leaving the land…chief's command"

"But why?" Phaedra shook her head, still not able to understand "Why are you destroying these ships?"

"This our land now, Chief says…" Slaan explained roughly "We have to make humans go away, otherwise they never leave us alone. We do what chiefs tell us but these dead-that-walk attack us…"

"But Highcliff was never a part of the lizardfolk territory" Elanee pointed out "Why have you come here?"

"We had to flee the old lands" Slaan hissed "There were bad shadows there, dead-that-walk…poisons. We need land, this land good…humans have to find other home"

"Can't you and the people of Highcliff co-exist?" Phaedra asked quickly "Near my home, West Harbour, there are lizardling tribes, and they live alongside humans"

"Slaan not understand" The lizardman's massive muscles bunched up as he gave a deep shrug "Slaan under chief's orders, only chief can tell tribe what to do"

"Can we talk to your chieftain?" Phaedra requested

"No" Slaaan answered bluntly "Slaan thanks you, but not sure tribe could trust you. Tribe not strong, must be protected. Can't let humans find"

"But we just want to…" Phaedra began tentatively

"No!" Slaan bellowed suddenly, his roar echoed up into the reaches of the fortress, the emty husks of the towers, ripping through the calm of the unnaturally still air about the ruins. All four of them, even Khelgar, stepped back involuntarily, as the sound died away, still so loud and strong it sent a stream of dust pouring from the summit of the tower closest to them. As Slaan stared, now silent at them, his huge shoulders heaving with the aftermath of that fierce sound, his amber eyes were wary now, but it was clear he was still not going to attack, he kept that huge axe lowered. As he stared at them, in silence now, Phaedra glanced helplessly to Elanee. Slaan was definitely implacable on this issue as it was but could the druid's knowledge be of some help to persuade him? They needed to talk to this chief if they had any hope of resolving this.

"Surely there must be some way we can prove our good intentions to you?" Elanee suggested, stepping a little closer to Slaan "Some kind of trade perhaps?" Slaan frowned, well what might have passed as a thoughtful frown on his reptilian features.

"Maybe…" He said, after a few moments of deep thought "Slaan's warriors taken by the dead-that-walk, Slaan thinks they might still be alive. They are tribe's greatest warriors, Slaan has to rescue them"

"They were taken by the undead?" Phaedra gasped, aghast "Alive?"

"Yes" Slaan nodded slowly, clenching broad claws around his axe, the thought of it caused him great anger "Slaan saw them, dark magic makes them sleep, makes them keep still and dead-that-walk carry them away. Slaan cannot save them alone, too many dead-that-walk, but if you help Slaan, help the warriors, Slaan can bring you to chief and chief will hear you. A trade, yes?"

"Now wait just a second!" Khelgar burst out, unable to contain himself any longer "You're really considering this? Don't be stupid, lass; the moment we find his friends, they'll kill us all!"

"Khelgar…" Phaedra murmured

"Slaan gives you his word" Slaan bellowed angrily "That is enough! Slaan does not break his word!"

"We need to talk to the lizardfolk…" Phaedra tried again.

"That's the problem, though…right there" Khelgar continued hotly, cutting across her "Always talking, and to demons, and tree-worshippers and lizards…"

"Who know where talking will lead us next, so stow it Khelgar!" Neeshka tossed her short hair.

"Khelgar, that is more than enough!" Phaedra snapped "Slaan is swearing on his honour, something you should respect. We can trust that"

"Honour in a lizard?" Khelgar shook his head, as though he were the one being reasonable "Didn't you listen to anything the Elder, or that captain, said? There's no such thing!"

"If you do not wish to come with us, you are welcome to stay out here" Elanee said mildly, but on the side she gave Phaedra a small, amused smile. She knew well what she was doing. Prejudiced or not, Khelgar would never be able to resist the offer of a fight, nor would he ever be able to tolerate the prospect of being left behind. "I am sure Slaan will be more than capable of aiding our passage down into these ruins"

"Who said I wasn't coming?" Khelgar growled belligerently "And there's no way I'm letting some lizard do all the fighting!" He squared his shoulders, hefting the axe upwards "What are we waiting for anyway? I'm in the mood to cut down some undead"

"Alright…" Phaedra shrugged, she supposed she would have to give up trying to understand Khelgar "Slaan, do you know where the undead are coming from?"

"Yes, Slaan knows" Slaan hissed softly "It is underground, where the sun cannot touch"

"By Tymora, it's like some bad adventure story all over again" Neeshka sighed hopelessly "It just always has to happen this way, doesn't it?"

"Always" Phaedra nodded, with a small smile, though the thought of the undead doused her amusement swiftly…but if they could stop these monsters, as well as helping Slaan and getting the chance to negotiate with the chieftain of the tribe, they had to do it.


	19. Chapter 19

_Great, I've done Chapter 19, won't be too long now until Neverwinter, and there things really start to get interesting, promise!_

_Thanks to voltagelisa who really helped me with chapter, hope you like how I've presented the ideas you gave me._

_Everyone else, as always, reviews would be nice, but thanks just for putting in the effort to stick with me so long! _

"Master of the Fifth Tower, you grace me with your presence" Suddenly, so suddenly that Phaedra almost jumped, the taut atmosphere of the place broken by shock, an eerie cold voice rang in the stale, still air of the long-abandoned dungeon. She instantly stopped dead, someone alive down here? It had to be the necromancer who was behind this, the monster…who had raised the dead bodies they had fought so far in this dark, dank place of so many shadows. With the greatest care, she stepped closer to where the voice had come from, nodding to her companions to do the same. Just along the wet, dark, oppressive stone corridor where they now stood, with its ceiling dripping with black water and moss, there stood a metal door, rusted and cracked by extreme age, which stood slightly ajar, from there the voices had come, Phaedra sensed the tingle of powerful magic in the air…

"Yes…I am sure" A second voice, arrogant, cultured, each word pronounced with the pointed threat of a well-honed dagger. "But I know we can both do without this fawning adulation, how goes the raising of the army? Are our forces sufficient to overwhelm the peasant recruits in that damned Fort, or are you here to report more delays?" Another man, his voice was somewhat…distant, as though it emerged from the bottom of a well, if there were two of them…two magicians perhaps, could they win?

"Do you see anything?" Elanee murmured at Phaedra's back, yes it was important that they find out who these people were before they made some kind of rash move. Carefully, knowing she was taking a risk, but unsure of how to do things differently, she had to know what they faced, she slowly stepped forward once again, edging up against the wall. Her steps were as silent as she could make them, barely a whisper on the stone, until she reached the door. It was indeed open, just open enough for her to be able to peer through, glimpsing the small, dark room within, and nothing interrupted the dark communion within. She went undetected, even as her companions took their places around her to gaze into the dungeon-like interior. What met them, though, was something that instantly seemed more dangerous even than Phaedra had suspected, even hearing those voices at first.

This was despite the fact that there were only two men, in fact, and none of the dreadful undead around them. The room was some sort of converted cell, rusted iron bars and chains hung down from the ceiling, austere stone walls were slick with dripping water, stinking pools had formed beneath them. The necromancer had made himself some sort of makeshift throne from rotting planks of wood to one side, but there was nothing else in the room, now he stood away from it, near the centre of the room…and, Phaedra saw with a sinking feeling, he was exactly the same as the one from Fort Locke, the same bestial helmet clasped over his face, the same long black robes over a thin body, but padded with armour under it, the same dark and fearsome power, searing into the air around him, sensed with the merest glimmer of Phaedra's power. But the man he faced, Phaedra drew in a gasp, this man…who could he possibly be? He stood scarcely taller than the necromancer, but he seemed to dominate the space, as though the small room were not enough to contain him. This was even more remarkable when she considered just how old and withered he really was, a wasted shell of a man, his flesh drawn tight over his bones, sunken, hollow cheeks, his clean white hair wasted away from the pallid crown of his head. His eyes, sunken deep in his face, were pale, shockingly pale, grey, almost white, they drew the eye inexorably towards the deep sense of power, of ambition that lay locked at their core as though a nakad flame was glimpsed through a diamond. In direct contrast to his wasted appearance, he wore robes of sumptious splendour, fastidiously arranged, a white collar drawn close to his throat, beneath that a splendid neckpiece made up of hundreds of sleek, black feathers, hanging over his thin shoulders. His robes were silk, purest black, rippling in the uncertain light around him…where was that light coming from? And there was magic, more magic here than he she could have imagined, it hung thick in the air, these two…especially that second man, they were wizards of a calibre she had never encountered…

"There have been complications, my lord" After a short period of uncomfortable silence between the two, the necromancer spoke, bending his head in simpering contrition "One…of our disciples near the Fort has been slain, my sources have suggested it was some kind of adventurer…" He spread his hands as the second man's eyes flashed with cold anger "But this will not affect our plans, my lord, the delay will soon be rectified, and those responsible will be dealt with, that I promise you" Beside Phaedra she heard Slaan hissing low and angry beneath his breath, she was unsure how much he could understand of what was being said, but he must know these were the men who were behind his comrade's imprisonment. Khelgar too was flexing his fingers around his axe, itching to get into the fight, but Phaedra motioned for him to be still insistently. Any information they could find on these men and their plots could be a help, especially if, as the necromancer's chilling words, that he would deal with those that had killed the one near Fort Locke, suggested, they would be trying to find Phaedra.

"Indeed?" The 'Master of the Fifth Tower' responded, menace clear in his voice. A strange rippling, uncertain light followed as he raised his hands to cross them over his chest…magic? Yes, this was no real presence…she understood now. The Master of the Fifth Tower was not even present in the room, this was a Sending, a magical projection of the self, powerful magic indeed. The real Master of the Fifth Tower could be anywhere within a radius of miles around here. "There will be no more delays priest, understand?" He continued with deadly softness "Remember that through your service to me, to my design, you serve your own master as well"

"We are all in the service of the King of Shadows" The necromancer raised his eyes, his voice taking on a strangely ritualistic intonation, his eyes flashing with fervent belief. "Sometimes we forget that he is all around us, and before him rank and title mean nothing" Phaedra frowned, she had not considered such a thing…this 'King of Shadows', it seemed he and the other necromancer back near Fort Locke served this entity. But as far as Phaedra knew, no deity went by that title, could it be a demonlord, or even an archdevil? But that didn't seem quite right, not fitting in with what she knew of those creatures…what exactly was going on here?

"Believe what you will" The Master of the Fifth Tower snorted dismissively "But you will carry out my orders" Then, suddenly Khelgar, hefting his axe to prepare to fight, struck the iron weapon against the wall, and an echoing crash rang out into the silence of the dungeon, loud, discordant, utterly unmissable. Phaedra winced, it was all she could do, Khelgar let out a loud curse, and they all froze, Phaedra could scarcely dare to look back into the room, knowing as she did so that they were discovered, feeling the pale eyes of the Master of the Fifth Tower upon her, narrowed with distaste and annoyance, but not a trace of fear or surprise… "What is this?" He said softly "A spy…" The priest had turned as well; his rough breathing became sharper, colder, filled with anticipation, as though he could sniff the five of them out. Phaedra froze beneath that awful gaze, unsure of what to do, to run in there and fight…or was going on the defensive the best bet? And the others looked to her, for leadership… "Ah…it seems these must be those who slew our agent in Fort Locke, come to pay their respects" The Master of the Fifth Tower continued, glancing momentarily to the necromancer. His tone clearly indicated he gave Phaedra and the others as little consideration as an insect beneath his foot…if he was truly a Sending, then they could not harm him at all… "You shall have your chance to deal with them as you please after all"

"Ah…as I please" The necromancer rasped, his voice touched with a hideous hunger, a fetid desire "It…shall please me greatly" He reached forward, his gauntleted hand outstretched toward them, fingers unfolding slowly…

"Do it, quickly" His master snapped "I have no time for this, but I trust you shall raise their bodies once you are done" There was an unfolding of magic, a shock of power, and suddenly he vanished, between one moment and the next, he was just gone…or the Sending was recalled, by that single spell. Though seeing that macabre, powerful presence gone was a great relief, it left them now completely alone with this dark necromancer. Phaedra raised her eyes, met his starved, feverish gaze behind that mask…saw his hands move slowly once again, and knew he was about to attack. She pushed forward in front of her companions to shield them; her own hands crossing over her chest in a defensive gesture. A poisonous, eerie purple light began to gather around the necromancer's outstretched hand, his spell weaving about it in an outpouring of dark energy. Then at once, as he whispered the last few words, a rending, searing bolt of lightning leapt from his hands, cutting through the air with a screeching sound. It was that same noxious purple light, lighting up the room with a flash of dark energy. It lanced towards Phaedra's chest, but she managed to gasp out a counter-spell, and between her hands blossomed a shield, a disk, of pure white light. The lighting slammed into it with a force that sent Phaedra staggering, a crash of sound so intense it echoed like a thousand voices in the enclosed space. But she held it upwards and firm, pouring more of her magical energy into maintaining the gleaming shield, as the necromancer, his eyes narrowing in concentration, slammed backwards his other hand, and maintained the lighting arcing from his hand to hers. He poured forth a stream of energy, dark and cold against her, sparking, discharging flashes of light that each time slammed into the narrow confines of the dungeon, an eerie light that sent shadows running up the walls…but now was their chance to get to him, while he was distracted, while she could hold against him. The strain of maintaining this deadly connection, this shield, was intense.

Slaan and Khelgar responded to her unspoken thought, bursting into the room behind her. She heard Slaan's roar, Khelgar's warcry, the crash of their weapons as they wielded them, one stone, one iron…meeting the necromancer's gaze across the flashing, arcing light between them. She smiled grimly. This was it, she would hold him, and they would kill him, it could not go any other way, she would not let it! So, as he began to withdraw, pulling back the spell, she responded, and pushed all her magic outward. The spell, woven by word and gesture, leapt for him, a strand of fire ripping through the moist air to strike at him, coiled outwards like a whip. He brushed it aside with little effort, the waves of dark energy pulsing around his hands were of such power that her spell had little chance of getting through. But the effort nonetheless left a moment's opening in his defences, and Khelgar and Slaan, from either side of Phaedra, raced towards him to take advantage of it. For a moment it looked like it might work, Phaedra drawing in more power to make sure he knew she was about to attack in her own way, Khelgar to his right, Slaan to his left…three attacks at the same time, how could he possibly defend against them all? And Elanee appeared at Phaedra's side, set, determined, and Neeshka behind her, looking for an opening, her dagger clasped close, ready to dive into him from the shadows the moment his focus shifted. Five of them, the could do this…

But he laughed, even faced with them all, he laughed, and the sound was maniacal and empty, so soulless that Phaedra found herself faltering….and then his power ignited. For the first time she felt the sheer depth of it, the fury of it, like an opening into an infinite darkness, into chaos itself. By the Gods…his bronze gauntlets slammed upwards toward the ceiling, and his hatred exploded out of him. Magic, dark magic rose in a great cloud about him, a black smoke-like miasma surrounding him, a shadow darker even than his robes as though the darkness of the room birthed some organic thing. As he poured it outwards, his hands sweeping about him, weaving it, taming it, forming into tentacles of shadow, great sweeping, grasping tentacles of pure darkness. Phaedra watched, suddenly frozen in place with horror. It felt different…icy to her sense of magic, as though it were an absence of power rather than true power itself, as though it were the very substance of Shadow itself. She could sense no way to attack it, no way to counter it, but Khelgar had other ideas. Suddenly, ignoring Phaedra's desperate cry of warning, he leapt at the necromancer, his axe sweeping back for the strike, but the priest was all too ready for it. He thrust out his hands, and the shadows launched at Khelgar, great ropes, strands of shadow detached from the darkness that hung so heavy upon him, birthing, almost like buds from some putrid plant, they whipped back, striking across the dwarf with deadly force, slamming into him mid-leap…

"Khelgar!" Phaedra screamed, as Khelgar was sent sprawling back against the stone, crashing into the wall. His armour rang discordantly with the force of the impact…and he collapsed heavily to the ground. Oh Gods, it couldn't be. Phaedra tried to step forward, go to him…but the necromancer's chill gaze falling once again on her, froze her in place before she could move again. He was still surrounded, enveloped in his dark powers, in that web of dark tentacles, then he reached forward slowly toward her, as though he wished to touch her, and the shadows coiled around his arm, like dark living things almost, longing with their furtive movements to touch her, envelop her…

"Leave the dwarf" His echoing voice rasped in the darkness "You are making this far too easy. Come now, dance for me" Elanee, glancing between him and Phaedra, her hands outstretched towards the prone Khelgar, she shook with horror and dismay.

"Go!" Phaedra cried to her, her power suddenly whipping forth against the necromancer, light, burning light running through the air to strike at the necromancer. Just enough time, oh Gods, let this give enough time for Elanee to get to Khelgar, to help him. Elanee broke through, and ran towards the dwarf, but the necromancer drew back his hands, he brushed aside her simple spell with ease, his darkness sweeping it away, and he reached forward for Elanee. "Stop!" Phaedra screamed, stumbling forward, the necromancer's hand slammed back towards her, and one of the shadowy strands leapt for her. She didn't even have time to think before it struck her right across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. Gods he could have killed her easily, but he hadn't, he was trying to draw this out…make it slow and painful…but, even through the sharp ache of the impact she could not stop, could not let herself falter, for he went straight for Elanee next. The elf was kneeling over Khelgar, one hand down on his chest, the glow of healing about it, but her gaze was fixed on the necromancer, wide-eyed, Phaedra pushed herself slightly up on one arm, rolling over to face the necromancer and slammed out her hand to deflect the necromancer's attack on Elanee, but he was ready for it. He sent another wave of shadows towards her just as she let go of the spell, the moment she could never have defended herself. It slammed into her, picking her up from below, sending her tumbling through the air and slamming into the wall. She fell, gasping with agony, with this sharp rending pain, as she felt the impact in every bone of her body, but…she could not give up. Her vision was blurring, pain tore through her body, she couldn't move. But suddenly Slaan's roar shook through her mind. The lizardman took the moment's advantage and slammed forward, his huge stone axe sweeping downwards up, but the necromancer was far too fast. He swung back, ripped Slaan's stone axe from his claws with one swift motion of grasping and tearing, then his spells slammed into the lizardman as well, throwing him backwards, blood flicked outwards from Slaan's lips, as he hit the wall just by Phaedra, his huge bulk sprawling.

"Can't you put on a better show than this?" The necromancer snarled, raising both hands, his clawed gauntlets raking at the air, surrounded by shadows. "Come now, can't any of you do better?" He turned suddenly to Phaedra, behind his mask his glistening eyes narrowed, became mere slits, examining her struggle to move through the pain, her struggle to fight him again "Is this really it?" He snapped, reaching forward. Shadows moving, scuttling over the floor towards her…

"No, it's not!" Suddenly Neeshka leapt at him from behind, her sword flashed as she pulled it up to bury it in his back, a triumphant cry on her lips. Phaedra gasped, but the necromancer swung round in an instant, his gauntleted hand shot out with the speed of a striking cobra and caught her arm mid-sweep downwards toward him, inches before the knife struck him. Neeshka's smile died instantly, she gasped out with pain, his fingers were digging into her, crushing the flesh of her arm, and he wasn't letting her go, no matter how fiercely she struggled. Her other arm trying to get to her belt where there was another knife but he was pulling her up, wrenching her back.

"You are very foolish demon-girl" He murmured in her face "Did you really think you could strike at me from the shadows, I am a servant of the King of Shadows, I am the shadows" His other hand reached for her neck, pale, vulnerable, as she struggled backwards, desperately trying to escape him. Gods, he would kill her! Phaedra screwed up her eyes, forcing back the pain, forcing back her response to it, she had to do this, had to save Neeshka. It was the tiefling's only chance, come on, do this! At once she found it, the strength she needed. Her eyes snapped open, her arm slammed outwards…and her magic poured outward. Incandescent bolts slammed from her hand, arcing round to attack him from behind. But he sensed it, he turned, in one fluid motion, turning towards her, and casting Neeshka from his grip, sending her slamming into the wall, as he turned his tentacles leapt forward, slamming into her magic, swallowing its light entirely. He was enraged now, totally enraged, and they fed off it, growing stronger, thicker, and all heading for Phaedra…a forest of them, and she could do nothing, thoughts screamed uselessly in her mind, her magic moved, but nowhere near fast enough, and she could not fight this, she knew it, she knew it well, in that last instant. The darkness rolled along the floor, tentacles reaching forward to grasp at her, to take her down…

They slammed into her, a great wave, a great tide, as though she were struck by a solid mass, a writhing, moving, scuttling mass of living things, rough, scaly. She tried to scream, but suddenly it was on her mouth, grasping at her throat, pinning her arms to her sides. She felt them all around her, pulling her down, pinning her down, slamming her into floor. She struggled, trying to break free of them, trying to tear them from her body, but they tightened about her…grasping harder, squeezing, smothering, suffocating. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see but she heard him…heard his footsteps as he moved closer, heard his voice when he spoke…

"Pitiful, child…pitiful" It was cold, clinical, as though she were some kind of experiment he was regrettably having to discard "You have lost, let go. Your struggles are meaningless" Phaedra screamed silently in frustration. Her mind, starved of oxygen, screamed, her magic tore at the constraints but she could not speak, could not give voice to it, could not form it…could not unleash it. She would not let this happen, would not let him harm her friends, no…she could not just give up, never! Not against this abomination! Her mind was begging for a breath, begging for the cool air, but she could not get to it, could not find it, could not search, could not see…ah Gods…never! No, no, no…she forced the need to breathe back, screaming out the word in her thoughts, letting it drive her, she would find a way, if she had to cut through this spell herself! She rolled backwards, tearing at it. Black spots danced before her closed eyes, she was losing herself. No, not enough…nothing she could do, what spell could she cast like this. She scarcely felt herself, scarcely knew the words anymore. Her mind was closing around her, drawing back, dwindling to a needle-point, a needle-point of pain…ah…Lathander…she closed her eyes, felt her hot tears of agony, of starving need trapped in her eyes, stinging, burning. They would not even let her cry in pain. She didn't want to die like this! Please…not like this…

It was at that last moment, that last thought, that went not outward to Lathander, but inwards to herself, echoing deep within the vaults of herself, within the heart of her being…that something happened. She felt it, felt it so intensely and suddenly, after the dying of sense elsewhere, the dulling of her thoughts by the deprivation of breath. It was a…release, a click, like a key fitting into a lock, the door being flung open at once, and everything within rushing outwards in an inexorable tidal wave. A spark of magic, a light, ignited in her, her eyes snapped open, her fingers clenched. She felt it, she felt it through her whole being, that spark, growing, burning, exploding outwards into a firestorm, into a blazing heat within. It was inexorable, uncontrollable, it swept her along with it, carrying her fading mind with it, and it drove her, magic wove itself. This…was no true sorcery, it was uncontrollable, utterly untameable…but it was hers, a part of her, and it was about to save her. She knew that, though she was scarcely conscious, that this was to save her, that it needed no spell, and she dived into an ocean of power, tossed, churned by the violence of its own making. The necromancer suddenly screamed out harshly, in pain, she was doing that, she was attacking his spell from the heart, attacking him. It was her, this was the way, this power. What small part of her was still capable of it stood back in awe, her thoughts aghast at this force, but she embraced it, knew it was hers. Her magic, a part she had never glimpsed, never suspected, but here, and her only hope now. And there, it tore from her, she felt it, and it was burning outwards, burning the air around her, burning through the tentacles, she felt them begin to withdraw, to contract, they left her arms, they left her legs, her eyes, and suddenly, blessedly, her throat. She breathed in, heavily, drawing in all the breath she could, and the relief of it flooded through her body, but even that was distant suddenly, distant to this power. It was waiting, no it was not waiting, it did not need to be shaped, it would tear from her. She just needed to direct it…and it would destroy everything in its path. She was lying against the stone still, and what she saw; she saw light, white light, pure light, streaming from every part of her body, rays of light, so intense, so bright. She would scarcely be able to see, but that didn't matter, this light was all there was anyway. Slowly, for each move she made brought with it the warm hum of energy across her skin and the streaming light followed her movements, she stood, pushing herself to her feet. She was a form traced in light, burning, aflame with light, with pure magic, scarcely tamed, untouched by spell or word, pure invocation, and it needed only her direction. She turned, and glimpsed the necromancer, shrinking back, throwing his hands over his face, suddenly he was pathetic, his shadows as nothing to this light…

"You have no place here!" He screamed roughly, his voice breaking with the more than physical pain this caused him "Light! Light…master…my King!" He would be so easy to kill, he had nothing now, the shadows were burned away. This pure magic would erase him, time to end this tortured, corrupted existence for good. She reached outward, her arm was ablaze with power, and her fingers pointed to him, no restraining it anymore. It rose within her, it hungered for this, and it took itself from her by her simple motion. Great rippling waves of light pulsed outwards, sweeping through the room, and suddenly it launched for him, a wave of consuming power, light formed into the semblance of fire, that burned as though if were fire. The moment it touched him, he screamed, an animalistic scream, scarcely human, and suddenly he was aflame with light, he was burning with her power. His scream reached a fever pitch, his hands grasping helplessly at the air, and then suddenly it consumed him, his robes vanishing like silk in a fire, his flesh burned away, for a single, horrifying instant she saw only a grinning skull wreathed in white fire, then that too was gone, burned away…and it was done. The horror of that last vision was enough for her to snap back into herself, and abruptly the source of the power was cut off, the door slamming shut again so she felt it no longer, so she was whole, wholly herself once more, and her magic merely an exhausted ember deep within, but nothing great, nothing consuming like that. It was gone, it had passed, whatever it had been. She sighed, breathing outwards, as the light about her faded, and suddenly she felt so tired, staggering backwards, her vision clouding. Gods…she was burnt out, entirely…

Someone caught her, huge strong arms holding her upwards as a reptilian face peered into her own, amber eyes narrowed with concern…Slaan…

"Slaan…" She whispered, helplessly leaning against him "Are the others alright…?" But there was Elanee, the elf's face floated beside Slaan's, full of concern, her green eyes gleaming…

"Keep still" Elanee murmured, and her fingers clasped Phaedra's shoulder. From beneath her hand, a pleasant warmth began to flow into Phaedra, trickling down into her body, running through each of her limbs, bringing with it new life, new energy, some small measure of her strength. It was rejuvenating, clarifying, Phaedra's eyes opened properly, she saw Elanee smile with relief, but she also saw the confusion in the elf's eyes, the shock, feelings she could only belatedly admit she shared. That power…she did not know where it had come from, or how, or why she no longer felt it suddenly… "What did you do?" Elanee asked slowly "We saw you…blazing with white fire…"

"I don't know" Phaedra swallowed heavily "It just happened…" She shook her head, standing unsteadily without Slaan's help, her mind clearing. Though she could only assume the stress of her near-death must have unlocked that intense tide of power, it still should not have been, could not have been…except it had. None of Tarmas' books had ever spoken of such a thing, of a magic without spells, not that she should be able to access. Even on the verge of death, a wizard or sorcerer could only hope to rely on spells, that was just a fact. She knew she should be dead…so how, and why was she alive? But even within herself, even probing the ashes of her burnt-out magic, she found nothing…she was still a sorcerer…

"Tymora…remind me never to make you angry" Neeshka appeared just behind Elanee, there were tear stains on her flushed cheeks, but she was smiling broadly, her voice as casual and cheerful as ever "That was…terrifying…"

"You…great shaman, greater than any…" Slaan inclined his body in a clumsy bow "Slaan honours you"

"Phaedra…that was not normal sorcery" Elanee continued softly, but she obviously saw that Phaedra had no answers for she sighed and ceased speaking, though a shadow of confusion remained in her eyes.

"Khelgar…?" Phaedra glanced around, almost frightened of what she might see…

"What, you mean the clumsy stump who go us into the whole mess?" Neeshka rolled her eyes, indicating with a nod of her head "He's alright, just sulking"

"I am not!" Khelgar stormed over truculently, but he smiled at Phaedra, clearly deeply relieved that she was alright "Thanks…lass, I owe you another one. Magic just can't be punched through eh?" Phaedra nodded, rubbing her aching forehead, still thinking of that…experience…but it only brought more confusion. It had been powerful, it had been all-consuming, perhaps it was better not to know of it, but the touch of it had been such rapture… "Hey, lass?" Khelgar interrupted her thought "The other man, what happened to him?"

"He was never here" Phaedra answered, and slowly the older mystery of that man, the 'Master of the Fifth Tower' intruded on her thoughts "A Sending, communicating through magic"

"Well, looks like we'll have to save a dagger for his gullet another time, right?" Neeshka shrugged, as though it were of little consequence.

"What he spoke of…an operation, plans to attack Fort Locke" Elanee was frowning "This unnerves me…only a man sure of his power would risk drawing Neverwinter's wrath"

"But…we've cut down his plans a little bit, right?" Neeshka seemed uneasy at letting the conversation stray to such dark realities.

"When we're back in Highcliff I am sure Elder Mayne could send a message to Fort Locke" Phaedra nodded "And I'm sure, after what happened to Commander Tarn, he's been planning for this"

"We go now?" Slaan said eagerly, padding from one foot to the other "Slaan's warriors here…somewhere"

"Of course" Phaedra gathered up her bow, slinging it back over her shoulders…the after-effects of the massive amount of power she had inexplicably unleashed were fading slowly but she knew she'd need a long rest before she could cast even the simplest of spells. Thankfully with the necromancer's death, his undead servants would have collapsed back into inert bone and flesh. There would be no danger…hopefully.

Slaan, his lambent yellow eyes scanning every small crevice, led the way as they left that chamber. His footsteps led them deeper into the darkness…though she knew the necromancer and his taint were gone, Phaedra could not help but feel uneasy. Did Slaan's comrades still live, could anything live in such a wretched place? "Slaan…?" she whispered "Do you hear anything?"

"Slaan hear…" the lizardman sniffed the air "They are close" He padded a few steps over, glancing intently at each of the sealed doors he passed. Suddenly he gave a bark of triumph, lumbering over to one of the cell doorways, and he pushed against it, his reptilian muscles straining.

"Here…let me handle that" Neeshka pulled a long, smooth pin from her belt. Slaan moved out of the way, and the tiefling sidled in, inserting her pin into the large rusted lock. Phaedra watched with fascination as she leant down against the door, her ear to the lock and she carefully turned the pin. Everyone watched in silence, and Phaedra began to hear the hint of movement beyond the doorway…so it was true, thank Lathander! "Ah, there you are" Neeshka pulled back, and the lock fell away, clattering into the dust. "Haven't lost my touch" She grinned at Khelgar knowingly. Slaan grunted his thanks, moving to push open the door. Phaedra was the first to follow him in.

The room was an almost identical copy of the cell in which the necromancer had communed with his mysterious master, but this one remained occupied. Seven pairs of cold reptilian eyes met her as she stumbled in after Slaan, a party of lizardling warriors, starved and emaciated but still formidable. Why had the necromancer kept them here? What cruel purpose had he hoped to accomplish, or had it been merely to satisfy his horrific desire for pain?

"Slaan…you brought warmbloods here?" the largest of the formerly captive lizardmen hissed, a feral gleam in his eyes.

"Yes…" Slaan, recognising the implicit threat, drew himself tall, he was larger than any of his compatriots, and in a much better condition. "They fought well, with honour. Shaman-called-Phaedra slew the dark shaman, without their help Slaan could never have come here"

"They are in league with the ship-builders!" one of the others snarled, and the rest hissed their agreement. "What did they want Slaan? What did they ask for?"

"Enough you spineless hatchlings!" Slaan snapped his teeth "They helped Slaan, helped you, now Slaan will help them. They want see chief, they will see chief" A chorus of mutinous murmurs greeted his words. "You free because of them!" Slaan roared "Should Slaan have just left you to rot?"

"Rather than relying on Warmbloods" the leader hissed "The tribe comes first, the chief comes first"

"I made oath on water" Slaan snarled "And by the Gods, Shaman-called-Phaedra and pack shall see the chief"

"Fulfill oath then Slaan" his adversary rolled his shoulders in what Phaedra could only term a shrug "Lead Warmbloods to our sanctuary, let them kill chief"

"They act with honour" Slaan answered "We walk to Caves together. Phaedra talk with chief. So Slaan has sworn, or do squealing nestlings dispute this?" The silence was definite, a grudging compliance, but a compliance nonetheless. Finally Phaedra would have her chance, she sighed heavily…and knew it was time to put aside the mysteries that had been laying heavily on her thoughts for a while, that magical…outburst, the necromancer, his master, their plans, these things could not concern her now. She would need all her thought, all her will, bent to persuading the lizardman chief to aid her. She only hoped she could succeed.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20! Wow, glad to have got here...and I promise you things are moving on now! _

_Sorry this is a bit of a filler chapter, with lizardfolk and a little more of Elanee's characterisation. That said I found it quite interesting to write, let me know what you think of where I'm going, and next chapter...Neverwinter! _

The eerie watery half-light of the moist, damp cave through which Slaan's padded footsteps led them glimmered over the slick floor, glistening in the moss that caked the walls, catching and glistening like scattered jewels in the numerous pools and sink holes set about their rocky path. The air was saturated with vapour, and filled with the strange, musty smell of the lizardfolk who inhabited it, though there was no sign of the elusive reptilians. Somehow, though, Phaedra could sense their eyes upon the little group, watching from the shadows. Slaan's more hostile comrades had vanished into the gloom almost as soon as they entered the cave, were they the ones watching?

"Slaan, how much deeper?" Phaedra asked quickly, trying to keep the unease from her voice. It…was not that she didn't trust Slaan. It was just…down here, in this darkness, it could only remind her of the tomb, the dungeon of Highcliff Castle, those places she had fought the undead, those dark necromancers. Yet these caves were so alive, where they had only been dead places of darkness, she had to focus on that, on the knowledge that these caves were a home to the lizardfolk, a home to a people who were going to help her, like Slaan.

"Not far…" Slaan hissed, glancing back for a moment to her "The Chief close…"

"He had better bloody well be" Phaedra heard Khelgar mutter behind them both, though thankfully Slaan did not.

"I thought you liked holes stumpy. I thought all dwarves did" Neeshka commented, she walked beside him, seeming untouched by the trepidation Khelgar obviously felt walking into the heart of the Lizardfolk territory. "Don't they make you all feel better about your height?"

"You wouldn't understand fiendling" Khelgar snapped irritably, he was obviously tense, out of his depth here in the territory of the lizardfolk, relying only on Slaan's guidance. "Dwarven halls, blazing with forge and fire, and dry air, that's a cave. Not this dank, wet mud-hole filled with lizards we should be fighting"

"Yes, let's take on a whole tribe of lizardmen in their own cave, why don't we?" Neeshka nodded with mock seriousness, her voice heavy with sarcasm "Really great Khelgar…really, really great"

"Shut up fiendling" Khelgar muttered darkly, glancing around him uneasily into the shadows and clasping his axe closer, a suspicious scowl carved deep into his ruddy features. Well, perhaps it would be good for him to be in a situation where he was so obviously not in control of matters, perhaps it would make him a little more cautious elsewhere.

At last, after some time walking deeper into the cave, they came across the first lizardfolk Phaedra had seen since they entered the cave. They were two vicious looking guards each almost as large as Slaan and carrying stone weapons. They flanked on either side a great stone archway, carved solely by nature from the glistening stone, but which nonetheless showed the signs of lizardfolk craftsmanship; wave-like patterning, eerie figures in pigment drawn across its sides, were these pictures legends perhaps? Or a history of this tribe? Would Elanee know? She glanced at the elf, who, of all of them, had been the most serene in this journey down towards the lizardling tribe's stronghold, Elanee had lowered her head, obviously deep in thought…what was she considering?

"Heard of these Warmbloods, Slaan" one of the guards hissed, interrupting Phaedra's thoughts, they had heavier concerns here. "Chief is waiting, wondering why you bring them here"

"And Slaan explain it to Chief" Slaan answered, squaring his shoulders. Much of the lizardfolk system of hierachy, it appeared, depended on one's ability to flex one's muscles convincingly.

"We watch Warmbloods" The two pairs of yellow, reptillian eyes scanned Phaedra's small party with a healthy amount of suspicion which more than matched Khelgar's "If Warmbloods false, you pay price with them Slaan" Slaan hissed threateningly, but made no reply, he gestured for Phaedra and the others to enter the chamber past this great arch behind him. Phaedra breathed deeply before she stepped forward. She knew this would be difficult, but there was no other option. She had to convince this chieftain to end his crusade, or there would only be bloodshed and more bloodshed to pay. She'd had this unique opportunity to bridge the gap between the lizardfolk and the people of Highcliff, she had to take it.

She felt exactly like a supplicant before royalty, as Slaan led her down the vast aisle of the chamber which could only be called a throne room for this lizardman chieftain. The room was a vast natural chamber with a towering ceiling, walls glimmering with quartz and ore, there was a pool, clear as crystal, drawn in a crescent-shape, its still surface glimmering, around the furthest wall of the room. Thirty, maybe forty, pairs of gleaming yellow eyes followed the four of them as they made their way toward the throne; lizardfolk…male, female, warriors, craftsman, even an ancient, hunched shaman and youngsters of the creatures, watched over in a small crèche. But for a lizardfolk tribe, as far as Phaedra knew of the creatures, this number was small, and there were few young strong warriors, even with the guardsmen at the door, and Slaan's compatriots. The throne was set on a raised platform surrounded on three sides by the waters, a crystalline rock carved roughly into the semblance of an imposing seat. Before it the chieftain stood, massive even by the standards of these lizardfolk warriors, taller than Phaedra by a length of half her body, broad-shouldered and heavily built. She had wondered how the formidable Slaan could have been subordinate to the tribe's chief. Now she could see why, he was obviously a strong fighter. He wore some sort of armour, cobbled together from various pieces of leather, plate and mail obviously built for human warriors, and bore in his hands a steel flail, viciously crafted with great skill, a prize from a defeated foe.

"Slaan!" he roared, his powerful voice echoing in the vast expanse of the cave "I hear of the dark shaman, the dead-that-walk, and the Warmbloods who fight at your side, but there are questions still. Shall I hear the truth from your tongue?"

"What you speak is true, great Chief" Slaan bowed low to the floor, keeping his face to the ground even as he spoke "Dead-that-walk attack from human ruin, capture warriors. Slaan had to find help"

"Ah" the chief clambered down from the raised dais, his keen, cunning gaze swept over Phaedra and the others, narrowing with consideration "From Warmbloods?"

"They kill dead-that-walk" Slaan explained "Save Slaan life, so Slaan ask them to help. Shaman-called-Phaedra burns dark shaman away, Save warriors. Slaan swore to bring them here"

"Oath made with a loose tongue" the chief barked "But must be honoured…" He glanced at Phaedra again, seemingly unimpressed "Tell me Warmbloods, who leads your clan?"

"I do" Phaedra walked over, bobbing her waist and drawing out her sodden, mud-stained dress outwards in what nonetheless could have passed for a courtly curtsey, thank Lathander for all those stupid games she and Amie had once played, acting great mages in the courts "I am Phaedra Blake"

"A female?" The chieftain seemed amused rather than outraged, but none of the rest of the tribe shared his laughter, they continued to watch Phaedra with warded suspicion. She tried to ignore them, he was the only one that mattered. "Why you wish to come here, One-called-Phaedra Blake? For your kind this is dangerous, no?"

"I came for peace, not war" Phaedra answered, raising her voice to fill the cavern as much as she was able "And on behalf of the people of Highcliff…" She paused, trying to gauge his reaction, but he was utterly impenetrable, his hooded gaze showed nothing "They are farmers, not warriors and they pose no threat to you or your people"

"So the ship-builders send a clever talker to make us leave?" the chieftain hissed, suddenly he was visibly and audibly angry, and it was a fearsome sight. "Not work. This our land now, we claim it, we make humans leave"

"But why?" Phaedra held her ground with difficulty, pleading her case now. "There's enough space here for the both of you, surely you can coexist peacefully?"

"Humans never leave us alone" the chief snorted dismissively "They want all land, the swamps, the cliffs, the forests, none left for us. Never leave us alone…"

"Great Chief, I know your kind are fierce warriors, but your tribe is still in danger" Phaedra pointed out, knowing this was where she would have the chance of convincing him, he obviously cared deeply for his people. "You need space, and time to grow, and peace to live, just like the people of Highcliff do. I am sure there is some way we can work this out so neither of you will ever bother the other."

"You speak as a wise shaman One-called-Phaedra-Blake" The chieftain answered thoughtfully "Tribe wants no trouble with humans, but still not sure to trust them"

"I will speak with Elder Mayne, Chief of Highcliff" Phaedra promised "He is a fair leader and wishes peace as much as you do. I am sure I can convince him to abide by an agreement to which your tribe subscribes"

"Shaman-called-Phaedra speaks with wisdom, great chief" Slaan added eagerly "She care for tribe, save warriors. We trust her" The chief paused, Phaedra could see his golden eyes travelling the expanse of the cave, wandering over his silent, watching people, she could also see the anxiety, the deep consideration in them. He wanted to save his tribe, he had to understand that this was the best way.

"You right…one-called-Phaedra" the chief at last decided, turning back to Phaedra "Tribe not strong enough to keep fighting humans, if they send Grey warriors, Tribe finished. Tell Elder, he keep high lands and village, we keep swamps and caves...not need any else. But his tribe not build on our land, as long as we not go on his. Tribe can still fight, if have to" It was clear he had, in fact, considered such an agreement before Phaedra had come to him…how fortunate…

"I understand…and I will tell him that" Phaedra vowed. Elder Mayne would surely accept, his people had no use for the swamps and caves of the area, and they would be glad to have come to a solution without bloodshed, as Phaedra was.

"But none of the human tribe is to ever come here, one-called-Phaedra" the chief added as a last sober warning "Not you, not any of your clan, or any of the villagers" Phaedra nodded respectfully, there was really nothing more to say to that.

"Slaan take shaman-called-Phaedra to surface" Slaan moved forward to her side to relieve her, and the chief nodded his agreement.

"You were brave to come here Shaman-called-Phaedra." He added finally, raising his flail in salute "And Tribe will be glad in seasons to come that you found strength to."

"And that you had the wisdom to set aside your differences with the people in Highcliff" Phaedra answered "I will persuade the Elder to abide by these rules, I promise you" She curtsied deeply again, bowing her head in respect and he nodded slowly, and then she turned away and followed Slaan out from the tribe's throne room, back out into the cave's dank passageways, Elanee, Neeshka and Khelgar close behind.

"Slaan knew to trust you" Slaan crowed triumphantly, once they had left behind the guards at the gate, the fearsome warrior suddenly seemed almost child-like in his happiness at the resolution. "Now tribe can grow again…and never need live in fear"

"I am only glad I could help your people" Phaedra smiled gently at the lizardman "This conflict would have only hurt you as much as it did the people in Highcliff"

"I probably not see you again…" Slaan said "So I honour you for saving life and for saving tribe. You good and wise shaman Phaedra…Slaan hopes waters be at your feet, and sun at your back as you travel."

"Thank you Slaan for everything" Phaedra answered "I will pray for you and your tribe"

"Gods sure to hear such good prayers" Slaan answered, with a broad, reptillian smile "Tribe prosper with your blessing" They walked onwards in companionable atmosphere, but somehow the journey back seemed so much shorter, and soon daylight began to filter softly into the tunnel and Slaan stopped beside Phaedra. "Slaan go no further" He said, as Phaedra turned to him, sad at being parted from the stoic lizardman warrior. "Tribe safe now, Slaan wants see mate." He paused and smiled mischievously, his yellow eyes glinting "You find mate someday yes?"

"I'll try, if it makes you happy" Phaedra answered, laughing suddenly and brightly at the ridiculousness of the image, a lizardman advising her to get married? What would Retta Starling think? "Goodbye Slaan" She said affectionately.

"Travel safe" Slaan nodded "Slaan see human boats, Slaan no envy you" He grinned, his teeth glistening as he stepped back into the dark, his scaled body slipping in amongst the shadows with that surprising reptilian elegance. He paused one last time on the threshold to bow respectfully to Phaedra, who waved her farewell back and smiled, then all at once he was gone…

"Okay, what exactly is it about you?" Neeshka asked, once even his padded footsteps were gone away into the tunnels, and Phaedra turned to her, confused. "You seem to charm everyone we meet" Neeshka continued "Watch Marshals, Greycloaks, village elders, all just queueing up to be your friend, even some huge, monstrous lizardfolk warrior finds a sense of humour when he's around you. And you don't even try to do it! All I've ever got is pitchforks and torches" Phaedra shrugged, smiling at Neeshka's expression of mock outrage.

"Because Phaedra's a good lass, that's why, not a hint of stinking, thieving demon blood in her" Khelgar scowled, evidently not yet recovered from treading into the heart of the lizardfolk tribe.

"Back to the moralising again, you're not a monk yet Khelgar so don't act like it" Neeshka snapped, with an exaggerated sigh "Have I ever really done anything to anyone? Me?" She asked, spreading her hands and assuming a severely unconvincing expression of innocence.

"I think we should attend to the matter at hand" Elanee interrupted sternly "We've come halfway, that's what's important, but we still have to convince the Elder to trust the lizardfolk and honour this agreement."

"Toughest part by far" Neeshka warned, serious now "These village-folks, set in their ways. It'll take more than a few pretty words to get rid of their prejudices, trust me, I know"

"The Elder seems a reasonable man" Phaedra answered with more hope "I'm sure we can find some way to convince him."

"Well…don't say I didn't warn you" Neeshka shrugged, glancing back out into the sunlight.

"Let's head back" Phaedra decided "It's a while onward to Highcliff" She gathered her pack, slinging it over her shoulder. Once in Neverwinter she would need a few more supplies, some arrows possibly, if things remained as dangerous as they had been thus far. Well…danger or no, she knew that her stay in the city would be a time to remember.

oooo0000oooo

"All aboard for the Double Eagle!" the cry rang out in the crisp air of a seaside morning from the deck of the great ship that towered above the beach and the shallow waters of the cove. Fully restored and ready to sail, Captain Flinn's vessel looked magnificent, its figurehead of two eagles staring out to s ea, seemingly marking out their course toward Neverwinter…and its deck scurrying with its crew, glad, it seemed, to at last leave Highcliff, and attending with gusto to their numerous tasks. By the gangplank, Phaedra was bidding a last farewell to Elder Mayne…while Neeshka supervised the loading of their supplies onto the Double Eagle, and Khelgar, ever wary of his tiefling companion's taste in other's property, supervised her. Elanee stood apart, looking out seaward, inscrutable and unspeakably elegant as only an elf could be.

"I can't imagine how harrowing this all was for you" the Elder was saying "Who could have known that undead…so close to the village…?" He shuddered "I'll be sending word to Fort Locke as soon as possible." He breathed a deep sigh "Well…I think we here in the village are just glad it's all over. It'll still be a tough harvest, but I reckon we can make it through, thanks to you of course"

"I'm just glad I could help make peace" Phaedra answered, Mayne had, in the end, accepted the deal she had brought back to Highcliff. He had been understandably wary at first, but Phaedra had convinced him that lizardfolk chief was a leader like him, and wanted only the best for both their peoples. The land would be safely divided for now.

"Not only brave and fair, but also modest too" The old man chuckled as Phaedra blushed with embarrassment to be so complimented. "I think we'll hear much more of your heroic deeds in the days to come, especially since you're heading for Neverwinter" He stepped back towards the village as Captain Flinn descended from the gangplank, finally a commanding presence now he had shed the flagon at his side and that morose expression and mannerisms.

"Well, I didn't think we'd ever leave" he said, slightly apologetically "But here we are, and I have you to thank. Looks like you're your father's girl after all" He smiled broadly, with the open humour and friendliness of a seasoned sea captain "Ready to get going?"

"Yes, of course" Phaedra smiled back, then turned to the others "Elanee, Khelgar, Neeshka, its time"

"Gods, my stomach's giving up already" Khelgar groaned, viewing the ship with clear apprehension.

"Relax Khelgar, you'll get used to it, eventually" Neeshka laughed. She turned to Phaedra "Well, we've finally got on our way; well, unless the ship sinks, which, by Tymora, wouldn't surprise me in the slightest."

"Steady there…" the captain shook his head uneasily "Umberlee may just be listening"

"Elanee…?" Phaedra turned to the elf "Are you alright?"

"Yes…" Elanee nodded slowly, moving over to them, though she was visibly troubled by something. "It…It's just…" She began hesitantly, but paused and gave a weak smile "Nothing" She said swiftly "Its nothing, I'll just make my things ready" With that, she made her way up onto the gangplank and up onto the ship's deck without another word, leaving Phaedra gazing after her with confusion and concern. Well, she knew Elanee well enough to know that asking her directly would only make her even more defensive, Phaedra would just have to wait until the druid shared what was troubling her of her own volition.

"She won't be any trouble…?" Flinn squinted after Elanee, frowning slightly "I heard druids can summon storms to sink ships, just because they don't like us conquering the seas or some such"

"Nonsense" Phaedra retorted sharply "Elanee would never, she couldn't…And besides, druids are protectors of nature and not destroyers"

"If you say so" Flinn sighed heavily, then abruptly he became the kindly, cheerful sea captain once again. He was, it seemed, almost as changeable as the sea he sailed upon. "You three ladies will be staying in the cabin by the way, and I hope you appreciate it" He said, with a jaunty tip of his hat

"Wow…thanks!" Neeshka grinned excitedly.

"Better hide everything that's not nailed down" Khelgar warned, nodding to the tiefling.

"Yeah, like that would stop me" Neeshka laughed, and Flinn, after gazing with a sudden fright at her, decided it must be a joke and joined in.

"Well, we're ready to go" He gestured onto the deck once they were done "If you need anything else, just ask Captain Flinn. And we should be at the Neverwinter Docks by dusk tomorrow."

oooo0000oooo

"Well, this sure is nice after all that time on the road" Neeshka glanced around the cabin, sighing with appreciation. Phaedra nodded, the cabin was quite large, especially considering the limited space on the ship. Charts and maps hung on the walls and Captain Flinn's desk with numerous papers scattered over it lay to one side. They had hung two more hammocks for the three passengers; Khelgar would be sleeping down in the deck with the crew…and, though the quarters were still somewhat humble, it was still most welcome. As was the chance to lay down all the trappings of the journey, Phaedra was now wearing a simple white linen dress from West Harbour, clean and new, and she felt comfortable for the first time in days. The ship was moving steadily forward now, as they had left Highcliff's jetty just over half an hour ago, but the waters were calm and the rocking of the waves all but unnoticeable here. "Pretty homey" Neeshka added.

"I think I'll go up on deck for a while" Phaedra decided "Are you staying down here?" Neeshka nodded with satisfaction, settling into one of the hammocks, so Phaedra stepped up onto the stairs at the back of the cabin and left.

Up on deck she could see it was almost sunset, and as far as she could see all around the waters were gleaming crimson and amber. Up here, few of the sailors remained, and the deck was quiet, except for the soft wind whistling along the ship, and the water lapping against the ship, so she stopped for a moment and stared out into the sea. Who could have known that such a vast immensity could be so calming, but she felt so at peace when she looked out to sea, toward that infinite horizon. It was as though time itself seemed to stand still, but what meaning did time itself have before something so unchanging, so fundamentally timeless. Perhaps she felt a shadow of the yearning of her mother's people that the waves awoke, this song that spoke of the passing of time that elves felt so keenly.

"Phaedra…?" Elanee's quiet voice sounded from beside her as though in answer to her melancholy thoughts. "You were looking for me?" Phaedra turned away, seeing the elf standing there by the mast, Elanee was still wearing her rough robes, they, and her auburn hair fluttered faintly in the breeze. Slowly she moved over to stand beside Phaedra, and glanced down the ship's hull toward the water, so that Phaedra followed her gaze out into the deeps. "Like you I have never travelled aboard a ship before…" She said pensively "I had always wondered what it would be like to stand here so far out into the waters"

"What is this like, for you I mean?" Phaedra asked curiously "As a druid?"

"Well, I feel the tide deep within me, and these first beginnings of the waves that shape the coasts" Elanee sighed "But this water it's strange, so deep, so dangerous, nothing like the Mere. There, water, I could trust, rely on, but here it feels like an enemy"

"Is something troubling you Elanee?" Phaedra laid a hand gently on Elanee's arm, hoping the elf might finally open up to her. For a moment Elanee was silent, but then she turned to Phaedra again, her features grave and it was clear she would speak now…

"Something tells me, there is far more going on here than first appears" She began, at last, raising her face to the wind "These astral travellers, your Bladelings and those grey dwarves, they're following something greater than themselves. They are little more than tamed hounds, but who then is the one who holds the leash?"

"The creature, leading the attack on West Harbour…" Phaedra shuddered at the memory of that awful, cold face, those sharp yellow eyes so bereft of mercy and pity…

"Another astral being, perhaps is it him?" Elanee frowned, her slender hand touching her hair thoughtfully "But if he, and whoever his people are, are looking for the shards, why would he be the one to create these problems in the Mere? Surely that would only impede his attempts to find them. And why would he use thralls to attack West Harbour if he had such power? I feel it in the wind, in the water, there is more…"

"You suspect another enemy is attacking the Mere?" Phaedra glanced at her, shocked.

"This power, this shadow, it is unlike anything I have ever felt before…" Elanee turned, her emerald gaze intense "And the master of the Bladelings, he was not strong enough even to defeat Tarmas, how could he wield such a terrible force? It is not him, nor was it him who assaulted my Circle, but I fear I know who it could be"

"The master of those necromancers?" Phaedra gasped, struck by realisation "This King of Shadows?"

"Yes…" Elanee nodded grimly "Why would his servants dare attack Neverwinter so brazenly unless it was so? We have another enemy here"

"Once they discover who I am…" Phaedra whispered, horrified.

"We must take care, Phaedra, do you understand me?" Elanee said intently "They will most likely not let this slaughter of their priests go unpunished, and whoever this King of Shadows is, he has tremendous power. I think we shall be safe in Neverwinter, at least for a while, but it would be best not to draw attention to ourselves while we are there, you especially"

"All I have to do is to find Duncan, find out a little more about the shards" Phaedra shook her head, for a moment she just didn't want to face it, the implications of this, though she knew it, in her heart, to be true. "That…that's it…"

"It will not be so simple Phaedra, it never was" Elanee said with clear sympathy "Plots run within plots, and you are drawn into the plots of two forces, whether they are opposing each other or not. These outsiders will continue to hunt you, make no mistake of that. This shard is something of grave importance to them, it would seem…and as for the King of Shadows, I believe we may be the only ones who have some knowledge of his plot. We may have to choose whether to act against him ourselves"

"This is…I didn't mean for any of this to happen" Phaedra turned away, clasping her hands at her waist, the enormity of what Elanee was saying was staggering. "I…I…"

"The wind blows where it will, not where we choose" Elanee replied gently "All we can decide is how to act upon it"

"You're right…" Phaedra gazed out into the sunset, a dark feeling of foreboding settling over her heart "I have to stop them, if I can"

"Phaedra" Elanee's soft whisper stirred the sea air once again "I will be here, I will help you always…do you understand that?"

"Of course" Phaedra turned, startled by the open emotion in Elanee's voice…of course she knew that, how could she doubt it? "We're friends"

"We are…" A sad smile touched Elanee's lips, as though she thought herself unworthy of that friendship "Please, be patient with me Phaedra. I will tell you everything when I can. This, everything we have done so far, is just so different. It is painful…"

"Elanee" Phaedra reached forward instantly, and took Elanee's hands in her own,. The elf looked startled at the contact, had she ever, even in her long life, had a true friend? "Please, it doesn't matter to me at all. Tell me when you are ready to"

"Yes…" Elanee's smile became warmer "Yes, I will" With that, she gently let go of Phaedra's hands and turned away, looking back out into the sea and the empty horizon "It…is clear out here" She murmured quietly "But back on land there are…so many mysteries". Phaedra lowered her head, the wind stirring her golden hair about her neck. Mysteries, her hand went to the scar in her chest, clasping the linen dress around it, knowing it was there. It seemed she had carried these mysteries all her life, this scar…her mother…and now these shards and the mystery of her own destiny out here in this wider world, on this road. Would she ever have the answers she had sought all her life?


	21. Chapter 21

_We seem to be straying back into long chapters again, if you like that, good, if you find it a bit too much work, I promise I'll be trying to keep things to a minimum, but this chapter had to go on as long as it did._

_Some pretty significant things happen in this chapter, hope you like it! And thanks, once again, to voltagelisa who gave me plenty of help with Sand and Duncan._

With Elanee's advice, Phaedra realised she had been naïve to think this journey would be simple. Whatever those monsters which had attacked West Harbour were, and whatever they wanted, she had to stop them from finding it. Even once she found Duncan, and recovered his shard, it would be folly to think she could simply…well…dispose of the silver pieces. And until she had found what those monsters wanted and stopped them, the path to West Harbour remained closed. She felt the weight of the road she knew she now must travel on her shoulders, how far would it take her, and to what? She spent her remaining time as the ship sailed onwards over the seas in the cabin, poring over Tarmas' spell book. For whatever lay ahead of her she knew she would need every spell she could find, though learning the theory of these spells and actually being able to unleash them was quite a different matter. As evening fell on that second day of sailing , Phaedra lay back in her hammock, the book open at her knees, and felt the ebb and flow of her magic within her…

"Hey Phaedra, the captain says we're almost there" Suddenly Neeshka poked her head into the cabin from where she had spent much of her time on the deck, chatting animatedly to the sailors. Her enthusiasm and openness had almost overcome their natural suspicion of tieflings, but it was most likely they would find themselves a few gold pieces short once Neeshka was out of sight…though Neeshka would deny any such thing if Phaedra ever tried to speak to her about it. "I thought being a swamp-farming country girl and all, you might want to have a look at the city as we sail in" Neeshka grinned.

"Yes, I'll be right there" Phaedra jumped out of her hammock, slipping Tarmas' tome back into her pack, which she slung onto her back along with her bow and quiver on her way up to the door. Neverwinter…the guardian of the north…city of skilled hands, what would it be like? Tarmas had spoken to her often of Neverwinter's wealth and power, even after suffering the dreaded plague called the Wailing Death, a ferocious war with its neighbour Luskan, and the more recent war that had ended in West Harbour, it was supposed to be magnificent, with thousands of inhabitants, all funded by a powerful trade network and the artifices of its skilled inhabitants. Most interesting to Phaedra perhaps, the city was also was the home of the famed Cloaktower Mages, a guild of arcane spellcasters, and the Academy, the prestigious centre of magical education. She hoped she might be able to also learn something of her craft while she was in the city.

Upon stepping up onto the deck, she made her way straight to where Neeshka, Khelgar and Elanee stood by one of the railings, looking out into the evening air. A balmy mist had settled just above the sea, but through it the land was just visible as a grey smudge on the horizon.

"We're cruising along the coast right now lass" Khelgar looked up to explain, as Phaedra joined them. Oddly enough he'd found time to get to know Captain Flinn and something of the captain's craft as well, probably more to do with a mutual interest in ale than anything else. "But we'll be in sight of the city soon, well if the Captain knows what he's talking about"

"I'm glad…" Phaedra peered out into the mist, anxious to catch her first glimpse of the fabled Jewel of the North. "It's hard to believe we're finally almost there"

"No more ambushes, or creepy grey dwarves" Neeshka observed happily "It'll be nice to get a good night's sleep for once"

"What…?" Khelgar gasped, alarmed "No more…?"

"Don't wet yourself Stumpy" Neeshka laughed brightly "They'll still be plenty of fights to go around. Neverwinter's Docks are a tough place, I guarantee they'll be enough drunken thugs to break a thousand bones and then some"

"How reassuring" Elanee answered dryly, without looking up from her survey of the clouded coast.

"Look, there!" Phaedra cried suddenly, gesturing out into the mists, at their first sight of Neverwinter. As the Double Eagle clove its path toward the coast, the rolling mists began to clear and hints of the city of Neverwinter at last became visible. First, a great stone structure, raised above the coastline and ringed by formidable walls…even glimpsed through the mist it was magnificent, a vast edifice, titanic in scale, virtually impregnable, the fabled Castle Never, with its walls and great keep. Phaedra gasped with awe, would she never fail to be amazed on this journey? Fort Locke had seemed magnificent by her first glimpse…but this, this dwarfed Fort Locke, and built all entirely of stone! Of course Tarmas had told her much of Castle Never, but the words, even her wildest dreams, never could have contained the reality.

But other wonders swiftly drew her gaze from the spires of Castle Never; the city's walls snaked round to the sea front, almost as impressive, with their formidable guard towers and gatehouses watching over the city's streets. And they were only the first, another massive wall, almost as large and twice as ornately decorated, encircled the city's central region, and of course Castle Never itself was defended just as well. There was a lake glimmering on the far side of the city, the Blacklake, as it was called, and water had been channelled to form a moat that ran through the city just before the second wall. And of course there were smaller buildings, houses, manors, shops, temples…so many even Phaedra's keen sight struggled to take it all in. But at last her gaze focused on the docks to which they were headed, the place where she would be staying whilst in Neverwinter. The docks themselves were headed for consisted of six piers, many of which were already occupied with other vessels at least as large as the Double Eagle, and the dockside was covered in paving stone, even down to the lapping water. Lining the docks were statues of warlike figures, carved with such supreme skill in sparkling white marble that Phaedra almost expected them to step down from their plinths and do battle with the city's enemies. In contrast to this grandeur, though, the actual district was a maze of squashed homes, all faded plaster, brick and tiles, with squalid, tiled alleyways running through them, and set amidst the vast warhouses by the sea.

The Double Eagle's pace began to slow as it moved toward an unoccupied space by one of the piers, slipping over the waters with a lithe grace, as Captain Flinn barked orders from his place on the raised deck at the back of his ship. They were finally her, this was Neverwinter! Phaedra felt her spirits lift, here she would be safe, here she could work out what to do next…and hopefully see a few of the mysteries of this journey resolved.

"Well we made it here in one piece" Neeshka said with some relief, as the ship glided to its safe halt in place by its pier "I'd have wagered against those odds to tell you the truth"

"Phaedra?" Phaedra turned to see Captain Flinn standing just behind them. He looked exhausted, but quite relieved to have reached his destination finally "Well I've done as Daeghun asked, whatever you have to do; it's up to you…"

"Thank you Captain" Phaedra nodded, smiling radiantly

"And thank you Phaedra Blake" Flinn nodded "For getting those lizardlings off my back. You have your supplies ready I see. And the crew will have the gangplank down in a few minutes…so if there's nothing else…" He raised a hand to his hat, tipped it politely to her "Goodbye, Phaedra Blake, and good luck" And, with that, he walked away back onto the deck to see to the unloading of his cargo.

"Ready?" Phaedra turned to her companions, giving each a warm smile. So it was finally time, what would she find here? Answers to the questions she had sought, or perhaps just more mysteries?

From within, the Docks of Neverwinter were as, if not more, dizzying in sheer size and complexity than they had appeared from the decks of the approaching Double Eagle. From the actual waterfront, filled with the scent of the sea and fish, and the chorus of yells from ships and marketplaces alike, Phaedra's steps quickly led her and the others into a maze of alleyways, loosely tiled streets, somewhat dank and dirty, on either side were the squat hovels she had noticed from the deck of the Double Eagle, small, cramped buildings of faded plaster and wood, tiles had fallen their roofs and facades giving them a somewhat pocked appearance, these were hastily constructed, cheap houses, probably built at minimum expense after the war with Luskan. Sometimes a stall attached to a home brought a flash of colour to the scene, passing one would be confronted with a feast of smell, sight and sound, whether the wares were food, weapons or something other dazzling item. And more remarkable still, the sheer amount of people hurrying through these narrow streets, the bustle packed everywhere they went. Phaedra found herself shoved this way and that, had to force herself onwards through the surging crowds, who seemed to be heading in every possible direction through the street that should have scarcely been able to contain them all. Yet they all seemed to know exactly where they were going, what business they wished to attend to. By far the greatest majority were human, but there were a few elves, other races were rarer, but still the sheer variety of people here was staggering. And behind every door they passed was a story, behind every hurried glance that met Phaedra's eye was a life. Just how many stories, how many lives, could there possibly be?

"Yes, this is home alright" Neeshka nodded with approval at the crowds, her horns were once again hidden by her heavy cloak, but the happiness in her gleaming eyes was clear even through it.

"It's passable I suppose" Khelgar appraised the buildings they passed with a critical eye "But if you really want a proper city, you build down, not up"

"The wood and stone here…" Elanee murmured, sticking close to the others. Her usual clear self-possession had faded in this environment she knew so little, this was an experience she and Phaedra were sharing, this first sight of the city, but she seemed to be finding it harder than Phaedra did. "They've been silenced. It is…uneasy"

"Why don't the both of you just be silent?" Neeshka retorted, affronted by the less-than complimentary assessments of her home, it seemed. "And let's get on with finding the Sunken Flagon" Phaedra sighed, that was proving quite a bit harder than she'd originally anticipated. The sheer amount of twisting alleyways, houses, shops, was severely disorientating. How did anyone ever find anything in this place?

"Aren't you supposed to know this area?" Khelgar glanced at her "Haven't we heard so much about how you played the Docks better than anyone else here?"

"Yeah, but things have changed since then" Neeshka shrugged, unperturbed by the hostility in Khelgar's voice "And it wasn't like I ever had occasion to stay in reputable inns like this one, they're hardly on my map of the place"

"There!" Phaedra cried suddenly. The alleyway they had stepped into led straight down toward the silvery sea and, there, just down by the waterfront, she spied a medium-sized building, larger than any of the slums further up here, and more permanently and solidly constructed, of stone…and from just above the door hung a wooden sign in which was carved its name…the Sunken Flagon…

"Thank Silvanus" Elanee sighed, drawing her robes closer around herself with discomfort "I do not think it wise to stay out after dark here" Phaedra nodded, perhaps that was true, not all of the glances they received from passers-by were friendly, and perhaps that was more to do with their obviously loaded packs than the rather eclectic nature of their group. Thus she made their way down toward the sea, and the inn, with slightly greater haste.

The Sunken Flagon, the inn owned by her uncle Duncan, was built almost entirely of stone, simple, but still much grander than anything she had ever seen in West Harbour. Someone had obviously put quite some effort into making it look welcoming amongst the somewhat inhospitable, concrete facades of the warehouses, imposing and barren, of the dockfront. Thus, the stone walls were softened by the addition of wooden carvings, including the symbol above the doorway, a ship and a mug hanging over the bronze-buckled-door, its emblem no doubt. In addition there was a vine of some hanging plant cultivated over a grid on the wall, and the windows were lit by a cheery glow, the door standing slightly open so it spilled into the stone streets.

"Looks lively" Khelgar said with approval.

"Well, we better go in, I suppose" Phaedra slowly walked over, and pushed the door further open. She found her thoughts strangely confused so close to this place that had been her goal on this journey. What kind of man would she find in here, what secrets?

Pushing through into the inn at last, after that moment's hesitation, she emerged into some sort of large common room and bar; a wooden hall lit by a roaring fire to the left and filled with carefully hand-crafted tables and chairs in various stages of repair, stained by ale and long wear. She was struck by the warmth, the hum of activity, the noise…it was a strongly welcoming, friendly sort of atmosphere, filled with raucous activity, laughter, and the smell of ale. The walls were hung with obvious trophies: some variety of weapons, though they were rusted with age and obviously had not been removed from their places for some time, various mismatched pieces of armour in similar condition and even some kind of skull above the fireplace, though even this grisly token was given some joviality by the addition of a lop-sided helmet hanging on one its horns. Nonetheless she didn't want to imagine what kind of beast it came from. The room was full, heaving with activity, every kind of man from outside in the city spread over almost every one of the tables, though Phaedra noticed a distinct lack of female customers. Some things held true across city and village it seemed, that women had more sense…

"Hey, what can I get you?" Phaedra turned suddenly at the good-humoured greeting, given by a man she now saw walking over to them, obviously not one of the customers, nor quite so unsteady on his feet. He was half-elven, perhaps approaching middle-age, with light brown hair that slipped untidily over his forehead and tapered ears, his keen chestnut, almost amber, eyes gleamed with good cheer. He wore a spotted, greasy cream tunic, high leather boots, and a dirty apron. His sylvan ears, and something about the set of his face definitely recalled Daeghun, but thankfully for his patrons his features, his every movement, was animated by an easy-going, welcoming liveliness, as though he had not a care in the world, completely unlike Daeghun's distant, heavy hardness. "Something to take the edge off the day…or maybe just a room for the…" He began, with a light smile…but suddenly, as his gaze focused properly on Phaedra for the first time, he stopped mid-stride, froze entirely, as though stunned by a physical blow, his jaw dropped, his eyes widened, clouding with a distant wonder. He was staring straight at Phaedra "Esmerelle…?" the whispered name escaped his lips, little more than a hoarse breath…

"Sir, Duncan, is it?" Phaedra stepped back a little, feeling her cheeks flush at the intensity of that stare "I…I am Phaedra. Esmerelle was my mother"

"Gods…!" Duncan clapped a hand to his head, mortified "Gods strike me for a fool. I thought, Sorry…I…you just look so like her, it was as if I saw a ghost for a moment"

"That's alright" Phaedra smiled faintly. No one had ever told her she looked like her mother before, no one had really spoken of Esmerelle much at all in West Harbour.

"Well…you seem to know who I am" Duncan leant heavily on the table next to him. Having recovered himself, he gave Phaedra and the others another considering look. Behind the welcoming manner was a shrewdness that only could have come with long experience. "Duncan Farlong…" He said "That is, owner of this here inn. Yes, I knew you once, and your mother. But what in the blazes are you doing here, in the city. Daeghun swore…" He paused, frowning slightly…

"Daeghun sent me" Phaedra replied quickly.

"Ah, so it's that" Duncan glanced away, his eyes alighting on the roaring fire, as though he were reliving a distant memory. He was serious now, but even so his graveness was of a very different quality to Daeghun's. "Sent you off with half of what you need to know with the very Hells behind you, I know it well…"

"It's about this" Phaedra tugged at her belt, her hand running to the pouch, and drawing from it the silver shard. She held it close at her side for a single instant, the warm, steady pulse from within it oddly, eerily comforting as always, then she raised her hand, and opened it under Duncan's expectant gaze "This shard, Daeghun said you knew it" She said, showing him the silver piece.

"Aye, I do" Duncan stared for a long moment at the silver piece, which glimmered in the firelight with a shifting, shimmering, yet strangely elusive glow, wholly unlike natural silver. "He dug that up did he?" Duncan murmured, more to himself perhaps than Phaedra "Best to leave a dark past like that buried, I say"

"Duncan, West Harbour was attacked nearly a week ago" Phaedra lowered her head, speaking the words was enough to summon, even for an instant, the memory of that night as though she caught the echo of West Harbour burning in the tame fire by which she now stood. "Creatures, looking for this"

"What…?" Duncan gave a start, shock and horror flashing across his features, that was it…unlike Daeghun his features were open, easily readable, everything he felt was clearly on the surface. "It's been sixteen years." He breathed hoarsely "How…why?"

"I don't know…" Phaedra replied "But I had to take it from the village, and Daeghun said you had another shard, he said that we should have the shards scried to find out what they are and why these creatures wanted them"

"We already tried that, lass, sixteen years ago" Duncan shook his head, running his hand through his hair distractedly "Trace of an enchantment, and demon's fire, that's what that eel Sand, the hedge wizard, said, but there was nothing more."

"Something has happened uncle…" Phaedra answered, her slender fingers closing again around the shard, cradelling it protectively "Since the attack, since we recovered this shard, I have felt it…it is filled with magic"

"Well, I can't explain that…" Duncan sighed "It's been so long. I thought what had happened then was all over now" His gaze drifted away from hers, catching on an empty table nearby "You'd better come on in" He said "Tell me the whole story"

"Of course" Phaedra nodded, on top of Daeghun's insistence that Duncan was dependable, this short amount of time had allowed her to appraise Duncan herself, and she had firmly decided she could trust him. "And these are my friends…Khelgar, Elanee and Neeshka…"

"Well any friend of kin is welcome" Duncan glanced over the three of them distractedly. If he was shocked to see a tiefling, a dwarf and a druid travelling alongside his niece, he was evidently too preoccupied to show it. "Ask Sal over there at the bar if you need anything…" He waved vaguely in the direction of the bar, where a middle-aged balding man was cleaning mugs with a dirty rag. Khelgar and Neeshka, glancing at one another for a moment, then quickly made their way in unison to take him up on his offer. Elanee, though, stayed at Phaedra's shoulder, even as Duncan led her over to that empty table, and pulled out an empty chair for her. Elanee took the place beside her, as Duncan went opposite, leaning his elbows on the table, his gaze fixed on her as she took a moment to order her thoughts, then slowly began to tell the tale.

It was not an easy thing to tell, her memories were still so fresh, but Duncan was certainly a sympathetic audience, and Elanee's presence, though the druid never spoke, was no small comfort. She had originally meant to tell it as curtly as she could, go over the essentials, perhaps leave the intervals in Fort Locke and Highcliff, but somehow, it became the complete account, beginning with her life in West Harbour, her feeling of being drawn away from the village, running over Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee. Perhaps that she did so was to do with Duncan, for his grief-stained gaze, his confusion and shock, mirroring her own, were something of a salve. When she finally finished, the fire was dying down, the hall rapidly dimming, and the windows opening out into inky black. Most of the customers had already left but Duncan's attention was still entirely on her. At the last word, though, he sank back in his seat, rubbing his forehead thoughtfully "Well…" He said shortly "I can see why Daeghun acted as he did. We don't always see eye to eye, my half-brother and I, but he was right to send you out here" He lowered his eyes, his hand running over his belt to clasp the small pouch that hung to the left, an unconscious gesture, almost a habit…. "The shard…" He swallowed heavily, it was hard to speak of it, she could tell. "The one I carry, I was never able to let it go like Daeghun did or tried to. Seems like these small things always come back and haunt you, when you least expect it" At once, steeling himself as though to thrust his hand into fire, he opened the pouch, his fingers diving into it…Phaedra heard the rattle of gold, but it was something else entirely, he withdrew in his calloused hand, a shimmering, silver shard. It was slightly smaller than the one Phaedra bore and jagged, as though it had been violently torn from its whole, but it glimmered with that same unearthly glow.

"May I?" Phaedra reached forward to touch it and Duncan nodded slowly, watching her intently. She laid her finger on the silver shard and felt the same, warm hum prickle over her skin as she had always felt in her own shard, indeed it seemed as though a ripple of power ran through from this one shard to the other she held in her other hand, they were certainly linked, these shards. She raised her head, met Duncan's gaze "It's true…" She said "I feel it in this one as well"

"If that's so, maybe you should hold onto this one as well…" Duncan turned his hand over, laying the shard carefully in hers "I think you're meant to have this and perhaps it is finally time I let go of the past"

"Thank you…uncle" Phaedra said gently, and Duncan's smile lit up his honest face. Yes, they were going to get along well, she and Duncan. Whatever happened upon this path she walked, she sensed instinctively that she would have safety here in the Sunken Flagon and with Duncan. But, though she would have liked to talk to Duncan of lighter things, she knew she still had to turn to grave necessity "But…about this hedge wizard…"

"Sand?" Duncan's brow furrowed "He has power, runs a small shop not far from the inn. Potions and spells, the like, most folks around here couldn't do without him. He's as acrid as his name suggests, and the rates he charges…I wouldn't go there unless you're prepared to lose a…"

"Ah…" A nasal exclamation suddenly sounded behind Phaedra, just in the doorway that was little more than a few paces away, and she jumped in her seat with shock. Quickly turning round, she saw a man, an elf in fact, standing framed in the Sunken Flagon's open door, a slender figure possessed of a certain oily elegance. He was a moon elf, pale, with long dark hair to his shoulders, clean-cut and sleek, blue eyes with a piercing intensity behind them, and, amidst the prominent angles of his face, a rather large nose that sniffed the air of the inn with theatrical distaste. His purple and black robes, of a fashionable cut, but with the intricate arcane sigils that marked them as the uniform of a wizard stitched with a skilled hand into their substance, were hung loosely over his thin frame, as though to give him a greater force of presence. "It seems I arrived just in time to deflect the usual barrage of slander from the local innkeeper" The urbane sophistication in his voice would not have gone amiss in a nobleman, but in this man was possessed of a keen, piercing intelligence…

"Sand…" Duncan's eyes narrowed as he stood quickly "What are you doing here?"

"I heard a newcomer arrived this evening on the Double Eagle, and Mystra knows why, chose to enter your establishment" Sand smiled thinly "A sorceress, if my sources are correct, and quite powerful too. I took upon myself the prerogative to warn her of the mistake she appears to be making, this…establishment is hardly fit for a person of such quality" It took Phaedra a moment to realise he had to be joking, the gilded, crisp quality of his voice flowed effortlessly to irony and sarcasm. But Duncan did not seem to react as though it had been meant truthfully, merely crossing his arms and frowning further.

"Well met" Phaedra quickly stood to introduce herself, curtseying politely "I believe you were looking for me then"

"Well…you're certainly younger than I expected" Sand appraised her thoughtfully, there it was again, there were hidden depths to this man, she could not quite grasp the extent of his power. "But the power is certainly there…Duncan please do tell me, who is this charming young woman?"

"She's kin" Duncan answered grudgingly.

"I'm not seeing the family resemblance" Sand observed dryly "But there's the scent of a Harbourman" He sniffed deeply "Faint but it is there, Duncan what secrets have you been keeping from me?" He smirked, somewhat triumphant, as though celebrating getting something up on the innkeeper, was this a game they played, then? Certainly there was more to their relationship than these biting remarks.

"Any I don't what the whole Docks to know before dusk" Duncan muttered.

"It's true, I am from West Harbour" Phaedra answered "My name is Phaedra Blake"

"Well…Miss Phaedra, what brings a Harbourmen to our humble city?" Sand asked slyly "In these dangerous times, surely you cannot simply be visiting relatives?"

"I needed Duncan's help" Phaedra explained "He had one of these shards, and I brought the other" She raised her hands, revealing the shards she held in each, the pulse of power within them, the ripple of light across their surfaces seemed almost to synchronise. "I was hoping we could have someone scry them"

"As Duncan I am sure told you, unless of course his mind was too addled by his home vintage" Sand answered, examining each shard in turn "He had his shard scried…by me actually, sixteen years ago…"

"And, let's not forget, you turned up nothing" Duncan reminded him smugly.

"Something's changed" Phaedra shook her head "They…have power now…and someone is after them, willing to kill for them. So if you could, please try again"

"Well now I see where all the good grace in the family went" Sand smiled across at Duncan, who groaned and rolled his eyes. "If you insist, I can have another try, though I doubt anything will have changed, but perhaps two shards will make a difference" He moved over, each of his steps calculated, almost as though they were the steps of a dance, and, one after the other, he took the shards from her hands, laying them each in his left hand, carefully examining each one with his piercing gaze, as though he could scour the secrets from their surfaces. At last, raising his right hand and placing it over his left, his fingers clenching above the shards, he whispered a spell under his breath. Phaedra felt the power behind every word he said and slowly a glimmer of blue light began to gather in his palm, running over the shards. This was a scrying spell…part of a discipline neither she nor Tarmas knew well…but powerful…if anything could find out about these shards…

Suddenly, a crack shattered the atmosphere of the Sunken Flagon, almost as though a bolt of lightning exploded outward from the point where Sand stood, a flash of brilliant white light scintillated across Phaedra's vision as she threw up her arms. Then, as a shockwave of extreme force slammed into her, as though a boulder hit her stomach, Duncan swore violently, and Sand gasped. Then she was flung backwards into the nearby wall and crashed to the floor, without even enough time to cry out, before she found herself, completely tangled, dizzy and winded, lying against the rough wooden pillar. For a moment everything was entirely disorientated, her vision blurred as she gingerly kneaded her leg…Gods, what in the Heavens had happened?

"Lass, are you okay?" Khelgar was suddenly next to her, concern clear in his ruddy features, Neeshka was right behind him, hovering anxiously and gazing down at Phaedra. "Talk to me"

"Khelgar" She rubbed her aching head "I'm alright…I think" She took his offered hand, and tentatively pulled herself up, quite an effort considering he stood less than the height of her chest. She glanced around as soon as her vision cleared. Duncan had been flung into one of the tables, thankfully empty, he was clambering up to his feet and fuming visibly. Sand had crashed into the wall just by the door, but he seemed to be alright, recovering himself and his dignity in less than a heartbeat. Elanee had apparently dived out of the way just in time and remained standing, the hint of an amused smile on her face as her worry faded away once she had seen Phaedra and the others were safe. The attention of all of the, thankfully few, remaining people in the inn was on the four of them. What had happened? Had that somehow been the shards?

"Well, they seem to have some resentment to being scryed" Sand observed wryly, brushing the dust from his luxuriant robes as he glided over to Phaedra "Here, I think you had better take these back" He held out the shards, she took them hesitantly, but they seemed no different than they had been before, they were even still cool to the touch.

"What in the Hells was that, Sand?" Duncan stormed over, giving Phaedra a solicitous glance, clearly worried "Bad enough that your wit sours every flagon I try to serve while you're here, but now you're setting off explosions in the middle of the place" He grumbled half-heartedly at the elf.

"That wasn't me, you dolt" Sand muttered, but his voice quickly grew more earnest, some measure of confusion that was obviously frustrating to him entering it "Are you sure these are the same shards? They seem different, the level of power is…"

"Oh, no…there's no way I'm paying you for two failed divinations you viper!" Duncan grimaced.

"This is not a matter of divination Duncan, or I would have the answers your relation requires" Sand said, as an aside, but his attention quickly returned to the shards, his fearsome intellectual curiosity clearly engaged. "No…" He continued, his long finger tracing the angles of his cheek thoughtfully "They have changed, something has awoken within them. My best hypothesis…bringing them together must strength them somehow but without any more information…I cannot tell you anything more"

"Well, what a surprise…" Duncan muttered darkly.

"Both of you, this isn't helping!" Phaedra snapped impatiently, to have come so far, done what Daeghun requested…it couldn't just be nothing, it couldn't! "There must be something more I can do"

"Don't you just love it when she scolds somebody else?" She vaguely heard Neeshka's faint whisper to Khelgar, scold? Well…really…

"Well…" Sand sighed finally, crossing his arms over his chest "You could seek out those with more wisdom than I, though such individuals are rare indeed, of course. There is one, the sage Aldanon, quite the expert in esoteric artefacts such as these…he may be able to help you"

"Aldanon?" Duncan frowned "And how do you suggest she does that Sand? What with the lockdown of the Blacklake District…"

"What?" Neeshka pushed forward, confused "What did you say?"

"Oh my, you haven't heard" Sand raised an eyebrow "I'd have thought it was on the lips of every gossip in Neverwinter…well, if you really wanted to know, there was a murder in Blacklake, Lord Dalren, a noble of some standing…and until the matter is sufficiently resolved, the Watch has seen fit to close Blacklake to us common folk. Most inconvenient I can tell you"

"A murder?" Phaedra shivered as though a dark shadow settled in the warmth in the Sunken Flagon. Blacklake was the luxurious district of the nobility of Neverwinter, situated in the inner city, and a place of some culture and refinement, but also one of the most secure areas in the Sword Coast, with its own special division of the City Watch, and also numerous mercenaries and soldiers hired by the nobles for their protection. For a murder to have occurred there…

"Yes, a most gruesome crime I'm told" Sand continued, nodding "But of course, the rumours coming out of Blacklake are predictably exaggerated and lurid. I can tell you one thing for sure though, the Cloaktower's involved in the investigation, which means an infernal creature was involved"

"Demons…?" Duncan's jaw dropped "Impossible"

"Not for many of my craft" Sand shrugged, it was true… "Demons make unpredictable servants and Devils are, if anything, even worse. But for some, the lure of infernal power is an irresistible one. Suffice to say, the Cloaktower Mages would only leave their ivory…tower, were such a creature's involvement suspected in this crime"

"Another strange event, and not a coincidence I think" Elanee murmured at Phaedra's side. Yes…extremely strange. How it fitted into this puzzle, she could not discern.

"Well, while Blacklake is, of course, fully locked down, there yet remain avenues of entrance for the truly determined" Sand said "Joining the Watch…for one thing"

"What?" Neeshka shook her head "No way…"

"The Watch?" Duncan lowered his head, deep in thought "Yes, they might just be able to get you a pass into Blacklake. You could talk to Marshal Cormick, I believe he just got back from Fort Locke."

"Yes" Phaedra nodded, thankful that Cormick had made his way back safely "We helped him out there"

"Really?" Sand said, interested "I heard it was quite dramatic…but anyway, if he knows you applying to the Watch should be easy enough. They have a station in the Docks. A large and dramatic structure, but ultimately quite ineffectual."

"Phaedra?" Neeshka glanced at her "You aren't considering this?"

"I don't see how I have a choice" Phaedra answered, spreading her hands…they were out of options, for now. This was the only one, and she didn't mind joining the Watch really, it would be nice to see Cormick again. "I need to get these shards to Aldanon any way possible"

"Well there goes my sterling reputation" Neeshka sighed wistfully "Gods I hope no one I know finds out about this"

"I don't see what you're complaining about" Khelgar glanced at her "If we're going to have a few good brawls while we're here, we may as well do some good while we're at it"

"Charming" Sand's smile thinned as he glanced at Khelgar, oozing sarcasm. "The Watch will be glad of your talents as it is. It is not often the Docks see the power of the arcane"

"Well I will see about talking to Marshal Cormick in the morning" Phaedra decided, her course was clear, and it continued. "Thank you for your help Sand…it was appreciated"

"Well…I am glad someone recognises my talent" Sand smiled, perhaps it was even genuine this time "But I should be going now, I have much business…Oh and Phaedra, my shop will be open to you whenever you should require it. I have a multitude of goods you should find useful"

"If you're willing to part with an arm and a leg to get them" Duncan grumbled

"Of course that won't be necessary" Sand chided the innkeeper "Farewell, Duncan, Phaedra…I hope to see you again soon" With that he slipped from the room and out into the night with a liquid grace.

"Well there you have it" Duncan sighed, rubbing his forehead "He's right about Aldanon, you know, if anyone in Neverwinter could give you the information you need, it might just be him. And it looks like the Watch is your surest way of getting to him"

"Right now, I think all we need is a night's rest" Phaedra shook her head, she had not found as much as she would have liked…but at least this was a plan that made sense. If she found something about the nature of the shards…it would be the first step to finding out why the astral beings wanted them, and what she would have to do to keep them from their grasp. And this Aldanon, he was the key to that…Well she would really need a night to think things over, anyhow.

"Well I won't have you sleeping out rough" Duncan answered earnestly "My rooms are yours"

"Oh…thank you" Phaedra smiled, and it had been wonderful to find family here….at last. Already she liked Duncan's easy smile and warm manner…

"Ah…they never turn up a profit anyway" Duncan admitted, waving his hand dismissively "I just kept them in case, and it looks like you need them more than anyone else"

"Great!" Neeshka leapt up from where she had been standing, instantly brightening, the possibility of Phaedra joining the Watch forgotten "I get first pick!" She raced off towards the back of the inn, while Khelgar, shrugging, made his way back to the bar for another drink.

"You travel with strange people" Duncan observed.

"They're good friends uncle" Phaedra replied "And they have helped me…" She sighed with exhaustion "I think…I think I will go to my room as well. Thank you Duncan, for everything"

"Ah…lass" Duncan laid a hand gently on her shoulder "It was the least I could do for your dear mother, poor soul" He sighed, turning away sadly, and Phaedra could almost see the weight of harsh memories pressing down on his back. He had known her mother well then, and her loss still caused him pain. But…now was not the time to approach him about Esmerelle, though she ached to know everything he did about the woman who had born her, it was time to rest.

But as she turned to walk to the Sunken Flagon's numerous spare rooms, she suddenly felt an icy pinprick run down her back as though someone were watching her, and she turned, glancing a last time around the tavern's common room. There, in the shadows by the fire, a man…he slouched in one of the chairs casually, but through this there was something tightly coiled in him, something…wary, restless, like a caged wolf. He held a flagon of ale in his one hand on the table, and his eyes fixed straight on her…unusual colour…tawny, amber, very strange. He was half in shadow, but she could see he was tall and lean, with dark brown hair which was mussed casually into…well…a mess. He bore, a longbow, just like hers, at his side. As she watched he raised the flagon to his lips, took a drink, but his gaze never left her face, and there was something truly unnerving about that gaze. Phaedra felt herself blush, without even knowing why…only…no one had ever looked at her so…brazenly before. She found herself hurrying out of the common room faster than she intended, shaken. Who could he be? And why…why watch her like that…? It was as if he, well, he knew something about her, or planned to find it out, and in this city, after what had happened, that thought was very unnerving.


	22. Chapter 22

_Hey, I'm back with Chapter 22. Not too long this time, more on Neverwinter etc._

_Remember, anything to say, anything at all...drop me a short review!_

"I still cannot believe you're making me do this" Neeshka sighed bleakly, staring up at the intimidating façade of the Watch's Headquarters in the Docks District. It was a large and blockish construction that loomed over the district, casting a long shadow into the streets as the morning sun streamed from behind it, an effect perhaps meant to highlight the all-encompassing reach of justice into the Docks district.

"Look if it bleeding bothers you so much, why are you even staying with us?" Khelgar snapped suddenly, glaring at the tiefling. "Why not go and find a few of your alley rat friends and get out of here?" Phaedra glanced at him, shocked at the venom in his tone. Normally Khelgar and Neeshka's arguments were essentially good-natured, but since Phaedra had made the decision to join the Watch, it seemed their disagreements had escalated. Khelgar, it appeared, had taken the side of law and justice, a position Neeshka found more than just personally disagreeable. And worse, there was nothing Phaedra could really do about it…she hated it, and that was the simple truth.

"The same reason you're staying with Phaedra, Khelgar!" Neeshka hissed viciously "You could be going to enrol in that monastery of yours, it's waiting in the Merchant District…but you're staying here, just like I am! Why? Why not ask yourself?"

"That's enough Neeshka" Phaedra interrupted "And you Khelgar, I am glad you're both staying and I don't care why."

"Perhaps it would be best if we waited out here while you spoke to the Watch" Elanee suggested cautiously, as usual her quiet diplomatic voice successfully diverting things away from the argument "Many city folk mistrust the druids, and if Neeshka is already known to them, well, it may be problematic"

"If you could…please" Phaedra smiled gently at Neeshka and Khelgar, perhaps things would go better in there if she was alone.

"What am I?" Neeshka complained snappishly "Seven years old? I know this city better than any of you, and I know the Watch too." But she joined the other two as they made their way out of the Headquarters' grounds. Hopefully they would not get into trouble.

Turning back to the door, Phaedra raised her hand to the Headquarter's large oak doors, from which imposing carvings of Tyr and Helm, two of Neverwinter's patron deities glared down, as though toward a puny mortal who had displeased them severely.

Suddenly, just as she was about to knock on them, the doors were flung open with some force, missing her outstretched hand by a hair's breadth. She leapt backwards in shock, only to find herself staring into the face of none other than Marshal Cormick, who looked severely agitated. He was breathing heavily, his hands pressed firmly against the doorway, leaning out into the street.

"Hells!" he swore, drawing back instantly and apologetically. "Gods…sorry miss…is there anything…" He started, shock and joyous recognition flashing across his face as his dark brown eyes focused on hers "By Tyr it's really you, Phaedra?"

"Yes, it is" Phaedra smiled cordially up at him, he looked little different as he had the last time they had spoken, though his armour was now newly polished and his cloak freshly-pressed. Despite this, his sturdy farmer's features and hastily shaven cheeks still gave him the look as though he had just stepped from the battlefield. "Well met Marshal"

"So you made it to Neverwinter eh?" Cormick said warmly. He didn't seem surprised, which was a novel thing, since most people here seemed to judge Phaedra on her appearance and her gender to the point that her accomplishing nearly anything was a shock. "I heard there was trouble in Highcliff" Cormick continued, stepping down from the porch companionably. "But you're here in good time nonetheless. When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday evening" Phaedra answered "I'm staying at my uncle's inn"

"Duncan, at the Sunken Flagon right?" Cormick nodded "You're here about what happened at the fort aren't you? You'd best come in then, I think Lieutenant Roe should hear about this. He might be able to pass something on to our superiors"

"Of course" Phaedra followed him through the double doors and into an austere stone corridor, numerous side doors led into what looked like temporary holding cells, offices, equipment stores of the Watch.

"Lieutenant Roe oversees the Watch's operation here in the Docks" Cormick explained as he led her further along the passageway "He's a fair man, but he doesn't understand the amount of corruption that's taken hold in this district and he won't commit the necessary resources to curbing it. I only hope he takes your story more seriously…"

They came then to a large, well-lit office, a room decorated with beautiful tapestries depicting some sort of stylised mythical battle. Large glass windows flooded it with light that played on the gilded threads of the artworks, and on the ornate cedar wood desk strewn with papers stood at the back. Behind this stood a single man, dressed in the uniform of a Watchman, the chainmail and grey surcoat with its eye motif. He was tall, thin and pale, almost bloodless, with brown eyes and blond hair. He didn't seem like a warrior, but his every movement was graceful, calculated, even as he spread his hands helplessly across his table upon seeing Cormick in his doorway.

"Marshal" he sighed deeply, his voice was clear as crystal "Not again, look I told you I will do everything I can but the Captain's orders were very clear…"

"Lieutenant" Cormick interrupted, raising his hand in a conciliatory gesture. "That matter is now closed, I accept that, but there is something else you need to address." He motioned Phaedra to come forward, and Roe's gaze fell on her, his flawless features creasing into confusion for a moment. "This is Phaedra Blake, formerly of West Harbour…" Cormick nodded to her

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Blake" Roe bowed with flawless courtier's precision, letting courtesy take over what was obviously something of a surprise for him, to see Cormick with her.

"She was the one behind the return of Commander Tarn at Fort Locke" Cormick explained "And I hoped her information might help the report you are compiling"

"You…?" For a moment complete and utter shock pierced Roe's polite gallantry, his jaw dropping, but within an instant he was once again the gracious gentleman. "Then I must doubly thank you. It was a matter of some concern to us here in the city"

"I did the best I could, Lieutenant" Phaedra answered, curtseying lightly.

"An account of what occurred would be most illuminating" Roe said "Please….if you would, sit down, and tell me the whole tale" He gestured to a couple of seats arranged next to the windows. Phaedra made her way to the nearest and sat down, Cormick remained standing by the door. "So…if you wouldn't mind me taking notes" The lieutenant moved over to his desk and took up a quill and unfurled a scroll of flawless cream paper "Please…begin…"

Phaedra described the events at Fort Locke as carefully as she could, though she skimmed over the reason she had come there in the first place. As she told the story, Roe scratched at his scroll furiously, taking down every single detail in a minute, careful script.

"Well…the matter is resolved at least" He said, once Phaedra had finished, laying down the quill elegantly in an ink pot "This shall be filed…"

"Filed…?" Cormick muttered dangerously, stepping further into the room.

"The threat was a minor one, and it is dealt with" Roe answered warily, fixing the Marshal in his gaze "With this capable young woman's help. We need not disturb the Captain's attention with this"

"Don't you see Roe?" Cormick snapped "The necromancer couldn't have been working alone! It's impossible! The Captain has to know, Hells, Lord Nasher has to know! There is some sort of conspiracy going on, we need Greycloaks to scour the countryside, we have to find out what that necromancer was after!"

"Marshal, might I remind you, we are at war in Old Owl Well" Roe's composure remained undented "Callum, of the Neverwinter Nine, requires the Greycloaks to deal with those pestilential orcs and free up trade along the Spine"

"Wait, Marshal, Lieutenant…" Phaedra stood up, eager to stave off this confrontation, but she had to tell Roe what she knew, how important this really was. "There's more, much more. In Highcliff, I encountered another necromancer with the same plans, the same goals" She explained what had happened there, beneath the ruins of Highcliff Castle, and Roe looked equally as stunned as Cormick, forgetting even to reach for the scroll and quill upon his desk.

"It seems my report will have to be expanded" Roe said, at last and softly, laying his hand upon the desk as though to steady himself. "And the Captain shall be made aware of this"

"Two of those accursed sorcerers on Neverwinter's land" Cormick shook his head, frustrated, grim "How? To what purpose?"

"I know nothing more…" Phaedra answered apologetically "But they both mentioned something called the King of Shadows. I gather, from what they said, that it was their master…"

"King of Shadows?" Roe repeated thoughtfully, glancing out away into the bright glare of the morning sun as though he could find some answer out in the bustling crowds "It sounds familiar, something I should now" He sighed pensively, drawing up his quill and the scroll "Rest assured" He nodded to Phaedra "I shall see to it that this be dealt with appropriately. If we are lucky, perhaps the Cloaktower mages may take an interest in it."

"Sir…" Phaedra stood, stepping towards the desk before she lost Roe's attention "There was one more thing, I have to get into Blacklake, to see the sage Aldanon"

"I am afraid not" Roe sighed "Blacklake is locked down by order of the highest authority and entirely without exception."

"Yes…I was aware of that" Phaedra nodded "But I was hoping that I could join the Watch, with your permission, maybe than I could be allowed in" Lieutenant Roe looked up, fixing her in a curious stare.

"Even Watchmen are forbidden from the Blacklake, the matter is entirely in the hands of the Neverwinter Nine" he said, at last "But…with special permission from Captain Brelaina, an exception could be made for a Watch member, in exceptional circumstances that is"

"Lieutenant, the way things are here in the Docks, I don't see how you could refuse her" Cormick waded in with his support. "Phaedra's capable, she's shown that, and a touch of her arcane power, it could go a long way here."

"Perhaps" Roe nodded, considering "I don't deny we have problems here…"

"Problems? When we can't even trust our own men?" Cormick erupted, clearly this was a matter he'd discussed before and at length with Roe. "After the war and the plague, we recruited too quickly and too easily…the Guards lack loyalty, but an example like Phaedra's could make all the difference. People need to trust the Watch again, Lieutenant."

"You have made your point admirably then, Marshal" the Lieutenant reached down and drew an official-looking document from the neat piles of paper on his desk "Phaedra Blake…" He raised it toward Phaedra, fixed her in his eyes "You are to be the Watch's newest member here in the Docks. Take up this pledge, to enforce justice with fairness, to act always with loyalty, and to safeguard the lives and livelihoods of those in your care." He scribbled something down on the paper, and affixed it with a wax seal. "Your warrant…Watchman" He said.

"Thank you" Phaedra took it, scanning it quickly. By jurisdiction of Lord Nasher, and the Council of Nobles, as well as the Watch Captain Brelaina and Lieutenant Roe, it gave her the power to enforce the laws of Neverwinter within the city, before the blessed sight of Tyr.

"Marshal, take our newest recruit to the armoury, if you would" Roe ordered "We should see about equipping you more properly, Miss Phaedra"

"Thank you Lieutenant" Phaedra curtseyed "I will do my best"

"I am glad" Roe bowed "But it will take much work to convince Captain Brelaina to allow you entry into the Blacklake District. She is not a woman to whom…bending rules comes easily." As she made her way from his office, following Cormick, she was aware that he was watching her intently, as though trying to work out some sort of puzzle…well her circumstances were confusing enough, even to her. What did he think she wanted?

"By Tyr, you should have told me you wanted to be a Watchman" Cormick glanced at Phaedra, as the door shut behind her "But you handled yourself well…the Lieutenant's a tough man to win over but it seemed you impressed him."

"What kind of work will I need to do for the Watch?" Phaedra asked

"Patrols, mostly" Cormick answered "You'll be keeping an eye on the thugs here, and also on those of our own whose loyalty is questionable. Any citizen complaints you are trusted to deal with responsibly."

"Alright" Phaedra nodded. It was, well, daunting to be so suddenly a protector of peace in such a large and troubled city. If things in the Docks were as bad as Cormick had seemed to say it could be difficult. But her magic powers were her greatest asset, spell casters wouldn't waste their time in street gangs. Hopefully a simple display of her power would be enough to intimidate criminals into backing down…if not, she had an array of stunning and binding spells to get them into custody without bloodshed.

"Armoury is this way" Cormick led her back along the corridor "Let's see about getting you some proper Watch gear"

"Wait…Cormick" She laid a hand on his arm before he walked further down, and he stopped, turning to her questioningly "There was one thing…" She had forgotten this in the chaos at Fort Locke, but she had promised Retta. "Retta asked me to look for Lorne…" She informed him. Cormick was the same age as Lorne and they had both left the village at around the same time. If she was to find Lorne, somehow along the way on this journey, here was the best place to start.

"Oh, right…" Cormick sighed heavily "Yes…I did do some poking around for Lorne on Retta's behalf…that was years back though."

"Well…anything might be a help" Phaedra answered "I feel a responsibility to Retta to do what I can"

"Well…what we do know is that he joined the Greycloaks, not long after he left the village behind" Cormick began, he looked quite troubled. He too felt a responsibility to Retta it seemed, she remembered how Cormick, orphaned young, had often been seen around the Starling household, practically grown up with Retta and Lorne. "But that was still about seven years ago now, though" Cormick continued, with little hope "And there's not all that much available in the records about him. He was involved in a couple of skirmishes up near Luskan territory, disciplined for insubordination on multiple occasions, but then, about five years ago, he just vanishes, slips out of the records…"

"Desertion?" Phaedra gasped, a crime punishable by death in some cases. Retta had already endured so much…

"Maybe" Cormick scowled "It sure looks like it, but, whatever happened up there in the north, no one was keeping tabs on it, the records are in chaos. So what if a few soldiers are unaccounted for, so what if their families never find a damn thing…people down here in Neverwinter don't even care"

"And, there's absolutely nothing more?" Phaedra glanced at him, startled by the bitterness in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure" Cormick nodded slowly "He's just gone…no word, nothing. It's a damn shame for Retta, but…I'm afraid he's likely dead. I just wish we could know for sure"

"Thank you Cormick" Phaedra lightly touched his arm, trying to comfort him "I don't know how I could find out any more than you have, but if I do, I could let you know"

"Yes…" Cormick sighed "Retta deserved better." He shook his head as though to clear it of the weight of the past "So…" He turned to her and smiled broadly "Let's get on with this, I don't know if much of our armour will fit you, but we can adapt somehow" Phaedra nodded, falling in step behind him, but she could not stop thinking about Lorne. What was worse, that he had died, bitter and far from home, or that, in all these long years, he had just never sent word home? She could not be sure, but she owed it to Retta to somehow unearth the truth, no matter how painful it was.

oooo0000ooooo

"A toast, to Neverwinter's newest watchman!" Duncan crowed triumphantly, raising his flagon, filled to the brim with foaming ale, high "And another round for all of you!"

"Duncan, stop!" Phaedra laughed nervously, flushing as all the patrons of the tavern gave a raucous cheer in unison. The Sunken Flagon was filled to bursting, and the noise, and the smell of alcohol was enough to wake the dead. Phaedra shuddered suddenly at this reminder of the truth of that glib little saying…hopefully there would be no waking of the dead ever again in her life.

"I don't see why I should, it's an occasion worth celebrating" Duncan clapped her on the shoulder companionably "My niece, defender of justice in Neverwinter!" Since she had arrived back at the Sunken Flagon with the grey cloak of the watchman over her shoulders Duncan had been insufferably proud of her, like the kind of over-enthusiastic parent she had never truly experienced. And of course Khelgar and all the inn's regulars had taken enthusiastically on to the celebration, more for the promise of free ale than anything else. Elanee, though, had gone off to her room already, crowds obviously did not appeal to the solitary druid.

"I just hope this is all going to pay off" Neeshka sighed, sitting at the table just by them, she was hardly as drunk as Khelgar and the others. Long experience, it seemed, had taught her the value of keeping her wits and senses sharp. "The Watch are really picky, it'll take a lot to impress them, believe me."

"Stop with all the sulking fiendling, you'll spoil the ale" Khelgar cried, raising his flagon high "We'll do what's right, and they'll let us into Blacklake, simple as that!" Phaedra shook her head, Neeshka was right, she was only going to be on patrol and yet somehow she would have to distinguish herself enough to get the attention of the Watch Captain. It would not be easy…

"Alright" She stood slowly, brushing down her gown and the new grey cloak over her shoulders "I have to start patrolling early tomorrow, so I'd better get some sleep now"

"And spoil the celebration?" Duncan protested "Come on, this is the best business I've had in a long time" She shook her head, and he sighed "Just like my half-brother you are, a stickler for the rules. But I guess making a good first impression matters to you…" Phaedra's smile faded as she thought again of Daeghun…did he think of her sometimes? As she thought of him? Was he thinking of her even now? "He's alright, Phaedra" Duncan suddenly said quietly "Daeghun seems distant but I know he loved you"

"How?" Phaedra looked up into her uncle's gently sympathetic face

"Because you wouldn't have turned out so well if he hadn't" Duncan laid a hand on her shoulder "My brother, he loved as fiercely as only an elf could and when…Shayla died a part of him died too. It nearly killed him, but there was only one reason he went on living, one reason and that was you"

"Duncan…" Phaedra felt tears come to her eyes, the thought of home, of Daeghun was so intense it was like a knife was drawn across her throat, across her heart….

"Go, you need your rest" Duncan smiled gently, and she found herself walking away towards her room. West Harbour, would always be home, always and she could never let herself forget that, no matter what she saw or found on this journey…


	23. Chapter 23

_We're continuing with Phaedra in Neverwinter. I slotted in Khelgar's quest here to try and get some development from him as a character, let me know if you think it works, and whether you think it's viable for me to continue with that quest in the story._

_Thanks again to voltagelisa! You're indispensable!_

The next few days she quickly found herself settling in the schedule of a Watchman's duty. Waking at dawn for her prayers, she would equip herself with the cloak of her new trade, and head down to the Headquarters to receive her assignment from Lieutenant Roe, or Marshal Cormick if he was in. She was, she was aware, a figure of some curiosity for her compatriots in the Watch, but she rarely had time to speak to them, and had very little idea what they actually made of her. Often Elanee would join her, and they would speak together of the Mere, and of their different experiences of it as home, other times Khelgar would come along, and few challenged her authority when she had the burly battle-hardened dwarf in tow, much to his disappointment. Even Neeshka found excuses to tag along sometimes, when she grew too tired of the Sunken Flagon and the limited conversation of its patrons. The incidents she had to deal with were varying, petty theft, domestic squabbles…but normally a few firm words could resolve the situation. She had the feeling that the Lieutenant was keeping her in safer areas for the moment, testing out how she would do…well, she was doing all she was able to, and things seemed to be working. In a few days she began to feel she was making an impression, people began to recognise her, and turn to her with their problems. A few spells here and there, to locate a missing item, or to stop a thief in his tracks, had made an impact in the thankless world of the Docks. And of course every evening she returned to the Sunken Flagon and to Duncan and her friends, and they always found time to talk and share stories. She had found herself trusting Duncan from that first moment, and now, as she spent more time with him, she was quickly coming to like and respect the half-elf innkeeper as well. Cormick sometimes came over after his own duties were done, they'd speak of West Harbour sometimes, and of lighter things too. One night, though, the elven wizard, Sand, from her first day in the city, joined them in the inn, with a grave warning…

"Well, well, it is indeed our newest Watch member" From the moment their eyes met across the common hall of the Sunken Flagon as she entered after another day's patrolling, he rose gracefully from his chair, purple robes rustling around his thin frame, to greet her "It has only been a few days, yet I have heard a great deal of you already, Miss Phaedra Blake"

"Well met Sand" Phaedra beamed as he reached her "Did Duncan ask you to come? Does he need help?" She was still trying to puzzle out Sand and Duncan's friendship, but it seemed unlikely that Sand should spend any time in the Flagon without good reason; he certainly was of a different calibre to many of its patrons.

"No doubt he does" Sand gave an elegant shrug of his thin shoulders "Your uncle has always relied on my expertise, though he would be loath to admit it. I don't think he could survive a week without the ale purgative I provide him…"

"That's enough of that" Duncan interjected hastily, appearing from the doorway into the Flagon's kitchens "And I didn't ask him, no…he took it upon himself to interfere, as always"

"Is it so much to ask that I come in to check on my oldest customer and his young niece?" Sand spread his hands in a gesture of wounded innocence.

"No, if that's all you were after" Duncan frowned, crossing his arms and standing by Phaedra protectively "But I know you better than that…you're looking to make some kind of profit, aren't you?"

"Oh, don't worry Duncan" Sand smiled thinly "I already make more than enough profit from you…" Before Duncan could respond, though Sand was already speaking again, to Phaedra this time, his tone more grave, so that both Duncan and Phaedra fell silent to listen. "Miss Blake…" He said "I spoke seriously when I said I had heard a great deal of you, your exploits are attracting some measure of attention in certain quarters"

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked, suddenly alert and sober, sensing a threat. Phaedra too heard the ominous note in Sand's voice…where was this coming from?

"For a long time the Docks have existed within a delicate balance of power, between the gangs, under a woman named Moire, and the Watch" Sand explained softly "The Watch established an informal quota, paid off by Moire…they arrest the undesirables in her organisation, her enemies, giving the illusion of progress, while ignoring her more fruitful enterprises and collect a healthy profit for it. This all occurs out of the hearing of Lieutenant Roe of course" Phaedra stared at him, aghast. He was suggesting a level of corruption in the Watch that not even Cormick had touched upon "You, Phaedra Blake, represent a significant threat to this nice little arrangement"

"What?" Phaedra gasped "No…I haven't done anything, hardly anything anyway, I've only been here a couple of days" She shook her head, she couldn't believe that, on top of everything else, she had stumbled into this web of patronage and favours…

"You came here with good intentions, Miss Blake" Sand raised his hand, as Duncan spluttered with outrage and shock "But you have been naïve, I am afraid. You have trod on many feet…"

"What is the meaning of this?" Duncan finally found his voice "You don't mean that Moire…knows about her…" He touched his forehead, clearly shocked…and fearful…who was this Moire? What could she be that such horror accompanied even the merest mention of her name?

"Perhaps, perhaps not" Sand lowered his hands, tucking them into the folds of his robes "I do not know if Moire is aware, but it is clear that many others do know of her already. Phaedra, you came to the Watch directly through Lieutenant Roe's personal instigation, do you not know how unusual that is?" She stared at him, stunned and shaken "It is through Marshal Cormick's influence as well, he's long been an enemy of those who cooperate with the criminals…it looks to them like you've been brought in to clean things up, and you are also a sorcerer…"

"Were you…did you know this would happen?" Duncan gasped, leaning heavily on the table, clearly staggered. "Why in the Hells did we send her to the Watch if you knew…?"

"It was her only chance" Sand answered firmly "It remains her only chance."

"But Sand…are you sure about this?" Duncan asked, grasping for straws…fine for him to look shocked, to question it…Phaedra didn't know what to think, to say, for Lathandar's sake, she'd thought Neverwinter would be safe, she'd been so sure!

"Yes, I am certain" Sand nodded "My source is incontestable…"

"And who is your source exactly?" Duncan frowned "Who told you all this?"

"I did" Phaedra glanced up, shocked at the sound of the familiar voice, to see its owner, none other than Marshal Cormick standing just by the door, no more than a couple of paces away from them, when had he stepped into the Flagon? He looked very grave, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his features level and stern.

"Cormick?" Phaedra found her voice to gasp "You knew about this?"

"I heard it from an informant in Moire's organisation" Cormick answered, stepping over towards them "This man approached me directly, warned me to expect some kind of repercussion for your recruitment."

"Against Phaedra…directly?" Duncan gaped at the Marshal

"Unclear…" Cormick rubbed the back of his neck, the stress and tension this incident was causing him clear in the lines of his tendons and muscles "We don't know enough yet…"

"Then why involve Sand?" Duncan glanced towards the wizard

"Lieutenant Roe forbade me to speak of this to you" Cormick muttered, the bitterness in his voice a clear testament to the absurdity of the order…

"What?" Phaedra gasped "Why would Roe…?"

"He wished to protect you…" Cormick began

"And being a noble, he has gone about the worst possible way of accomplishing it" Sand added acridly "Roe believes that the best way to keep you safe, Miss Blake, is to keep you within the Watch's reach…what he does not realise is that there are a significant proportion of the Watch accepting Moire's pay"

"So, I asked Sand to relay the message, in case I couldn't get to you" Cormick nodded levelly "He has defied Moire's thugs before…"

"Ah…yes, Caleb's ludicrous demand for protection money" Sand's smile, in the flickering firelight, glinted with malicious glee "In the end he left with far more than he bargained for…"

"You needed to know Phaedra" Cormick turned slowly to speak to Phaedra alone, his dark brown eyes were hard, but beyond that there was a glint of clear concern for her. "I didn't want to defy my orders, but you had to know"

"What can we do?" Phaedra asked, his concern drew her from stunned incomprehension, to knowing she to act, to react, find some way to counter this new, unforeseen peril. "Can we stop it?"

"Damn it, if we only knew what exactly they were planning" Cormick shook his head hopelessly "I can say if you could leave the Watch for a short while…"

"No Cormick" Phaedra raised her hand, he stopped instantly "I can't, too much rests on this, I must get into Blacklake as soon as possible."

"Phaedra is not as defenceless as you appear to think, Marshal" Sand added, glancing sideways at Cormick "She is a sorceress of some calibre…I can sense that well enough"

"I understand that" Cormick answered with a heavy sigh "And there are none in these gangs who share your gifts, thank Tyr. You just need to be careful"

"I will be Cormick" Phaedra nodded, deciding…she had faced far worse than petty plots by a cartel of criminals already on this journey, if she had to, she could face this as well… "I will be"

"Alright…" Cormick answered, almost reluctantly "I'll speak to Lieutenant Roe again tomorrow, maybe I can get him to take this seriously…"

"In case he refuses to acknowledge the gravity of the situation, I am always here to assist, Miss Blake" Sand stepped back, preparing to leave as well, it seemed "Just speak to your uncle if you wish to send for me, or perhaps stop by my shop some time soon"

"Thank you" Phaedra nodded to both of them quickly…thank the Gods they had thought to come, she was prepared now…what might have happened had she not have been? Still, it remained to be seen where exactly the criminals might strike… "But you should be careful too…"

"Do not worry yourself with us" Sand answered, shrugging nonchalantly "I am quite capable of defending myself, should Moire or one of her underlings be foolish enough to take issue with what has transpired here, as is the Marshal…"

"I won't breathe a word of it lass" Duncan confirmed by her side "No matter how good Moire's spy network is, she won't find out that Sand and Cormick gave you the heads up…I don't allow criminals in here" Phaedra glanced at him, smiling…thank the Gods for Duncan too…

"Then we should go" Cormick nodded, stepping back once again "Phaedra, I'll see you in the headquarters the day after tomorrow…remember, if anything happens, I need to know right away" He drew his cloak around his shoulders, turning away towards the door "Be safe Phaedra" He said softly, turning back for a single moment before stepping back out into the night.

"A touching sentiment, one you should take to heart, Phaedra. But for now, young sorceress I too must say farewell" Sand added, before he too left through the Flagon's open front door, quickly and perfunctorily, leaving Phaedra and Duncan standing there alone. Slowly uncle and niece turned to face one another. Duncan looked still a little intimidated by the whole thing, but he forced that from his features as her eyes met his, giving a reassuring smile

"Don't worry" He said "They know what they're doing, those two…and there's no place safer in the Docks for you than here in my Flagon"

"Duncan…" Phaedra gasped, staggering over to him, unable to restrain her own shock and fear, to stop it from flashing nakedly across her face. Slowly, almost as though he were surprised at himself, he lifted his hands and laid one on either of her shoulders, not speaking for a moment, but doing nothing more than holding them there…yet somehow it was comforting, knowing he was there for her. Was this what having a real father was like? She chided herself for the unlawful thought, but still an echo of it lingered…

"Get to bed Phaedra" He said, at last "You've taken far too much on, lass. Let it go, just for one night, and get some rest" She nodded mutely, feeling very much the child herself, as she slowly stepped away, towards the back rooms where her bed would be waiting, the others must have already left too, should she tell them about all this? Yes, they had a right to know as she did. Oh, Gods, Moire could not strike at her through them, or through Duncan, could she?

As if in answer to the worrying timbre of her thoughts, she suddenly she felt herself under scrutiny, and unease trickled down her spine as she realised who it was, who was watching her again. There he was at his usual place by the fire, the man, and his gaze was as indecipherable and as disquieting as before. He seemed to see her watching him, and the shadow of a smile touched his features, the smile of a hunter who has his prey in his sight. He watched her like that, always, like something he was pursuing, like something he was waiting to make a mistake. She shuddered involuntarily, hearing Duncan's voice in her mind 'I don't allow criminals in here', then who was this man, and why was he always there, late into the night, after everyone else had left the Flagon behind, always watching her? Would Duncan know? Did she really want to know herself? Yes, she had to…when the opportunity next arose, she would ask Duncan about him. Perhaps, once he was less of a mystery, he would stop haunting her, she would stop feeling the pressure of his gaze on her even after she had left him…

oooo0000ooooo

The day afterwards, when Phaedra had the morning free from her work in the Watch, she, Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee mounted an expedition into the Merchant Quarter, Phaedra needed arrows and other supplies, as well as a serious need to take her mind off the repercussions of what Cormick and Sand had revaluated last night, while Khelgar decided it was high time he paid the monks in the Temple of Tyr, which was situated within the District, a visit. So they headed out along Neverwinter's main road, toward the aptly named Merchant's Quarter, the hub of Neverwinter and her trade. If the bustle in the Docks had been impressive, here it was almost beyond belief…it was as though the whole city had taken to the streets, most were human, but Phaedra spied a handful of elves, dwarves, and even a tall brute who could only be one of the infamous half-orcs, and everywhere stalls selling everything anyone could possibly wish…with their traders hawking their wares loudly, from blacksmiths to grocers to masons, it was absolutely incredible, and, more importantly, it felt safe, colourful and bright, unlike the dingy back-allies of the harbour. The houses here were richer than the Docks, well-to-do merchants and businessmen inhabited them, and evidently took pride in the appearance of their homes. While they were not grand, they were clean, and hospitable. There were parks dotted around, fountains, statues, reminding the people of the grandeur of their city and its rich history; and temples too…including numerous small shrines to the Gods of journeying and chance, like Shandaukul, Waukeen, and Tymora, safeguarding the city in the divine protection of a bewildering number of deities.

By far the largest temple in the city, though, was the grand Halls of Justice, which served Neverwinter both as its courtroom and the foremost temple to one of its principal deities, Tyr, custodian of justice. It was also the base and training grounds of the order of Monks which served Tyr. It was a large domed structure, all of shining marble and strong granite, surrounded by towering walls and guarded by an iron gate which nonetheless stood open currently, inviting supplicants to enter. Within it was suitably imposing, a long, marble nave, with two vast arcades, it was lined with marble friezes depicting Tyr in his various aspects, judge, warrior, guardian. There were long, cedar pews, artfully carved themselves, and a multitude of candles glimmering all around the temple like a field of stars. The main altar was unadorned, a simple, rugged block of stone, but around it the shrine was richly decorated, statues, tapestries, candles, making a grand display, worthy of one of Faerun's most powerful gods.

Just before the alter, a lone man stood, wearing plain grey robes which looked priestly, but which hung close to his body like the garb of a warrior. He was tall, and thin, his physique clearly showed that, despite his advancing age, he still trained on the practice field. There was an intense, almost unnatural stillness about the way he held himself, as though all his energy was turned inward. This had to be one of the monks who served Tyr from the Halls of Justice, some of the greatest warriors in the world.

As Phaedra walked over, the monk seemed to be roused from his contemplation, and he turned slowly to face them. His every movement was honed, careful…calculated almost, but his eyes were soft with a serene peacefulness.

"Welcome, supplicants, before the sight of Tyr, the Evenhanded, Lord of Justice" He said, in a reverential tone that echoed in the vaults of the temple, though he had spoken quietly "You are an adventurer…" He said, his gaze sweeping to Phaedra first "I see it in you, in the poise you hold, but your step is uncertain, you are lost within yourself. What do you wish of Tyr?"

"I'll tell you what I want!" Khelgar strode forward, eager to finally get the attention he'd craved "I want to join up, I want to learn to fight like you do!"

"You wish to join the disciples of Tyr?" the monk appraised him carefully, but his face remained expressionless

"Yes!" Khelgar nodded vigorously "I'm Khelgar Ironfist, you've heard of me right? The famous brawler? Ever since a couple of your monks beat me senseless, I need to learn what you know about fighting!"

"Ah…" The monk moved closer "I am Prior Hlarin, I lead the Disciples…and it is up to me to test those who come before us"

"What do I need to do?" Khelgar asked urgently "Walk across burning coals, wrestle a bear…!"

"No…" the Prior fell silent and closed his eyes momentarily. Something seemed to change in him, an imperceptible shift in his posture which nonetheless seemed to reveal that something deeply profound had occurred. After a moment, though, he opened his eyes, and sighed deeply "I am sorry" He said, with level serenity "You are not ready"

"What?" Khelgar gasped, shocked "Hang on…I didn't even have to…"

"I hear it in your voice, I see it in you" Hlarin shook his head evenly "You fight well, but without any comprehension of why you fight, of why you should fight. A true monk of Tyr must be more aware"

"Come on!" Khelgar protested, aghast to see his dream shattered so swiftly "Let me fight you! I'll prove myself…!"

"Even now you do not understand" Hlarin murmured "You cannot join the disciples" He stepped backwards, back toward the altar…was he going? After that, he'd said nothing, he'd given no proper justification…Khelgar would be devastated…he was her friend, she had to do something for him!

"Wait!" Phaedra cried, stumbling forward, just stopping herself from seizing the monk by the sleeve "Surely there is some way Khelgar can prove himself! I know him, I know he has a good heart…"

"You must understand that the change has to come from within, no other can impose it upon him" Hlarin glanced at her intently, as though he continued to see something deep within her "But there are ways…your plea is pure perhaps I shall grant your friend a chance" He turned to Khelgar, focused that implacable, serene gaze upon him "There are Three Trials, rites of passage, which will aid the pilgrim on a journey. Listen well, Khelgar of the Clan Ironfist, you must be sure…"

"I've never been surer of anything else!" Khelgar nodded vigorously "I need to learn what you know!"

"Very well" Hlarin drew back, till he stood with his back against the alter, his demeanour suddenly acquiring the heavy weight of ceremony "The Three Trials are thus, first, the Trial of the Just, the supplicant must find a just cause, and take it up for no other reason than it is just. Second, the Trial of the Evenhanded, the supplicant must learn to put aside their prejudices, and approach all equally, so that when the time comes, they may mete out justice with impunity…"

"By the Hells, I'm not prejudiced!" Khelgar thundered "Aren't I travelling with the worst of thieving tieflings and tree-worshippers?"

"Khelgar…" Phaedra gently quietened him, then turned to the Prior. If Khelgar couldn't see it, she could. There was a slight problem here, and she needed to find out more about this trial if she could help Khelgar. "How can this change be achieved?"

"Often, the supplicant may find the will to change his views through the resolve of another, someone close…" the Prior explained "But that is in no way guaranteed, the Trials are different for each. Last of the Trials is the Trial of the Maimed, the supplicant must learn that there are consequences of their action, they must seek out one who their choices have wronged and right that wrong"

"What…?" Khelgar seemed stunned, well Phaedra was as well. This was going to be much more difficult than she had thought, but Khelgar was her friend and she had to help him, if she could. "That's it…that's all I have to do?" Khelgar asked eagerly. The Prior nodded sagely.

"You have a strong resolve" he commented "Perhaps that will be enough"

"Khelgar Ironfist has never backed down from a challenge" Khelgar answered determinedly "And this one's no different! I'll be back soon, with all three of your trials done!"

"Return when you think you are ready…but ultimately I, and the Lord Tyr, will be the judge of that" Hlarin nodded, and with that he walked, with serene grace, away from the altar and back towards the cloisters.

"Why are we wasting our time on this?" Neeshka grumbled, once he was out of earshot "Righting a wrong, finding a just cause, this reeks of paladins and besides, it's not like Khelgar could ever abandon his prejudices…"

"Are you saying this'll be too difficult for me…?" Khelgar snarled "Are you saying these pitiful little Trials will be too much for an Ironfist? For Khelgar Ironfist? I'll get them bleeding well done, you'll see!"

"Enough!" Phaedra cried "Stop it, the both of you! This isn't helping anyone!" She paused, then continued more gently "Khelgar...if this is what you want…"

"It is lass" Khelgar nodded "I know it. I've always known it, ever since those skinny humans pounded me senseless"

"Well…" Phaedra sighed, wondering what exactly it would be like without Khelgar beside her. "When will you be leaving…?"

"What?" he frowned, looking confused.

"When will you be leaving?" Phaedra repeated. It had seemed obvious to her, could Khelgar hope to do what the Prior demanded while tagging along with her, but evidently he didn't see it that way. "To start the Trials…"

"No lass…" Khelgar smiled broadly "I'll be sticking with you, with the elf, and even with that Hell-stinking tiefling of yours. We'll get those Trials done on the way, you'll see, I wager I can do them in a single afternoon, with enough time to pound a few drunks into the ground afterwards, eh?"

"Oh, thank you!" Phaedra couldn't help but laugh "I'm sure we will, all of us!"


	24. Chapter 24

_Thanks to everyone for sticking with me to here._

_NB: I have elected not to include Qara or Grobnar as characters, as the story is already turning out very long, and two more characters would only confuse things. I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone, I knew one or two people were looking forward to seeing how Qara and Phaedra reacted to one another. Unfortunately it's just not going to be possible. Anyway, Casavir's coming up soon, perhaps that's compensation_.

It was about a week into her service in the Watch, three days after that revelation from Sand and Marshal Cormick, and, as yet, no retaliation from the thieves had come to light. Phaedra was quickly beginning to feel the burden of her work increasing, enough almost to take her mind from the dark realities of her precarious position in the city. First she was called in to deal with an extortion attempt by a group of thieves who had been plaguing the few merchants brave enough to set up store in the Docks, demanding money for so-called protection, then, with evidence gathered during the confrontation with these thugs, she was sent to arrest a well-known, but thus far elusive criminal and the man apparently behind the extortion of merchants in the Docks, one Caleb, who apparently worked directly with the leader of the thieves in the District, Moire. This was indeed the same Moire whose organisation had been of such concern to Cormick. Having been tracked into the Dock's sordid alleys, Caleb tried to buy his way out of justice, and, when Phaedra refused, attacked her with a group of his heavies in tow. Thankfully she had brought Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee along for this job, and Caleb's minions were quickly killed or driven off, leaving the coarse thief defenceless, and with the aid of a potent paralysis curse, he was taken into custody. Though he remained stubbornly silent about his mistress' plans during his subsequent interrogation, Marshal Cormick and the Lieutenant nonetheless counted it a triumph for the Watch to have him out of the way and a positive report was sent to Captain Brelaina in the Watch's main offices in the Merchant District. Phaedra, though, found herself with a mixed reaction to the events and to her own part in them.

Things seemed to be going well in terms of her slow journey towards the Blacklake perhaps, she reflected, as she wandered through the last hour of her patrol the night after Caleb's capture. Dark night had fallen over Neverwinter, and the thick, black clouds hung close to the ground, shrouding Castle Never which loomed over the city as a great shadow amidst an eerie veil of mist. She knew she was getting closer, one step at a time, to where she needed to be, to what she had to know, and this Aldanon, he was her only chance, she prayed he had the information that she would need. But…she knew this development, her part in Caleb's capture, would only antagonise Moire and her faction even more. She could not believe, despite the lull in the thieves' activity, that they could have forgotten about her, though, on Cormick's recommendation, she had tried to keep a low profile at the Watch Headquarters, somehow she sensed that it was not over. She sensed it in the cool air of the night, in the piercing wind that stirred her cloak about her, in the spindly skeletal shadows drawn over the smooth, grey paving stones, and she shuddered involuntarily. Even though this area she was patrolling this night was one of the safest in the Docks and by Cormick's influence she had been kept from the more dangerous parts of the District since that information had come to light, she still sensed the sense of dangerous potential in the air, this was a night for dark deeds…

Suddenly she stopped, that ominous thought dying stillborn in her mind. Something…she caught the smell of something on the wind, a smell that wasn't right, acrid and bitter but faint, carried on the light breeze, it stung the edge of her nostrils…smoke, was it smoke? She froze as the implications of that struck her, by Lathander...a fire…? No! A fire would be deadly, dangerous, here in these packed slums, even more so than they had been in West Harbour! She had to help! She frantically glanced up into the cold night, around the closely packed slums…where? Where, oh Gods where was it? No, she had to focus, she was a Watchman, she had a responsibility, people would rely on her! Suddenly her keen elven eyes picked it out, a great pillar of smoke so black it stood out against the stars, pouring out into the night above the buildings around it…thick, black smoke, like the wings of a nightmare unfolding into the darkness.

Phaedra began to sprint forward, her feet pounding against the empty street, stumbling over the paving stones and puddles of the alley. On the roaring wind she caught the sound of someone crying out, pain…fear…and the crackling of the inferno, a ghastly flickering light blazed ahead of her, a sulphurous, hellish light that burned against darkness, flickering and spreading. She could see she was close…but what if she was already too late?

Suddenly she rounded the last corner around a towering warehouse, and the awful sight reared before her; the Watch Headquarters, that vast stone edifice that had so impressed her before, aflame, burning, wreathed in fire so bright and so powerful it was as though the very flames of Hell blazed before her, as though the Hells had come to this plane! Shadowy figures, minute before the monstrous inferno, hurried around, fighting the devouring flames in vain, casting water, shouting and screaming, steam hissed, casting ghostly forms upwards into the night. Gods…and the heat! She felt it even where she stood…a blazing wall of heat that seared against her skin…there was no way this was a natural fire! Moire…this…then was Moire's revenge…oh Gods…

She ran forward, casting through her mind for a spell, any spell which could fight to vast a blaze, but nothing…no magic she could summon could combat such devouring fury.

"The Lieutenant's inside!" Someone cried from near her and Phaedra gasped with helpless terror, no one could survive this…no! She had to do something! She grabbed a full bucket of water from some anonymous figure, invisible in that all-invasive smoke, stumbling into that awful heat to cast her burden of water toward the flames. Her nose and eyes stung, she could barely see, and that heat, it was unbearable…flames roared into the sky, devouring stone…and whatever was inside…the Lieutenant, and Cormick…had he gotten away in time or…?

She did not know how long she fought, casting load after load of water into the fires, forcing her aching muscles beyond what they could endure, the heat searing her flesh and tears stinging her eyes. The fire raged still…and so she had to carry on. Around her others, Watchmen, civilians, all of them struggling as she did, fighting to tame the blaze, bucket after bucket, hour after hour, until gradually the flames began to die down…but still…the building was utterly gutted, its windows smashed, stone blackened by heat, a shell of its former self…

"Phaedra…!" she heard the call suddenly as though in a dream, through a haze of pain and exhaustion "Phaedra!" Turning towards it, away from the blackened corpse of the Watch Headquarters, she felt her legs almost give way as every muscle in her body protested agonisingly. Lathander…how long had she been here? From the lingering, billowing smoke, the figure of Elanee suddenly appeared amidst the other anonymous figures scrambling frantically, the crowd scattering around her. The elf looked frantic, terrified, her robes and hair whipping about her in the uncertain wind that surrounded the fiery embers of the stone building…

"Elanee…" Phaedra tried to cry out, but her throat burned, dry and cracked as though she had breathed the fire itself, and her voice came out harsh and rough. Nonetheless Elanee heard, and looked instantly to her, green eyes flashing with intense relief…

"By Silvanus…!" She exclaimed, stumbling over, grasping at the ruined ash and smoke-stained fabric of Phaedra's cloak, her thin arms enfolding Phaedra, pulling her back from the dying blaze. "Oh Gods…you're safe, oh thank the Gods…" Her voice cracked, tears ran down the ashy dust spread in a light powder over her cheek. Phaedra would have wondered at it, that she could break down so…but she was exhausted, so exhausted, that even that thought seemed too much, and she surrendered to Elanee's gentle guidance… "We…saw the blaze from the Sunken Flagon…" Elanee murmured, as together they staggered away from the crowds surrounding the Headquarters "We thought you were inside…"

"We…?" Phaedra croaked "Are…the others okay?"

"Gods, here…" Elanee's hand tightened around Phaedra's shoulders, she whispered something in her lilting voice, and from her fingers a cool, comforting stream spread out into Phaedra, like water, soothing her aching muscles and her inflamed throat, calming the damage the fire had done. "You're alright, oh thank Silvanus" Elanee sighed, as Phaedra collapsed against her, her strength entirely spent, but the elf supported her weakening body, with a firm hold that belied her frail frame. "It's safe now, it's safe Phaedra" The whisper, soft and comforting, at her ear, stirred such old associations, warmth, safety…home…again that mystery, how did she, Elanee, seem so much like a mother to her? Was it simply that she was an elf, as Esmerelle had been, but it always seemed like something more, as though Elanee had borne her sorrows alongside her all her life, supporting her as she was now. How could that be? But her mind was too exhausted to grapple with it now…so she simply gave in to the feeling… "Come back…" Elanee was guiding her now, their hesitant steps in unison, through the crowds "Let's get you back to the Sunken Flagon…" Together they made their way back along the street back toward Duncan's inn, as behind them the foundations of the Watch Headquarters smouldered with ashen embers beneath the billowing tides of smoke, thick and dark that swept over the winds above it like the waves against the shore.

oooo00000ooooo

"Phaedra…" Duncan's voice echoed in the vaults of the deep and dreamless sleep in which she hovered, a summons back to consciousness. Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she wondered where exactly she was. Then she remembered, the Flagon, her bed there, the rather rough woollen blankets and linen sheets, her gaze on the wooden ceiling. She was wearing her nightdress, and lying back in the bed, feeling the lingering aches of her exertion against the fire deep in her muscles, though her breathing was fine, despite the ash she must have inhaled; Elanee's work, she had to remember to thank the elf. It was morning, soft, grey light streaming down into the room, onto the plain white sheets. She turned slightly to see that Duncan was standing in the doorway, bearing between his hands a tray upon which was a steaming mug, a broad smile was on his face. "Glad to see you've woken" He said gently, stepping over "Elanee brought you back last night, you were in quite a state"

"Yes…" Phaedra pushed herself up from the white linen sheets to sit forward in the bed, brushing her hair lightly behind her shoulders… "Where is she?" She asked "Elanee, and Khelgar, and Neeshka too?"

"The're fine, all of them" Duncan nodded, laying down the tray on the small table by the bed, warm milk, just what she felt like right now… "We took turns to keep an eye on you" He said, after she'd thanked him and taken it to drink. "They're all eating right now"

"What happened?" Phaedra asked softly "At the Headquarters, who was it, really?"

"That Marshal, Cormick, he came round while you were asleep" Duncan's features clouded over "It was Moire, she was the one who set the fire, she and her thugs. They wanted to get rid of that man, Caleb, before he'd talk…"

"And…is he dead?" Phaedra whispered, exactly as she'd suspected, as she'd known. The fire…it had happened because of her, because of what she'd done, because Moire had felt threatened by her…

"Yes" Duncan answered grimly "Him, five good Watchmen, and the Lieutenant, Roe…" Phaedra gasped with horror, the Lieutenant dead? "Cormick said…he was trapped in his office" Duncan continued, glancing out the window into the empty morning air "He didn't stand a chance…" Phaedra glanced away, her eyes stinging, the Lieutenant had been a good man, and he hadn't deserved to die, not like that. Duncan stood there quietly, giving her time and space for a moment. "The Marshal said Captain Brelaina, the Watch's leader, wanted to see you" Duncan said, once she had recovered somewhat. "She's in the Watch's Offices, in the Merchant District, and I think she has some kind of job for you"

"What?" Phaedra turned back to Duncan, mystified. So Brelaina, even after the chaos of the fire, had had time and inclination to send for her, what could this job be? Would it bring her closer to Blacklake? Would it still be worth what had happened…what Moire had done?

"It seems the Captain wants to speak to you about what happened here in the Docks" Duncan replied, grinning encouragingly "You could see a bit more of the city on the way, you know, take your mind off what happened"

"Yes…" Phaedra nodded "I will…" Duncan nodded slowly, glanced down at her again as though to ascertain she truly was alright, then padded from the room with a quick farewell, leaving Phaedra to ready herself for the day's journey. Rising, she washed and dressed herself in Retta's grey dress and her boot, combing back her hair and clasping her Watch cloak around her neck just below the amulet of Lathandar. She touched the charm lightly for a moment, wishing for the strength to do what she had to. Lastly she clasped the small leather bag with the shards at her belt…safe and secure…

She walked slowly out into the main room of the Flagon. Her thoughts were heavy, people had died because of her, that was hard to just shrug off. It seemed her burden grew greater as she walked…consequences she could never foresee followed her footsteps. But mourning could not help her, would not help them. She just had to carry on, and hope and pray it would be worth it all in the end. Entering the main hall of the Flagon, largely empty at this early hour, except for where her friends gathered around a single table, she settled her thoughts, she a goal, she had to follow it…there had never been another option…

"Hey!" Neeshka leapt up as soon as she entered, running over towards her exuberantly "You're alright!" She crowed, then stopped short inches from Phaedra, and flushed with embarrassment at the scene she'd made "I mean, of course I knew you'd pull through" She amended hastily "But…Khelgar, you know, he's so high-strung…he couldn't take it"

"I'm alright…now" Phaedra smiled lightly at the tiefling…

"I can't believe what that mad dog Moire did!" Khelgar exclaimed heatedly, joining them near the door "Firing the Watch like that, cowardly, gutless, just…like the thieving criminal she is!"

"And counter-productive too" Neeshka observed critically "She's just uniting the Watch against her, before she had half of them by the strings, that was quite an achievement for someone like her, but now, with their Lieutenant dead, and their Headquarters burned, none of them are going to take her money"

"Perhaps some good will come of it then" Phaedra sighed, brushing her hair from out of her face thoughtfully.

"Did Duncan tell you what the Marshal said?" Elanee asked softly.

"Yes" Phaedra answered "I'm heading to the Watch Offices in the Merchant Quarter right now"

"Then we shall join you" Elanee nodded, speaking, it seemed, for the others as well for each nodded determinedly…well, she would welcome their company on the trip, who could know what awaited her, what would Captain Brelaina demand of her?

Together they set out, and made their way briskly towards the Merchant Quarter. The trouble in the Docks was on everyone's lips it seemed, though the crowds thronging the streets were no less diminished for it. Phaedra tried to capture Neeshka's natural grace moving effortlessly through the people going in every direction but she never could, having to endure being shoved this way and that, her Watch Cloak a meagre protection from people who seemed in too much of a hurry to even glance up and see who they pushed through. Neeshka, knowing the city as she did, was also able to see them to the City Watch's offices here, the primary headquarters of Neverwinter's guards, and they certainly possessed a grandeur appropriate to their role. They were no smaller than the Headquarters in the Docks had been, but they were lined with fearsome statues of warrior heroes and gods standing in alcoves along the walls, and highly ornate columns lined the towering façade, its arched doorway guarded by two Watchmen who looked bored rigid. The entire structure was sheathed in a sheen of glittering white marble…it looked almost unimaginably grand….

"Nice enough sight" Khelgar appraised it "But a dwarf could have done better"

"Excuse me…?" Phaedra walked over to the doorway, turning to face one of the two guards. He quickly stood to attention, saluting briskly "My name is Phaedra Blake" Phaedra continued "Captain Brelaina said she wanted to see me"

"Of course" the guard answered "We were told to expect you, Miss Blake. Go on in" He pushed open one of the double doors, and the four of them filed in, into a stone corridor, lined with busts of august military figures. "The Captain's office is just along here" the guard advised, before taking up his post once again. So, this was it…she stepped forward slowly…

ooo00000ooo

"So, you are the new recruit I have heard so much of" The tall, hard-eyed woman appraised Phaedra carefully, with a keen, practiced gaze, which gave nothing away, Captain Brelaina, commanding officer of the City Watch. She had cropped black hair, a severe angular face, and wore her authority like a cloak, even more obvious than the gilt-weave surcoat and gilded armour which spoke of her rank. Her voice was cultured, trained to command, speaking of both a noble background and long military service "I read the Lieutenant's reports, you are obviously capable" A flicker of grief and unease must have passed across Phaedra's face, for Brelaina's expression softened…very slightly "He was a good man…devoted to his duty, though his work in the Docks wore him down" She said softly.

"And Moire…is going to pay for what she did to him" Marshal Cormick snarled, his rage was barely contained in his tightly clenched fists, he was almost shaking with fury, where Brelaina was entirely composed. The Marshal had arrived shortly after Phaedra did, insisting he had the right to sit in on the meeting. Thankfully Brelaina had accepted.

"Moire shall be dealt with, in time Marshal" Brelaina glanced at him warningly "But a subtle approach is needed, she has secreted herself well amongst the lowlife on the Docks, exposing her will not be easy." She turned to Phaedra "Our first step has to be to curtail her operations in the District, you have proven quite apt at this thus far. Your unique abilities give you means beyond what is available to the common Watchman"

"What do you want me to do?" Phaedra asked

"You must take up the Lieutenant's mantle in the Docks, and continue the work he began" Brelaina straightened formally "The Marshal has informed me that he trusts you implicitly, and that is a position he is not willing to adopt with many in our ranks..."

"With good reason" Cormick began hotly "We…"

"Enough Cormick, I have heard your opinion on the matter" Brelaina interrupted swiftly, her authority such that Cormick that fell grudgingly silent "Phaedra, you will take charge of undoing Moire's control over the Docks District, in which you will report directly to me and to the Marshal." She moved over to her desk glancing over the papers arranged there briskly "He has informed me of your interest in the Blacklake District, but on that matter I am afraid I must remain firm. There has been another murder…a certain Lord Gentry was killed only yesterday"

"Another murder?" Phaedra whispered, shocked. Elanee was right. This had to be related, somehow…to the events in the Mere. It was too vast a coincidence for it to be otherwise, but what threads linked these disparate occurrences? She could not discern them, there just wasn't enough information…

"He was killed in the same manner as Lord Dalren" Brelaina explained "No mark of violence on his corpse, no sign of forced entry, his bedroom door remained firmly locked. However that is a matter for the Cloaktower" She paused, and sighed "You realise, I am sure, that this has put me in a difficult situation; I will allow only the most trusted Watchman to enter Blacklake"

"I see" Phaedra nodded bleakly. This was a blow, Aldanon seemed further than ever, but she would continue to work to get to him. It was what she had to do, all she could do.

"Good, then we can begin" Brelaina nodded briskly, scanning the documents over her desk "Moire's operations are invasive, and she has a number of avenues available for her, including smuggling. We must eliminate her options, one by one"

"And that includes eliminating any turncoat Watchmen who still follow her" Cormick added, before she could continue…

"All in its own time Marshal" Brelaina shook her head "These turncoats still provide a valuable illusion of the Watch's presence, that may deter others from being as bold as Moire. Also Phaedra's example may well change their attitude"

"That isn't going to be enough" Cormick snapped "They've stuck with Moire this far, given her free reign to plunge the Docks into chaos, we have to be rid of them if we're ever going to have a hope of bringing the Docks back in line"

"No, you must see this from their point of view" Brelaina answered levelly "Our income is so strained we cannot provide anything but the most basic pay for the rank and file. If they take extra money to look the other way, it is because we are not providing for them. We must focus on rebuilding our presence in the Docks and replenishing trade, then we can see to giving our Watchmen more adequate salaries"

"It's not money they lack Captain" Cormick was shaking with outrage "It's loyalty, and no amount of coin will change that! Thieves, and these dogs who run with them for gold won't play by your rules!"

"Enough!" Brelaina raised her hand swiftly "This is not a matter of black and white Marshal, there is much more at stake! We cannot afford to reduce our presence in the Dock, it is vital we present the image of strength" She turned to Phaedra quickly before Cormick could respond once again. "Exercise your discretion where our own ranks are concerned" she ordered "But I hope you understand the need for caution, these turncoats, as long as they remain unaware of your activities, may actually be a useful smokescreen for our true objectives"

"I understand" Phaedra nodded

"Good...And if you are to be respected you shall have the title that will in time bring fear even to Moire and her thieves" Brelaina took a small item from the drawer of her desk, a gold signet ring, which she placed ceremoniously in Phaedra's hand, Phaedra turned it over in her palm, examining the three star symbol of the Watch forged in gold upon it, a mark of authority. "By the authority of this city, and of Lord Nasher, I name you Lieutenant of the Watch" Brelaina stepped back, placing her arms behind her back. Phaedra was stunned, as she quickly slipped the Watch's ring onto her finger. A Lieutenant, and so quickly, would she really be able to live up to the responsibility? "This ring will be a symbol of your status, and an indication to all, friend or foe, that you act with the blessing of Neverwinter"

"Captain…" Phaedra found the voice to say "Thank you…I will do my best"

"This is a symbol" Cormick added, stepping out from behind Brelaina's desk to stand just by Phaedra. "And it is nothing until the hand which bears it is strong"

"Lieutenant, from now on you will report here to me personally every morning, and we shall hand you whatever intelligence we have concerning Moire and her plans, and what measures you may take to best counter it" Brelaina continued, quickly professional "For now, you are dismissed Lieutenant. The Marshal and I still have much to discuss"

"Thank you Captain, Marshal" Phaedra bowed her head respectfully to each of them. Cormick nodded back, his eyes were softer than Brelaina's, which were direct and hard, they gave no illusions about her authority, an authority Phaedra now shared in. She now held a greater duty than before…could she, a Harbourman, face up to Moire's twisted schemes? She would have to try…

As she closed the door behind her, emerging into the cedar-panelled waiting room, she saw that Neeshka, Khelgar and Elanee were waiting outside for her, and it was clear they had heard the entire interview. Neeshka's arts at work once again it seemed.

"A second murder…?" Elanee was sombre, she guessed what this news meant just as Phaedra had "And the Watch is still no closer to working out why…?"

"If you heard, the good Captain gave us a little more information than she might have wanted to" Neeshka put in "She said the Cloaktower was involved, meaning that hedge wizard friend of yours was right, and we do have a demon problem" Phaedra nodded. She had not picked that up, but Sand, it seemed had indeed been right…could he have any other answers?

"You're a Lieutenant now" Khelgar added reassuringly "Whatever comes at us…we'll send it right back to where it came from, be it the Abyss, the Astral Plane or any godforsaken plane in the multiverse!"


	25. Chapter 25

_Sorry about the little wait this time, things are back on track now._

_To amend, if you were one of the people who read the announcement in Chapter 24 before I could change it, it is Grobnar and Qara who are not going to be featured, sorry about that small mistake_

_It's a little heavy-going this chapter, but it's quite a short one, I just wanted to get a glimpse of what the loneliness of being the heroine might truly be like. Let me know what you think._

She was Lieutenant now, Lieutenant of the Watch, faster than she could ever have dreamed possible. That title, affixed to her name in the records of the City Guard, sealed by the gold ring around her finger, and by the authority of the city of the Neverwinter, brought with it added burdens. She swiftly found her duties and responsibilities increased tenfold. She was on the front line now, the front line against Moire's thieves, and often she commanded not only herself and her friends, but other members of the Watch too. She reported directly to Captain Brelaina now, and Marshal Cormick would often join in the Headquarters, where they would discuss Moire's movements, poring over maps of the Docks, the reports of informers and spies, what little information they could find about her activities in the District, and painstakingly constructing what would be the best course of action to counter her. Then it would fall to Phaedra to bring it about, whether it was a midnight raid upon a deadly weapons' convoy in the treacherous back alleys of the Docks, or tracking Moire's dealings to a warehouse stacked with her illegal stockpiles. Her assignments were tougher, the stakes higher, and the danger, and the pressure, she was forced into each time greater than ever she had faced as a recruit. She, Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee found themselves under very real threat, but each time Phaedra's magic, that fury, that power, she felt burning within her, was enough to get them through. Its power for destruction was beyond belief, flame, ice and acid, she began to wield them all as weapons in her hands, with as much deadly natural ability as ever she had wielded her bow. It was hard, feeling that power that once had seemed so harmless, beautiful even, when she had studied it back in safe West Harbour, driven, drawn from her, to kill at her command. At night, in those quiet hours, when she lay awake, her thoughts and prayers drifting up into the darkness, ghosts drifted with them, surrounding her bed, their whispers on the edge of hearing, shadows, faceless, nameless, men she had killed, and she would wake each morning feeling as though, somehow, during the night time hours, she had been observed…

Yet, haunted though her nights might have been, and dark and dangerous as the cramped battles of the days remained, she found solace in the evenings, when her work was done, when she could sit and relax with her friends in the Flagon, and speak of simple things. Neeshka would demonstrate her skill with dice, outwitting Khelgar each time with outrageous sleights of hand obviously learned here in the Docks. Phaedra even gave it a try once and found herself leaving with her pay for the day heavily depleted. Elanee too sat with them, quiet, reserved, but as much a part of the atmosphere as the two she shared the table with. When all was silent, though, she would speak to Phaedra, the haunting resonance of her elven voice offering comfort or advice where it was needed. Duncan, too joined them whenever he could, joking effortlessly, or sharing stories of his adventures. She'd come to depend on the innkeeper so much, he was always ready when she staggered back from work with a warm meal and bed ready, as well as some witty wisecrack to bring a smile to her face. But, it could never be as simple as that. He hadn't once spoken of her mother since they had first met, but she saw him sometimes gazing at her with pain, and then she longed to ask him what it was about her that recalled Esmerelle so. One night, when she felt the weight of her journey more keenly, and they stood together before the uncertain light of the fire, and she saw in his eyes that deep sadness, for the flickering shadows and the play of the light over her hair must have roused his own ghosts, she at last found the courage to ask this question to which he had the answer she had longed for her whole life.

"Duncan…" She said softly "You knew Esmerelle, you knew my mother?" As soon as the words left her lips, he stiffened, his shoulders clenching, and he stepped back. His eyes flickered over her face, worried almost, as though it were something he had long feared, that she would ask him about her mother. But she could not let go, no matter what, she deserved to know this at least…

"Esmerelle?" He gasped at last, glancing around him at the silent tables, as though he did not wish to release the memories from his grasp, as though he were afraid he might lose them for ever "What…about her?"

"I've lived my whole life not knowing a single thing about her" Phaedra continued "Daeghun, he never said a thing, but if you could…I need to know something, isn't it time, Duncan?"

"You're right" He answered, his voice hoarse "You deserve better…" He ran a hand over his arm, the cream linen creasing under his agitated touch "Esmerelle…" He swallowed heavily "I can see her like it was yesterday, that day…she was a Sun Elf, you know that, right? Hair like yours, gold it was, like gold, she wore it shorter though. You have her eyes too…they were like emeralds, but living, there was such life in them, that's what I remember best, the light in her." Phaedra stepped closer, trying to glimpse something of what he saw from his own eyes, but all that was in them was the clouded anguish of memory "She was a lot like you, always thinking of others, but that hunger she had, to see everything, to experience everything. You're more like my brother there, cautious and steady, but she would rush on through everything, never staying still for a second, there was always another adventure on the way…very strange for an elf"

"Was she like me, with magic?" Phaedra pressed, she hungered to know anything, everything… "Was she a sorcerer?"

"She told me she was, once…" Duncan nodded "But by the time I met her she'd given it up, cast it aside. She said she served the Lady, Sehanine Moonbow, and not the power within her…"

"She was a cleric?" Phaedra gasped, Sehanine was an elven Goddess, one of the most powerful. So she had indeed inherited her Gift from her mother, though Esmerelle had made that choice she had not, laying aside her sorcery for the Gods. What had made her do that? Was it perhaps the same dark dreams that now so oppressed her daughter? Not for the first time Phaedra wondered if that power within her was evil, if evil was the right word, but with the memory of that light and rapture in the cellars of Highcliff Castle, whatever the source of it had been, she knew she could never think that. Besides Phaedra knew there was no turning back now. She could never follow that path…

"Aye" Duncan's gaze was luminous, rising into the silent shadows upon the ceiling, as though he gazed into a distant dream "Prayed almost as much as you do. Sehanine heard her, she was powerful…"

"Duncan… anything else please" Phaedra whispered, staggered by the strength of her longing to know, the cold ache within her that yearned to be filled. "Tell me anything…"

"She…was beautiful" Duncan forced out the words through a strangled gasp "You should have known her. You both deserved better than what happened, but Gods she was beautiful. She lit up the whole room every time she entered."

"And…my father?" The clouded currents of emotion within stirred something deeper, all those old imaginings of her childhood, about her father, the gallant knight, the lordly prince, separated from her mother, still searching for her. In truth, Phaedra knew nothing about him, but if…if this discussion led there, she would take any information she could. Her parents were shadows, she deserved more than that…

"I don't know…she never said" Duncan gasped "It was after my time, I left her behind, left it all behind; only went back to West Harbour once more" He shook his head "But that's Daeghun's tale to tell, couldn't say it myself…" Phaedra's shoulders gave way, she staggered back, leaning against the fireplace, hardly able to support herself anymore. Somehow these scraps of information were only enough to tear at the confines of her orphan's spirit further, her father was lost to the mist, how could no one know who he was? Had Esmerelle not told anyone, even her closest friends? Had she been ashamed? How could Phaedra even hope to guess, her mother was still a cipher…but glancing up at Duncan again she knew her pain was a pale reflection of his, her mother had touched him deeply, then left him…why had she done that?

"I'm sorry Duncan…" She reached forward, touched his trembling arm gently "I shouldn't have…"

"No" Duncan grasped her hand in his, his hold strong, but hesitant, as though he was afraid his grasp might scatter her like a dream. "No, you deserve to know more, Daeghun…should have told you more…" He looked down, beneath his furrowed brow, his eyes glinted with confused bitterness and sorrow, a bitterness and sorrow, though, that had a completely different quality to Daeghun's ageless, arid grief. His would pass, or at least it would retreat to memory, she saw that, and he would be himself once again. "She'd be proud of you, Phaedra" He said softly "She'd love who you've become…"

"Duncan…" Phaedra had to look away, her eyes stinging, her chest heavy…

"You remember that" Duncan's hand tightened around her's "Remember it, she never meant to leave you…" There…was guilt in his eyes, after living so long with Daeghun Phaedra knew how to see deep into what people were feeling and Duncan was easy to read compared to his half-brother. But she didn't want to know, didn't want to confront it now; this shame that ran so raw in him, it was something to do with her mother, with her. She'd heard more than enough now…

"Thank…you for telling me this…" Phaedra's hair brushed over her cheeks as she lowered her head, a curtain passing over her gaze. She didn't want to look out into a world that she suddenly seemed to see again with the eyes of the child she had once been, into a cold, comfortless and lonely world… "Thank you…for everything…"

"No, thank you…" Duncan swallowed heavily "For trusting me. My time's past now, but I'm glad I can be a part of your journey…" He looked away suddenly, and the moment passed "Look at the pair of us…" He said suddenly, grinning sheepishly "You've got such important work to do, and we're standing here, keeping you up…you should get to bed Phaedra"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded, stepping back, and slowly he let her hand fall to her side. He was right, she'd pressed him too far, stirred the embers of the past too much already, and what had been said, and left unsaid, weighed on her as well. But, she could not leave it behind, walk away from it…as Duncan urged her with the reassuring smile he offered, the soft glimmer in his eyes that barely hid the pain he was still fighting. No, she could not do what he asked, she was like his brother, that's what he had said, and perhaps it was truer than she had thought. He could speak to her, tell her to leave it aside for now, and sleep with lighter dreams, know that her mother had loved her and know that was enough, but…how could she do that? She suddenly yearned to get from the room before he suggested it out loud, as he already did with straining sincerity, how could she answer him if he did? So, slowly, she stepped back towards the door with a whispered apology. She felt terrible for so spurning his concern, but her thoughts played with her. Her mother, drifting upon the surface of her thoughts, ghostly, an ephemeral image…lost before she could truly grasp it, how could she just go and sleep with this in her mind? And leave it…? Lose it…? She disguised her disquiet until she had slipped into the silent passageway, into the darkness there and left him by the flickering firelight, and then she raised her hands to her face, tracing the paths where a tear would have fallen, could she have cried…could she have remembered anything, her mother's face, her laugh, her smile, to mourn…or her father…but nothing came, as nothing ever had.

Lowering her hands, she stepped away, her gown rustling softly along the wooden floor…leading herself from the dark emptiness towards the door at the end of the passage, the door to the room that was now hers, but emptiness seemed all around her now, and she stepped further into darkness. Oh Gods…it was…easy to forget in the light, but here, alone, everything snapped into unforgiving focus. Let her sleep, a long sleep, a dreamless sleep…and then rise, perhaps, the light, the dawn, would change it for a while, and she could smile with her friends, and do her duty. And let this long, long journey continue where it led her…


	26. Chapter 26

_So, Chapter 26! Old Owl Well awaits...soon, but not quite there yet..._

_Thanks to Belgalen for the favourite, and once again to Gaspode for the fantastic review._

"So, we meet at last" A cruel passionless smile touched the lips of the statuesque woman who faced Phaedra across the cramped confines of the room. She stood tall, an elegant figure, deadly and sharp as the blade she carried, robed in black silks, her dark eyes glittering behind an ornate black mask that covered half her face, bound at the back to her flowing locks of jet-black hair. "And here I though all the tales of a competent Watchmen were just stories to scare my men" She sneered "You have caused me no end of inconvenience, girl…but that ends right here. I'm going to string you up by that pretty little neck!" Beside her, her two henchmen, two vast, burly men in mismatched leather armour and each carrying a gleaming two-handed axe shifted impatiently as though they longed to rip Phaedra and the others to shreds, but Moire kept them on a tight leash, her narrowed eyes travelling over Phaedra, Khelgar and Elanee again and again. Phaedra could almost see her thoughts turning over schemes, calculations in her mind. Could she beat them, her eyes said, could she prevail against this young Watch member and her companions?

"This is your last chance Moire" Phaedra warned, her bow, pointed straight at the woman's head, strained against her hands, drawn right back, the arrow slotted in place. One small movement and she could fire… "Let Fihelis go, give yourself up, and you won't be harmed" Beside where Moire stood, still and serene, like a cold obsidian statue, the man gagged and bound to an ornate chair which was laid out before her, the Watch's informant Fihelis, gave a muffled groan of protest. Phaedra glanced at him, trying to reassure him with the promise of safety in her eyes. He was a black market merchant who had turned informant on Moire's gang. His information had been of value to the Watch many times, so when he had been exposed from within the shadowy organisation Captain Brelaina had quickly sent Phaedra to spirit him out of his home safely. What no one had expected was that Moire herself would be here when she came, obviously having plans for Fihelis herself…

"You really are an amusing little creature aren't you?" Moire tossed her sleek hair, laughing coldly "But I really don't have the time to toy with you, or these friends of yours…" Instantly, moving almost instinctively, Phaedra let fly the arrow at her, but the crime lord was more than ready. Her rippling black cloak swept upwards and, moving almost with a speed that seemed more snake than woman, as though were some black asp, her rapier sweeping through the air, with a piercing screech. Her two thugs leapt forward to engage them, but Neeshka darted in to confront the first, her two blades caught the shaft of his axe, he grunted angrily, tried to strike back, but she gave him a vicious kick, dancing away with liquid grace, Khelgar was instantly in front of the other, and his waraxe hooked his blade, ringing into the small room, as the two sparred, brute strength set against strength. Elanee raised her hands, chanting an unearthly language, magic drew in around her, light about her, motes of light in her fingers.

"Watch out!" Phaedra screamed, turning suddenly toward Moire, who leapt angrily for the elf, sensing the threat such magic posed. Her rapier shrieked as it cut into the air, but Phaedra jumped into the way to intercept her. She managed to throw out her arm, the small dagger she'd had from Daeghun catching the thin sword. The force of Moire's downward thrust tore the small blade from her hands. It hit the floor, scattering into the shadows at the back of the room. Moire was suddenly up again, behind her mask, a dread anticipation gleamed in her dark eyes. Phaedra leapt backwards just in time, her elven grace landed her safely upon the bed set against the wall. The rapier whistled within inches of her chest.

"Stay still, damn you!" Moire hissed violently, as Phaedra bounded from the bed, landing clearly onto the floor, she turned with a single step, her bow at the ready once again. She shot the arrow, but Moire, with a flick of her black cloak, managed to leap from the arrow's path, Phaedra seized another arrow quickly. Then Elanee cried out another spell, fire pulsed from her hands, the spell missed Moire narrowly, but it caught her outstretched rapier with a glancing blow, the blade skimmed into the wall. Phaedra leapt forward, summoning her own power for the strike, but Moire met her in the air before she could unleash it, and together they both cannoned into the floor. Phaedra buckled into the hard wood, but Moire was not giving her a moment's relief, struggling upwards, seized her at her neck, trying to slam her into the floor again. Phaedra, all thought gone but the instinct to survive, to fight, throw Moire from her, tensed against the thief, fighting back the gloved hands at her neck, grabbing at Moire's wrists, they struggled against the other.

She was straining, breathing heavily, feeling the rush of blood in her temples, fighting fiercely like a cornered animal. She buckled, kicking Moire's shins back, the thief lord winced, drawing back from her for an instant and Phaedra slammed the arrow she still held in a tight fist right into Moire's leg. The thief lord screamed, a sound more animal than woman, rough, harsh, stumbling back for a second, giving Phaedra the release she needed. She leapt up onto her knees, her hand thrusting out towards Moire, a spell on her lips, and a massive force cannoned into Moire's straining body, sending her slamming into the opposite wall. Phaedra held her there, pinned her against the wall by the light she held within her, the forces of her magic a veil of light surrounding the woman's straining arms, as Moire buckled, her mouth open harshly, breathing heavily through her clenched teeth, her dark eyes wild, alight with pain. "Are you going to kill me, girl?" she rasped heavily. Phaedra stared across at her nemesis here in the Docks, the woman behind the arson of the Watch Headquarters, behind so many deaths straining against the power that held her there like a trapped animal. Should she kill Moire? Could she? Yes, she could, she felt it, in a hundred different ways. She could make it quick, painless, not like those this woman had slaughtered, and yet she hesitated. "Do it!" Moire snarled "I spit on you, bitch!" Phaedra drew back her hand slowly, touching the air lightly, the hum of power running up her arms…

"Do it, lass" Khelgar appeared by her side, hefting his bloody axe, and glaring viciously at the helpless crime lord where Phaedra still held her there… "You have to do it…"

"Yes…" Phaedra whispered softly, her gaze fixed upon her helpless enemy, unmoving yet "I have to, I know"

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Moire laughed hoarsely, manically, beating her hand against the wall "Do you think can't play by the rules of the Docks? My rules? I'm your enemy, kill me, or I swear I will find you and rip that lovely head from your neck"

"She's right" Khelgar grunted "We can't take her alive, she's paying off too many of the Watch…it's too big a chance, she's just too dangerous"

"Yes…" Moire hissed angrily "And for it you'll take my curse to the Hells! Make your choice, fool girl!"

"You already made it for me!" Phaedra snapped, her fist clenched and another wave of force slammed into Moire. The woman's body snapped backwards, her spine breaking beneath the force of the impact. It was over in an instant, and Moire's body fell to the floor, broken and empty…swathed in a shroud of black silk, she was dead, there was no doubt about it. Phaedra stepped backward slowly, her head was aching, though the magic she'd used was minimal. Slowly she raised her hand to her forehead, she had killed Moire…had she been planning to do that, was it what Brelaina and Cormick had wanted? No…well it was done now, she had deserved to die. She was convinced of that, at least.

"Alright, lass?" Khelgar touched her lightly on the arm, he was concerned about her, was her unease so obvious?

"Yes…yes" Phaedra nodded quickly, glancing away from Moire's body

"Neverwinter will be better off with her dead" Khelgar pressed "Some people are just too dangerous…"

"Yes…I know, of course" Phaedra answered distractedly, she glanced around the room, still breathing heavily from the exertions of her tussle with Moire. Neeshka was leaning heavily back against the far wall, clutching her side where a rip in her armour showed a nasty bruise, but Elanee had it well in hand, kneeling by the tiefling, her slender hand pressed to the surface of Neeshka's leather armour. The words she whispered had power, and soothing blue light glimmered beneath her hand. Just near the two of them, Moire's henchmen were as dead as she was…

"By Lathandar…Fihelis!" Phaedra exclaimed, ashamed to have forgotten momentarily her objective in coming here. She hurried over to the half-elven informant, undoing the bonds around his mouth and arms as quickly as she could. "Are you alright?" She asked, bending over him, ready to give any more assistance, should he require it…

"Yes" Fihelis gasped heavily, now free from his restraints, he was a small man, somewhat shifty, and shady. But…his deeds had showed great courage and nobility, what had motivated him, she wondered, but now was not the time for that. "Yes, I think so" He pulled himself hesitantly up from the chair, taking Phaedra's offered help, and stood unsteadily beside her "Thankfully Moire hadn't got started on me before you arrived…" He said, rubbing his wrists "She, is she…really?" His gaze flicked over to where Phaedra knew Moire's body was, that broken corpse wrapped in black silks, but Phaedra didn't follow it…she didn't really want to see it again. She didn't want to get used to the sight of the dead.

"Yes" She replied firmly, the Watch would send in someone to clean up, no doubt Moire's body would be burned, as all other criminals were. "I should get you back to the Captain, it's still not safe here" She added, returning to the business at hand. More of Moire's henchmen could show up any moment. She quickly glanced back to the others, Neeshka, fully healed by Elanee, was standing and ready to move, she nodded to Phaedra, understanding her urgency.

"Yes…I know that better than anyone" Fihelis answered, nodding urgently. "Lead the way, Lieutenant"

oooo0000oooo

"Moire…is dead…?" Brelaina breathed, leaning back against the back of her ornate chair. "This is unexpected news…" She said thoughtfully, clearly trying to factor the implications of the shocking information Phaedra had just delivered "I could never have known she would be so careless as to expose herself so obviously…but a blessing indeed" Phaedra nodded; she stood across from Brelaina, having returned quickly to the Captain's office with Fihelis in tow. The merchant had been spirited away quickly, after thanking Phaedra profusely, now Phaedra had just told Brelaina and Marshal Cormick the staggering news of Moire's death from the Captain's office.

"She was arrogant, she's showed us that many times" From where he stood, just by the large window, Cormick smiled grimly, clearly satisfied with the result "But it's over, her reign over the Docks is over!"

"And Fihelis is safe" Brelaina nodded "You have entirely outperformed my every expectation, Lieutenant, I freely admit that. With Moire's death, the thieves in the Docks will descend into chaos. It will be a long while before they will trouble us again"

"And by the time they do…we'll be ready" Cormick nodded "We can use this time to recruit, build up our forces…and strike back."

"And so we shall" Brelaina answered, nodding with satisfaction, but her features swiftly became grave once again, her severe countenance hardening. "However…our work is not yet done, there are many other concerns we must deal with now"

"There are always other concerns" Cormick added darkly.

"Foremost amongst them must now be our responsibility to you, Lieutenant" Brelaina continued "Our responsibility for your personal safety"

"My safety, Captain?" Phaedra repeated, frowning thoughtfully

"Moire wasn't working alone" The Captain answered "I have received intelligence concerning a highly organised network of criminals operating from within the city, it is very possible Moire had dealings with them, perhaps it explains her swift rise to power in the Docks at least"

"Why haven't we been informed of this Captain?" Cormick stepped over, his ruddy features reddening "We should have been the first to know…"

"I couldn't be sure the information was trustworthy" Brelaina glanced at him, as usual meeting his rage with a front of stony authority "And it is potentially deeply inflammatory…"

"You mean it would damage the reputation of the politicians who've been in bed with these criminals…" Cormick snapped in disgust

"What did you mean?" Phaedra stepped forward, cutting across the disagreement swiftly, she needed to know what Brelaina was getting at "Do you think I'm in danger, that my friends…that Duncan…?"

"We cannot be certain at this time" Brelaina answered "But if this organisation is as influential as it seems, they may be able to extract the identity of the one behind their agent's death. It is perhaps best that we put you from their reach and their minds for a short while, enough time for us to engage them more fully perhaps"

"You want me to leave the city?" Phaedra asked, aghast.

"Yes" Brelaina took up an official-looking document from her desk, scanned it quickly as she spoke "As it happens, I have a notion of how you might use the space we have to Neverwinter's greatest advantage, while remaining out of the reach of these criminals, should they choose to notice you." She held up the paper to Phaedra, it was a clean piece of fine parchment, covered in elegant, official writing, with a large red seal at its base that Phaedra did not recognise "This is a dispatch from Waterdeep" Brelaina continued "Our greatest allies, valuable partners, especially in these troubled times" Phaedra nodded, Waterdeep was the grandest city in the North, it dwarfed even Neverwinter in its sheer scale and astounding wealth, and the good will of its Lords was essential to Neverwinter's survival against her enemies, such as Luskan "Waterdeep recently sent a new Ambassador on the way to Neverwinter, he was intended to discuss a new alliance in both trade and defence" Brelaina said gravely "But somewhere on the road he has…disappeared"

"Disappeared?" Phaedra gasped, another strange event to add to those which already lay heavily in her mind. Could this possibly be related to anything she knew already? But how? This web of conspiracies…it grew more complex and impenetrable each day, it seemed.

"Yes, disappeared" Cormick moved over to the desk "We've pinpointed his last known location, he was heading into Old Owl Well in the Spine. After that, he simply vanished, along with his entire escort"

"This is a delicate situation, Lieutenant" Brelaina continued solemnly "We face troubled times ahead. Luskan is recovering from the last war and it is looking to test its military might. This war the mages of the Hostower concocted with Ruathym may well be only their first step, Luskan survives on war, it thrives on it. A solid agreement with Waterdeep will encourage them to look elsewhere than Neverwinter for their prey. In addition I do not need to stress how strained our trade has been of late, Waterdeep's custom could be a good start to the rejuvenation of our economy. Throw into this situation the disappearance of this Ambassador and it would appear someone has a vested interest in keeping us in the dark…"

"Luskan" Cormick hissed angrily "It has to be, who else?"

"Perhaps…" Brelaina answered "But there is no way to be sure. Lieutenant, you may know that up Old Owl Well is currently a war zone. Our Greycloaks are engaged in battle with the orc tribes of the area, it's possible the ambassador fell foul of them but even so it is unlikely he is dead. Orcs are cunning enough to know the value of such prisoners." She paused, then continued abruptly "I am authorising you to go to Old Owl Well and find out what happened to him"

"Me, Captain?" Phaedra stepped back, shocked

"The Watch does not normally deal with issues beyond the city walls…but this occurrence been important enough to rouse the Council's interest…" Brelaina explained "I was ordered to send a trusted commander to Old Owl Well to assist the search for the Ambassador and, after what you've done, my choice was clear"

"But…orcs…?" Phaedra glanced away, paling, she remembered all too well the terrible stories she had heard of the bestial humanoids "I've only done what I can here in the city, but this, how can anyone expect me…?"

"I made an informed choice, Lieutenant" Captain Brelaina answered, sympathetic but unyielding "You are the only one of our commanders, maybe the only one in the Watch, with experience outside Neverwinter, as an adventurer no less. We cannot discount the advantage your natural affinity with magic gives you as well. I read Lieutenant Roe's report, you've dealt with situations just as harrowing. In addition, this has the added advantage of absenting you from the city for a short while, enabling us to deal with the consequences of Moire's death"

"Captain, with all due respect…" Cormick began but Brelaina cut him off.

"I know your objections Cormick" she said "But Phaedra won't be alone. I have heard much of these companions you travel with, the elf, the dwarf and the tiefling…almost as capable as you are, I believe. Am I correct in thinking they will be accompanying you?"

"Yes…if they…" Phaedra was still dumbstruck, she had tried to do what she could in the Watch's service, as a Watchman, as a Lieutenant, but things seemed to be happening so quickly…had she truly made so much impact?

"Excellent" Brelaina smiled curtly "And should you require it, you are authorised to ask Commander Callum for any assistance deemed necessary" She picked up another document, scratched in her own flowing signature and handed it over to Phaedra. It was another warrant, personally stamped with the signet of Lord Nasher himself, as well as the symbol of the Council of Neverwinter. It represented the power of the highest authorities in Neverwinter, making it one of the most valuable documents in the city, and it authorised her, the holder, to complete this mission on Neverwinter's behalf. "It is a three day journey to the Greycloak camp in Old Owl Well" Brelaina explained "You have leave to depart the city tomorrow morning, I suggest you should take it"

"And this will help me get into Blacklake?" Phaedra murmured

"Of course" Brelaina nodded "The Nine are unbending as of yet, but this issue is of such a high profile they will certainly take greater note of your plea if you can accomplish what they require in Old Owl Well. The commanding officer there, Callum, is a member of the Nine, one of the more influential, so impress him, and you aid your case immeasurably. Meanwhile I will do what I can to convince them"

"Then I'll do my best" Phaedra answered. That didn't really still convince the part of her that whispered unease. What chance could she have there, where orcs roamed the mountains and an all out pitched war was being fought? Her magic might have been an asset against untrained thieves of the Docks, but in the Spine she wasn't sure how much help any of the spells she could conjure might give her.


	27. Chapter 27

_A couple of significant things occur in this chapter, most obviously Bishop's first speaking part...let me know what you think of it!_

_In addition, I've introduced horses in an attempt to sort out some of the time lapses in the game. I don't know all that much about horse riding, so if anything is glaringly obviously wrong, please point it out. _

_Thanks to Gaspode and voltagelisa for continuing help!_

_Also, I'll be gone for a week now, so there's a little gap to catch up/review what's already happened. Promise I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible once I'm back._

Duncan's reaction to Phaedra's assignment, predictably perhaps, echoed her sense of own unease, with a substantial dose of outrage and anger against the Watch added to the mix.

"I don't believe it" He snapped, shaking his head angrily, as soon as she had finished telling him what Brelaina had said "You've done more than enough to get into Blacklake already, and now they just send you out into the wilds, into this war zone! It's madness, I tell you! Madness!"

"Come on Duncan!" Khelgar interjected from next to Phaedra, he'd listened in to the whole thing, and seemed to be finding the prospect of entering the battle more and more appealing each time he heard it. "Let your niece live a little! There is nothing like fighting orcs to stir the blood…believe me!"

"You!" Duncan rounded on him angrily, before deciding better than to antagonise his best customer, as well as the dwarf who'd probably taken on half his clientele in numerous brawls since he'd arrived "Just go and get a…drink or something…" He said lamely.

"Whatever you say" Khelgar shrugged, moving off towards the bar, and Duncan turned back to Phaedra, anxiety flashing over his face, that worry which was the real reason for his anger against the Watch. Again she was struck by the strangeness of seeing such clear feeling on his face, with its echoes of Daeghun's.

"I'm worried" Phaedra admitted "But I have to do this. I mean, I am a Lieutenant, now. Maybe Brelaina is right, and only I can do this"

"Yes, but…" Duncan breathed deeply, trying to find some calm "Look, I know about everything you've done so far. I've heard your stories but you're still only a girl, just Esmerelle's little girl. And even undead aren't anything like orcs, at least undead'll kill you quickly"

"Duncan…" Phaedra moved over and took his hand in hers, he fell silent instantly, gazing at her "I know what we can do, Khelgar, Neeshka, Elanee and me" She assured him "We'll all be there together; they'll look out for me. And I can promise you here that I'll always be careful"

"Well, I can't stop you from doing this, if you're set on it" Duncan sighed "But remember I'm going to hold you to your word there." He laid his other hand on her shoulder "Phaedra...you make sure you look after yourself"

"Yes…" Phaedra nodded "I will" Then, suddenly, her uncle looked up and his gaze focused on something behind her, something which made his eyes narrow, and his nostrils flare, a flush of anger intruding onto the base of his neck. Phaedra quickly turned, looking behind her to follow his gaze, back, back into the shadows by the fire. It…was him, that same man, the man with the tawny eyes…and he was again watching her, the same predatory stillness in his posture. She quickly glanced back at Duncan, did he know who this man was? This loathing in his features, clearly he did know, and the knowledge disgusted him, and so too did this man in the shadows know Duncan, for, meeting the innkeeper's gaze fleetingly, he raised his hand in a mock salute.

"Duncan, who is he, that man?" Phaedra whispered to her uncle. For a moment, Duncan didn't seem to even hear her, then he glanced back down at her face, but the pinched look of disgust did not leave his own.

"Bishop" he said curtly "His name's Bishop…and believe me, you want nothing to do with him" He glanced back towards the man, Bishop and his stare was pure ice "He hasn't been bothering you has he?"

"Not exactly" Phaedra began hesitantly, unsure exactly what to say. Seeing such dark emotion in her easy-going uncle had thrown her, what history could there be between these two that could make Duncan so affected by the very sight of him? "He…just always seems to be watching me…"

"By the Hells, I should never have…!" Duncan stepped thunderously toward Bishop's table, but he stopped midway and turned back to Phaedra, as though suddenly remembering that she was there. Meanwhile Bishop seemed unperturbed, even by Duncan's obvious anger, there was a cool insolence in his gaze that remained fixed on them. "Listen, I'll go talk to him and by Cyric he won't hassle you again!" Duncan explained, his voice barely under control. Phaedra could only nod in answer, horrified, her uncle had never displayed such depths of rage before.

Nonetheless when Duncan moved over to Bishop's table, she found herself following silently, moved by a powerful curiosity. Neither of them seemed aware when she hid herself behind the wooden column near the table, carefully peering out to watch and listen to what occurred.

"Listen Bishop…" Duncan snarled viciously "If you dare ogle my niece one more time, so help me I will roast you alive…"

"Your niece, ah yes, the pretty one?" Bishop shrugged casually, his voice was a languid drawl, but behind the cultivated carelessness of his demeanour, there lurked something harder, something darker. "Couldn't help myself, it's not like I have much else to do around here"

"I know what kind of man you are!" Duncan snapped, jabbing the air with his finger. "I know that better than anyone here, and if you even dare speak a word to her…!"

"You know what kind of man I am?" Bishop laughed softly, as though Duncan's anger was little more than a passing amusement. "Please Duncan, you don't know me at all." He leaned forward "But your niece…I think she at least is dying to find out what kind of man I am" Phaedra let out a small gasp, quickly silenced…was he really suggesting…?

"I could make you leave her alone Bishop…you know I could" A very dangerous note entered Duncan's voice as he replied.

"Could you?" Bishop said, his tawny eyes hardening "I don't think you could…I think you're too much of a coward to ever call it due"

"Really?" Duncan hissed "Well, you'll just have to wait here and see because after what you did, if you even try to leave my inn, you know what I could do to you"

"I owe you once Duncan…" Bishop shook his head slowly "And as soon as that debt is called, you know I could leave your inn behind for ever, so, are you going to ask me to leave your lovely niece alone, or will it be another tankard?" He lifted the ale cup he held in one hand towards the innkeeper. For a moment the two of them faced each other across the table, and the hostility in the air was palpable, even from where Phaedra stood. Duncan was as still as if he had been carved from stone, Phaedra could only see his back, but he was so tense as if he was almost about to attack Bishop, who watched him with a challenge in his gaze, daring him to respond in the way the tautness in his shoulders promised. This was a very dangerous man, Phaedra realised, with a sinking sense of apprehension. At last, then, Duncan slowly reached forward and took the tankard from Bishop's outstretched hand. "So be it" Bishop smiled cruelly, settling back into his chair "And Duncan, may I toast you in your share of relatives? That niece of yours, quite a prize…"

In answer, then, Duncan flung the tankard, hard, into the wall inches from Bishop's hand, it struck the wooden planks so hard that it shattered into pieces, falling to the floor in a shower of clay shards. But Bishop seemed completely unperturbed, not even flinching from the impact, however close it was to him.

"Don't you dare ever say a word to her Bishop!" Duncan snarled viciously "Or that will be your head!" With that he stormed off, back toward the bar and Phaedra stared, horrified down at the table, at Bishop, she was dumbstruck by what she had witnessed, and completely at a loss at the cause of this virulent hatred between them. If Duncan despised Bishop so much, and the feeling was clearly mutual, why did he force him to stay at the Sunken Flagon? And how? Debts…they had spoken of debts, but it was deeper than that, almost as though Duncan were blackmailing Bishop? Then, suddenly, as she stood there, staring down at him with horror, Bishop turned in his seat, and his tawny gaze fell on her. She recoiled instantly, struck by the almost physical force in his eyes, but she knew, in the instant that their eyes met, that he knew she had been there all along, and that knowledge that she had heard the exchange between him and Duncan, and wondered at it, satisfied him. Aghast, she stepped back, heat running down her cheeks, as she flushed instantly, as though it were him who had uncovered something secret about her, and not the other way round. Instantly, with an inexplicable sense of shame, she turned away and fled, knowing that, as always, his gaze followed her, but not daring to glance back in case she saw something more in his eyes. Who was he? What was his interest in her? And how could he sit there and act as though he knew something about her she had yet to acknowledge? Part of her actually wanted to find out, and that was what unnerved her more than anything else.

oooo0000oooo

Phaedra uneasily clutched at the mane of the animal upon which she now found herself unsteadily perched, a palfrey mare Cormick told her went by the name of Mistletoe. She was a convenience the Watch had provided to speed Phaedra's passage to Old Owl Well, along with the saddle, stirrup and reigns that now hung in carefully-arranged order around Phaedra, but which she did not quite trust to remain in such a state for much longer once she'd actually set out onto the road. She'd had some practice when she was about ten years old, like most of West Harbour's youngsters, on the farmer Orden's old, mangy donkey, and she seemed to remember most of it, but still, the prospect of spending the two days or more it would take to get to Old Owl Well on horseback in this position was not exactly appealing.

"You'll do fine" Standing at the horse's side, Cormick stroked Mistletoe's flank reassuringly. They were all here in the stables of the Watch Headquarters, an open, airy space heavy with the smell of clean hay and horses. Cormick had led them here, picked out the horses with an expert eye, revealing a talent Phaedra would never have suspected. "She's a fine beast, this one, sturdy and obedient, one of the best we have"

"Okay" Phaedra breathed out heavily, steadying herself, straightening her back, raising her head, as she remembered.. "I think I've got it now"

"Good" Cormick nodded, satisfied "Take it carefully up there, the horses are just to help you get on your way…"

"Ready, Phaedra?" Neeshka laughed, waving from the back of her bay gelding. Khelgar, sitting in front of her on the saddle looked pale, almost green, clinging on for dear life to the leather seat below him, his ruddy features completely bloodless. Neeshka was the most experienced rider of all of them, confessing to having stolen a horse at one stage in her travels and been forced to learn to handle it over a few hours while she was on the run from the Watch. So, and to his obvious apprehension, she'd been the one who volunteered to take Khelgar, the least experienced, safely on the way to Old Owl Well. "Time's wasting, let's get out of here"

"Yes…I'm ready" Phaedra answered, attempting a smile. This wasn't going to be easy. Just hang on as best she could, and try to keep in rhythm with the horse.

"Stay safe Phaedra" Cormick handed her the reigns, she took them in one hand, taking another deep breath. She was going to be fine…just do this, and don't look down too often. "For Duncan, for me…" Cormick breathed, she glanced at him and nodded softly in answer.

"Thank you Cormick…" She said, then she kicked Mistletoe's flanks gently to move on at last, and slowly the horse began to pad forward, towards the open double doors of the stable. Neeshka guided her horse into place at Phaedra's side, Elanee fell in next to them, having refused a saddle, she rode her slender chestnut mare bareback, the horse responded to her smallest suggestion, she needed only touch its side, whisper soothingly and it would move as she willed. Phaedra glanced back at Cormick once just before she emerged into the bright light of the noon sun. She wanted to remember that she was doing this, as he said, for him, for Duncan, for everyone who knew her. Whatever happened in Old Owl Well, it would be the hardest battle she had yet fought, and Cormick was a link to West Harbour, for which she knew she was fighting. She had to do this…

oooo00000oooo

"Old Owl Well…bah!" Khelgar commented as they made their way on horseback at a steady, even pace, together along the rough, neglected highway toward the Spine of the World. The dwarf finally seemed to be adjusting to horseback riding, or at least had found something to distract himself from the incessant complaining that had occupied him thus far. "That's Ironfist territory, that is…"

"Think what you like" Neeshka shrugged from behind him "Neverwinter's got her forces there, they're the ones about to drive the orcs back. We've won it, fair and square"

"I wonder why the Greycloaks are so determined to seize the Well?" Elanee asked softly, addressing Phaedra. "It seems a pointless waste of life to me"

"Old Owl Well is the only water source in that region of the Spine" Phaedra explained, glancing to the elf who rode with that same enviable grace with which she moved on foot, Phaedra was still struggling almost to stay upright on Misletoe's back. "If Neverwinter wins it, they seize control of that whole region of the Spine, which opens up much of the North to direct overland trade."

"You really are unwholesomely clever, you know that?" Neeshka sighed, giving Phaedra a mock withering glance.

"Look…!" Phaedra cried, turning back in the saddle to glance toward the city "You can see the whole of Neverwinter from here!" The path had inclined steadily upwards from the city gates…and now they stood upon a hill some miles from the walls, but the view over Neverwinter was stunning. It was still early morning, and there was stillness and tranquillity in the cool air of the hills just above the city, the mist was just parting over the spires of Castle Never and the Academy. She was struck again by how large Neverwinter truly was, from here the Docks were hidden, and it would have been easy to imagine that the city was made solely of glimmering marble mansions and fortresses, she knew better now, of course, but she allowed herself to appreciate its beauty for a short while nonetheless. "It's wonderful…" She whispered, sometimes this journey seemed almost like a dream to her, like she would wake up suddenly and find herself back in West Harbour…as though nothing had happened.

"Alright, come on" Neeshka sighed, tugging at the reigns to turn she and Khelgar's horse to a halt some few paces ahead of where Phaedra was still "If you want to get to Old Owl Well in time, we'd best stop admiring the view and get a move on"

"Right" Phaedra turned, shaking the thoughts of dreams from her mind…she had to focus on what was here now, if she was to have a hope of doing what was asked of her. "Let's go then!" And so they rode on.


	28. Chapter 28

_Well, we've had a short break, hopefully enough time for you to catch up, and maybe for a few new people to get into the way we're going...maybe? Please leave a review if so!_

From the start of their journey into the Spine, time itself seemed to slow beneath the towering mountains, as though Phaedra found herself catching the merest glimpse of how long these ancient monoliths which reared, barren and bleak, toward the clear sky, had stood. The highway on which they travelled, in strict single-file, horse after horse, was once paved, but now falling into disrepair. It wound its way around the rocks and through the bleak, stone valleys, inclining steadily upward, but often forced to fall away from its original course by numerous obstacles. Often it travelled alongside vast gorges, the bottom of which could barely be glimpsed from where they rode, or clear, vibrant streams, where, and there alone, could patches of life be found. Travelling wasn't easy, they had taken supplies but these seemed meagre after a day of the often uphill struggle, especially once the horses had been fed and watered. At night these mountains, though cold and empty to the eye, seemed to be filled with the howls of wolves, the cries of predatory birds, and the lingering touch of fear. Were the orcs stalking them even now, could they be? And what of Phaedra's Astral pursuers? Could they have learned that she had left the city? Fire, and even the comforting familiarity of the spells she carefully went though as she took on the lonely duty of keeping watch at night, seemed a feeble defence against these terrors. Her bow lay always at her side, and often she found herself keeping these vigils at the side of her mount, Mistletoe, taking comfort in the warmth and heavy breaths of the sleeping animal, her own disquiet blunted by the mare's peacefulness. The journey so far had connected them in some small, strange way, she felt that they knew each other now…perhaps a slight glimpse of what Elanee felt with wild animals. Either way, she was glad Cormick had given her Mistletoe, now, more than ever, the comfort of the mare's company was a welcome one.

There was one night, then, when Khelgar thankfully woke to watch alongside her, and filled the threatening silence of the night with his careless, candid observations. Did he ever feel a sense of this fatefulness that pressed down upon her? Gradually, she turned the conversation, wondering how his progress was coming on, to the Three Trials which Prior Hlarin had imposed upon him, particularly the so-called Trial of the Evenhanded, since the other two appeared to require a fairly specific set of circumstances that were not currently available. The Evenhanded, though, they could discuss right here…

"Oh, I always took that one to be the easiest" The dwarf nodded vigorously at her query "Just tacked on at the end to make it all seem a little tougher. I think I've got it sorted anyhow"

"Right…" Phaedra glanced at him sceptically; his attitude toward Neeshka and Elanee hadn't changed seemed to change at all since the day they had discovered the Trials.

"What…?" He scowled vigorously "You're saying I haven't? I'm telling you lass, Khelgar Ironfist is not prejudiced"

"So then, shall we talk about Neeshka?" Phaedra laid her hands in her lap thoughtfully "You two are always arguing, what do you have against her?"

"What…?" He frowned, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, aside from the fact that her name sounds more like a sneeze than a half-decent name, oh, and she's a sneak-thief with an attitude which bites more than an orcish tusk…there is the small fact she has demon blood!" Phaedra sighed hopelessly "Come on lass!" Khelgar protested "That's not prejudice, that's just being smart, a tiefling'll put a knife through your belly as soon as look at you! Demon blood's rotten, you're always praying to the sun or whatever it is, don't you know that?"

"I think this Trial is about looking at what's inside a person rather than what's on the outside Khelgar" Phaedra tried to explain

"What's the bleeding point in that?" he snapped "You can't defend yourself by looking at what's inside them! Chances are, they'll have knifed you before you have the chance!"

"Not all tieflings are evil, Khelgar" Phaedra persisted, though the battle already seemed to be lost. "Remember what Neeshka said about dwarves when we first met, that you were squat smelly drunks…that isn't true about all of you, is it?"

"Of course it isn't, but with tieflings you can be sure from the start" Khelgar answered "And as for those elves…" Well, she very quickly gave up after that…

oooo0000oooo

It was nearing twilight on the third day of riding, when, at last, they reached Old Owl Well. The fort was nestled within a harsh and bleak valley, surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs. They approached it from above, and Phaedra could see that the fortress there was still a work in progress, but also that the Greycloaks were intending it to be an large and important base of operations, perhaps to rival even Fort Locke. The walls were only wood, and the figures of soldiers raced around, engaged in numerous tasks to build up some sort of coherent infrastructure within the base. Others were formed up in lines, training for combat. At the centre of this rudimentary stronghold was the source of the place's vital importance, a well sunk deep into the ground, around which the first of the buildings were being constructed. There were also small wooden watchtowers set around the perimeter, occupied by sentries, as though the Greycloaks were expecting an attack at any moment.

"Orcs are persistent…" Elanee noted, with that gift she had of responding to a thought that was yet unspoken. "It may be that they are still attempting to dislodge the Greycloaks from this area"

"Yeah" Khelgar agreed "You can never get an orc to quit, that's for sure"

"Well, maybe if we are lucky…we'll find the Ambassador without even running into any of them" Phaedra shivered, clutching at the reigns of the horse nervously, the brutality of the orcs was legendary.

"Hasn't he been missing for over a week now, if your Captain was right?" Neeshka said, drawing up alongside Phaedra at the head of the group. "Somehow I doubt we'll find him at all"

"You don't know orcs then" Khelgar glanced back at his fellow rider "They like to keep their captives alive, for as long as possible"

"Right…" Neeshka grimaced, glancing away. "Thanks for the dash of sunshine to brighten my day Khelgar, it was really what I needed right now"

"Well, anyway, we'd best continue" Phaedra suggested, and they moved on quickly. The highway that had marked their path so far was essentially non-existent here down toward the valley. The orcs had occupied Old Owl Well for some time before Neverwinter's Greycloaks had finally seized it, and had no doubt destroyed any trace of its former human occupation. That fighting over the well, according to what she had heard in Neverwinter, had only just stopped, but it was unlikely the orcs had given up yet. This was going to be dangerous...

When they reached the makeshift gateway, Phaedra leant down from Mistletoe's back to show her warrant to the guards, both of whom were earnest young men scarcely older than she was. Neither were quite able to hide their shock to see the four of them appearing from the mountains; it was obvious that the Greycloaks were only just replenishing their numbers here after the fierce battles of the weeks before. They were directed toward Commander Callum, who was apparently the leader of the Greycloaks here, and instructed to dismount. So, leading the horses by the reigns, they began to make their way through the fort.

"I've heard of this Callum" Neeshka put in, as they passed a makeshift barracks building, and an obviously very enterprising merchant's stall…"He's one of the Neverwinter Nine" Phaedra glanced at the tiefling, momentarily surprised. The Nine were the nine bodyguards and most trusted Lieutenants of Lord Nasher, tasked with protecting their lord and the interests of his city. With one of these famed warriors involved in the defence here, the benefit to the Greycloaks would be nothing short of immeasurable.

The four of them managed to attract no small amount of interest as they walked to the temporary station of Commander Callum and his officers…many of the Greycloaks simply stopped whatever they were doing to stare at Phaedra and the others as they passed through. Well, she guessed they had to be the first visitors to the fort, and they were an unusual group, but still she couldn't help but feel uncomfortable being subjected to so much scrutiny….and most of it did seem to be directed at her, in lieu even of the more obvious outsiders, Neeshka, as a tiefling, and Elanee, in her druid's robes.

"What are you saying sergeant?" Suddenly, as they passed silently into the commander's complex, a voice rang out before them, loud and boisterous, but coloured by obvious annoyance and frustration. It was the voice of a man obviously trained to command above the din of battle "That we can't find enough stones? In the bloody mountains?"

Just in front of them, and standing before a large tent marked with the symbols of Neverwinter and her armies that had to be the station of the officers, was a tall Greycloak sergeant, in armour of a much higher quality than any of the others, and decorated with the symbols of rank. Nonetheless his head was bowed in contrition, and he was facing, with clear apprehension, a short, stout dwarf. The dwarf wore a deep blue surcoat marked with the weeping eye of Neverwinter over some battered, battle-stained armour. He had golden-brown hair and a beard even more impressive than Khelgar's, and he was in a state of heightened agitation, a sight which was much more fearsome that it might have seemed.

"It is difficult sir, since we lost the miners…" the sergeant protested weakly

"Are you going to be the one who reports back to Lord Nasher that the fortress was overrun because we didn't have enough stones, or will it be me?" the dwarf raged "You have plenty of men, use them!"

"Yes sir" The sergeant bowed quickly "At once sir" He turned to leave, but then caught sight of Phaedra and the others who were watching curiously "Commander, visitors…"

"I can see that, you dolt!" the dwarf , evidently Commander Callum, said, giving the four of them a cursory glance "Get to your work sergeant" The sergeant bowed again, and moved off, but before he had vanished behind the tents, he had glanced back several times, obviously curious as to what they wanted. "So…you are?" Callum raised an eyebrow, as Phaedra moved over, handing Misletoe's reigns to Elanee so she could talk unencumbered.

"I am Phaedra Blake, sir" she answered "And these are my friends, Neeshka, Elanee and Khelgar Ironfist, we're here on behalf of Captain Brelaina and the City Watch"

"Ah, the ones the Council was sending" Callum abruptly seemed a lot more interested, he gazed at each of them appraisingly in turn, a gaze which Phaedra could sense was trained to pick up the smallest detail. She wondered what he thought of what he saw. "I am Callum, that is Commander Callum to you." He nodded "I can't say the four of you are exactly what I was expecting, but Brelaina obviously thought you were up to the challenge"

"We're here to find the Waterdhavian Ambassador" Phaedra prompted

"Issani…" Callum nodded slowly "His name's Issani, and there hasn't been a sight of him for over a week now. I'd hoped to have some news for you on that, but the scouts I sent to look for sign are still out there. I hope that means there's some kind of information on his whereabouts, but until we know for certain, I'm afraid we can't let you leave. These mountains are a maze, and there's no trail from here on"

"What?" Neeshka pushed forward "So we're just supposed to wait around until your scouts come back? If they even do?"

"Correct" Callum answered coolly "These orcs are no puppies, and they know this place a hell of a lot better than we do, so I recommend you camp down and wait it out. You head out into the Spine without knowing where you're going, that journey will be a lot shorter than you'd have thought"

"We understand Commander" Phaedra glanced at Neeshka warningly, but the tiefling still gave Callum a cold glare "Where…should we stay?"

"Anywhere you like" Callum shrugged his broad shoulders "You'll have to make do with…"

"Orcs…!" At once, cutting across Callum's assessment, a loud, harsh cry rang out across the camp from one of the sentry towers just above them, and Phaedra started backwards with shock "Orcs…" The cry was repeated once again "They're attacking, from the north!"

"Ah…right on time" Callum observed wryly "Looks like you might be some use to me after all…" Phaedra gazed at him with abject dismay...making jokes, at a time like this…he must be mad! "Greycloaks, to arms!" he roared, his voice so loud that everyone in the camp must have heard. Quickly he leapt over to his tent and pulled a vast axe from the weapon rack. It was even larger than Khelgar's own, and much more vicious, spiked at its tip and glinting in the sun. "Coming, Miss Phaedra Blake?" He turned back to the four of them, raising an eyebrow questioningly…

"Of course we are!" Khelgar somehow had his own axe in hand already, Phaedra numbly pulled her bow from her shoulders, by Lathander what was she doing here? How could she fight orcs alongside these trained warriors? "Lass, get to it!" Khelgar grinned broadly at her "I'll show you how this is done!" He raced off towards the north, and Callum was close behind.

Phaedra shot a glance back towards Elanee, Neeshka and the horses. They couldn't risk their mounts like this, but Elanee had it well in hand, with calming touches, and whispers to the three horses, she was guiding them back away from the battle…

"Courage, Phaedra" She gasped, meeting Phaedra's eyes "I will take care of the horses, once they are safe I will be there, I promise. Now, though, the Greycloaks may need your help…take courage…" Phaedra nodded firmly, Elanee was right, her magic could save lives, save the fort, she had to do something, she had to bury her fear and face these monsters, Neeshka joined her wordlessly, her skills would perhaps not be of the best use in a fierce fight, but like Phaedra she would do what she could.

At the northern gate, the Greycloaks were already forming up for battle, swordsmen in front, in regimented ranks, and archers at the back. It was all just in time as well, a relentless tide of some hundred orcs was pouring out of the mountains into the valley, howling and roaring ferocious battle cries which made Phaedra's blood freeze. Her keen elven eyes picked up more details than she would have liked, as she took up place at the edge of the line of archers, these orcs were broad across the shoulder, but slightly shorter than most men, with hunched-over backs, and bestial faces, their skin was a dark grey colour, their eyes sunken and predatory, their lank hair long and dark. They wore a motley collection of different armours, a few of which were evidently formerly Greycloak, and carried bloody weapons of all kinds. Many bore grisly trophies, the skulls of animals and humans, tokens of their devotion to their dark Gods.

Phaedra closed her eyes, whispered a prayer for strength…she had to do this…she had to. As if in answer her power flared within her, yearning to be cast forth, spells sprang to mind, the ritualistic words echoed within her spirit, a small comfort before this storm. She opened her eyes, and her hands went to her quiver…it was time…

oooo00000oooo

It was done, at last. At last that battle was over, and dusk was slowly, silently descending over Old Owl Well, the grey light of the evening washing the ancient rocks clean. After the terrifying, fevered clash with the orcish horde, everything suddenly seemed so quiet, so still. Phaedra found herself standing, alone, gazing out into the silent mountains, the battle had been…terrible. When she closed her eyes she still seemed to see the awful melee between orc and Greycloak, the press of bodies, the clash of swords, the spray of blood across the stone, and the screams of the wounded and dying still rang in her ears. She had used spells extensively, to end more lives than she had ever dreamed she could. Even in the orcs she could glimpse that same final flash of fear upon their brutal faces that she had seen so many times now before they were struck by all that her power could bring to bear upon them and they were consumed, by fire, by light, by magic. Well…it was over now. The orcs had fled or died, and their bodies were smouldering on the great pyre just beyond the walls, and the Greycloaks, and Phaedra alongside them, had been victorious…she had read of the cruelties of war, but still…the sheer visceral horror of it…

"You are a useful woman to have around, Lieutenant" She turned, cutting off that thought, at the sound of Callum's voice from just behind her. The Commander stood there on the unoccupied rock, with Khelgar and Neeshka in tow, both of them were battle-stained and looking weary "The Greycloaks don't often see a sorcerer of your calibre, and that display of yours…" He shook his head; in his gaze she glimpsed a new respect for her. "My men are in awe, and as for the orcs, well I think you gave them a strong message about Greycloak capability, eh?"

"What did they hope to accomplish?" Phaedra asked quietly. There was no way the orcs could have expected to take the fort, not with the numbers they had sent on that attack, they were too few, far too few…

"Trying to wear us down, stop us from getting too comfortable" Callum answered grimly "We have to deal with about every other night, they just don't want us settling in"

"Orc chiefs aren't fussy about throwing away their warriors to get what they want" Khelgar added "Thing is, they breed so fast it doesn't seem to matter"

"Your elf friend, she's in the infirmary by the way, tending to the wounded" Callum continued "Between the two of you, you've saved a lot of my men today, so I'm glad to say I can finally give you some help with Issani. My scout just returned, and he's got something interesting I think you might want to hear"

"Oh…thank you" Phaedra pulled her thick woollen cloak around her shoulders, and walked after Callum as he led the way down to the officers' station.

"By the way, Phaedra…" Callum said, with an amused smile, as they passed through the makeshift shelters of the soldiers "You might want to know that you made quite an impression during the battle, platoons of the younger soldiers are swearing that they'll go through the Hells for your favour…" Phaedra started at him, he wasn't serious, was he? "Oh, it's true" Callum continued "You're quite a boost to morale, you know, so don't get yourself killed on this mission and dash the hopes of the poor lads"

"I knew this would happen" Neeshka snickered behind her hand "Soldiers are the worst type of romantics…"

"Ah yes, you have it exactly right" Callum nodded, with a hearty laugh. Thankfully they arrived quickly at the officers' station, Phaedra noticed the earnest-looking young man standing just outside the tent, he was wearing light leather armour and carried a short bow and arrows. "This is Pathfinder Willem" Callum introduced him, and he glanced curiously at Phaedra, Neeshka and Khelgar "Willem, tell the Lieutenant what you found out there"

"Yes sir" Willem saluted briskly "I was up in one of the valleys, and I found the remains of the Ambassador's last camp. It was burnt and looted, there wasn't much left but I found signs of what had happened. They were attacked at night, ambushed while they were sleeping. It was definitely orcs, Miss Lieutenant, there were prints from them everywhere"

"Gods preserve us" Phaedra whispered "Were there any survivors?"

"Well, they weren't all killed, and I don't think the Ambassador was one of the dead" Willem continued earnestly "But here's the strange thing, the orcs didn't even leave the bodies. They took them…the dead as well as the living"

"That is strange lass" Khelgar agreed from her side "Orcs always leave the dead, they know that it's most likely to scare their enemies if they do"

"So…how exactly does this all help us?" Neeshka asked impatiently

"The orcs we're dealing with are all under the control of one chieftain, a very powerful, very dangerous chieftain, named Logram" Callum explained "He leads the largest tribe in these parts…and since we attacked he's forged the orcs of the area into some form of unity to fling them right at us. And right now, he is the only one of the orcs bold enough to pull something like this off. Issani…I'm pretty sure is being held captive in Logram's lair, especially since he seems to have been seized right in the outskirts of Logram's territory"

"That's more like it" Khelgar nodded approvingly "We storm Logram's cave, slaughter as many of his people as we can get to, then get out of there with your Ambassador in tow"

"Well, I wish it were that easy" Callum answered "But the thing is, we don't actually know where Logram's cave is. The orcs know these mountains…and they know how to stay hidden."

"Then what can we do?" Phaedra asked, brushing her hair from her face worriedly. This was seeming more and more complex…

"I can't tell you anything, but perhaps you're asking the wrong person" Callum said, glancing back out into the mountains "There's someone else in these mountains, someone else fighting off the orcs, giving us time to regroup, to fortify. He leads an army of peasants from these parts, carries out hit and run attacks, keeping the orcs out of certain regions of the mountains. We've never been able to make contact with him, each time I try, he just vanishes, it's like he doesn't want to be found" Callum shrugged helplessly "The orcs have a name for him, they call him the Katalmach"

"Katalmach" Khelgar repeated thoughtfully "That's not a name orcs give lightly, it means one who loses himself in battle"

"He sounds like someone who wants to die to me" Callum shook his head "And it's damn foolish. If we weren't here to distract them, the orcs would slaughter him and these crusaders of his in a day, maybe less than that. But anyway, as it is, he's hit Logram's tribe especially hard, or so my scouts report, and if anyone knows where the chief is holed up. I'd wager it was him, he certainly knows the mountains better than us anyway."

"How can we find him?" Phaedra requested softly…

"Well, there's no guarantee of course, but I have a rough idea of where he is right now" Callum replied "If you headed there, chances are he'd come out and have a word with you. You're adventurers, and you're not obviously aligned with Neverwinter, if that's what bothers him. He might want to have a word"

"Wait a second" Neeshka shook her head, looking distinctly displeased with the arrangement "So we're supposed to go into the orc-infested mountains, try to find this place where the Katalmach just might be, so we see if he might know where the lair of the orc king who might be holding the Ambassador captive might be…that's a few too many maybes in that, since we'll be putting our lives on the line for this!"

"That's it" Callum answered, shrugging apologetically "Look, maybe I'd like to give you some more help, but frankly we're pinned down where we are and maybe you have a better chance getting Issani out of there alive with just you four rather than a whole army, stealth might be a better bet than brute force"

"I think it's a sound plan" Khelgar retorted, glaring at Neeshka "Phaedra has a couple of spells that might just give us the edge down there"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded, orcs rarely, if ever, used magic. She still had that advantage at least. "And Elanee knows the land and how to stay hidden" Neeshka shrugged, acknowledging herself overruled.

"It's decided then, good" Callum rubbed his beard distractedly "I had hoped you'd agree, because there's something else I really need you to do. Look, I hate to ask this, but you could end this war with a single shot of that bow" He sighed regretfully "It's Logram, he's the centre of all this. Kill him…and this war is over, at least until the orcs fight it out and find another leader, but that could take months. We'll have time to rebuild, to reinforce, to get trade running again. You could save thousands of lives…"

"And throw away our own" Neeshka muttered mutinously.

"If I possibly can" Phaedra promised, nodding determinedly. Killing Logram, that would not be easy, but she had to help these people. Callum was right, thousands of lives did hang in the balance, she had to do it. Also…if she considered it more pragmatically, such a bold action so critical to Neverwinter's success could only increase her standing with the Nine and the Council, perhaps it would be enough to get her into Blacklake "I will try"

"Thank you" Callum saluted respectfully "I sure as hell hope that the Captain appreciates what you're doing out here. I'll have a map done for you by the morning, we've been keeping tabs on the Katalmach and we're quite sure where he is right now"

"We will head out in the morning tomorrow then" Phaedra said…now they could set up camp, get things prepared, discuss this development with Elanee. The Katalmach…she found her thoughts straying to this man, who would he be? Could he help them somehow? But that would be a concern for when they found him, for now…she had to make sure they were ready, for this would be a mission like no other.


	29. Chapter 29

_Whew...that was quick, sorry I'm really on a bit of a roll now with Old Owl Well and decided I may as well put this chapter up right now. Don't worry, you can read at your own pace!_

_Thanks to Gaspode for continuing to review me so comprehensively._

The large, sweeping valley opened up before Phaedra. It formed a long, narrow path walled in on either side by unforgiving sheer rock faces, through which the sunlight of the mountain noontide shone like a beacon, glimmering over the crystalline rock of the cliffs. She, Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee had been travelling from dawn, and they were finally nearing the place this Katalmach was supposed to be, if Callum's map was truly accurate. Phaedra hoped he was near, and would find them soon. They had not yet encountered the orcs, the long journey and the mountains had been silent through this day, but something told her that were they to travel these paths for too long the beasts, who knew them far better than she did, would surely find the small party. She shuddered at the memory of that ferocious charge on Old Owl Well. If the orcs attacked in great numbers as they had then, it would not be possible to hold them off.

"We should move on quickly" Elanee advised insistently, as Phaedra paused for a moment beneath the weight of that thought. "It is not wise to remain in one place, not here"

"Yes, of course" Phaedra pulled her pack higher up on her shoulders, and moved down toward the valley, the others followed. They had left the horses back in the stables at Old Owl Well under Callum's supervision, for the animals' own safety. They would not be all that much help here in the mountains, and could only bring unwanted attention. But Phaedra found herself missing the comforting presence of Mistletoe, not least as she struggled through a whole day of walking onwards under the unforgiving sun.

Suddenly, just as their path began to plunge deeper, Neeshka stopped mid-step, freezing completely still. Phaedra, turning to glance at her with a sudden sense of the pressing threat descending about them, could see her senses straining, her hand slowly moving to the blade at her side…

"What is it fiendling?" Khelgar asked eagerly, his gaze leaping up to scan the cliffs around them, Phaedra's hands ran to her bow slowly, spells stirring in her mind, something was going on…

"I thought I heard something" Neeshka answered softly "Maybe…" Elanee frowned, leaning her head to the side as though straining to hear something on the whispering wind.

At once a bestial roar of rage split the air, split apart the silence of the valley, broke into the wind's tremulous rhythm, a harsh, angry howl that echoed furiously down the valley. Phaedra froze in horror, no…not now…oh Lathander…

"Ambush!" Khelgar roared, drawing his axe from his back, and the first of the orcs appeared from a hidden pathway across the cliffs above, a huge beast, wielding a blood-stained and battered club, his savage gaze fixed upon them. The orc bellowed another defiant war cry, quickly answered by a chorus of savage voices that seemed almost to shake the valley around them. Gods, how many of the orcs could there be here?

"Keep together!" Phaedra found the strength to cry, stringing her bow deftly, and pulling an arrow from her quiver to slot into it. As the first orc began to lope toward them, it was this arrow that cut him down, but quickly more of the beasts poured down the hidden way from the cliff-side, fearsome warriors with an assortment of bloodied weapons, bellowing their battle cries. Khelgar sprinted forward to meet them, Neeshka shadowed him gracefully, her slender blades on hand. Phaedra and Elanee moved in to cover their path, Phaedra cast an array of shimmering bolts of energy into the fray, where Elanee's whispered words brought forth protective light, that gathered around the two front-line combatants. Khelgar engaged a huge warrior, his axe blades caught his foe's strike, then he slammed the hilt down from below, sending the orc to the ground hard, where Khelgar dispatched him quickly. Neeshka agilely slipped from the reach of another orc, her sword darting in to slay him with a swift lunge. Behind her a berserk fighter reared upwards, ready to strike, but Phaedra cut him down with a single arrow, her aim true and deadly. The power of nature shimmered around Elanee as she chanted, she cast forth spells of strength and protection around Khelgar and Neeshka, so that when an orc struck Khelgar a glancing blow, it bounced harmlessly off the layer of protection.

"Lass…more of them!" Khelgar roared, pulling his axe from the dead body of an orc warrior. "Up there on the cliffs!" Phaedra leapt backwards, stifling a cry of horror…another group of the orcs was pouring down from secret positions on the cliffs, a platoon of them, even larger and fiercer than the one they were fighting now…how could they hope to win against these as well? Her spells burned within her as she cast bolts of fire towards one of those remaining from the first attack, the orc screamed brutishly, staggering backwards. Another warrior ran toward her, but her arrow slammed into him, and he collapsed soundlessly, killed at once.

"I can't hold it much longer!" Elanee warned from beside Phaedra, her spells were blazing around Khelgar and Neeshka, protecting them for now, but she was draining what little energy the earth had here, and she couldn't hold on much longer. Phaedra frantically glanced up at the orcs she had just glimpsed. They were moving now, their battle-cries fierce and terrible, no…there was no way they could fight them off too. They were just too many, far too many of them…Gods they had to run! Panic slammed into her like a blow, scattering spells and shards of spells from her mind, she did not know what to do, only one thing, only one thing…run!

"Khelgar" She screamed, staggering back "Neeshka…run! We have to get out of here!" But how could she outrun them? How could any of them even hope to escape? Her spells fled her mind, the only though was to run…and run quickly…Lathander protect them all!

She dimly heard Elanee stumble forwards behind her, Neeshka darted beside them both as they headed furiously for the cliffs beyond them but…where was Khelgar? Surely, he wasn't going to try and fight? She swung backward and saw him…oh Gods, no! He stood facing the horde of orc warriors, his axe set at his side, he couldn't be meaning to fight…not without them! "Khelgar!" she cried, staggering to a halt and gesturing furiously "We have to run! Come on Khelgar! Come on!"

"I'll hold them off!" Khelgar bellowed, turning back to them once, his features grim, black orc blood running down the blades of his axe. "Run! Go!"

"No!" Phaedra fired from where she stood, taking down one of the orcs before they got close to Khelgar, they couldn't leave him, she wouldn't allow it to happen! "Khelgar…!"

"Go lass, go, by the Hells!" Khelgar snarled, heaving his axe "Go!"

At once, just before Phaedra made that fateful move she knew she was about to make, back towards Khelgar and the flood of orcs, another sound echoed down the valley, another note, this time pure and vibrant, vibrating through the rocks as though it were the voice of some angelic creature, the sound of a horn. Phaedra started with shock…this was certainly not more orcs. The orcs' feverish attack ceased instantly, they began to glance around themselves fearfully, drawing their weapons close….they knew this sound, and feared it! Out of the same secret pathways down the cliffs that the orcs had used to ambush Phaedra and her friends, a group of men, humans, some fifty strong, now came. They were warriors all, wielding a huge assortment of different weapons, some nothing more than farming tools converted to a more grisly use, others obviously stolen from slain orcs. Many of them bore trophies as macabre as those the orcs themselves carried, tusks, skulls, all of orcish origin, there were many, many of these trophies. Phaedra knew at once that they had to be the warriors of the Katalmach. Few looked like authentically trained soldiers, but they advanced with clear discipline and courage. At their forefront, clearly in full control of their advance, there was one man, though, who seemed of a completely different calibre. He strode with a strange serenity down the path towards the orcs, wearing armour of a much higher quality than the others, in his hands he bore some sort of warhammer, a vicious weapon he carried with all the deft skill of a highly trained warrior and in his other hand, a shield of wood bound by straps of iron, evidently well-used as well. There was no sign of fear in him, or anger either, nothing but purposeful determination. Could this, then, be the Katalmach himself…?

The group of soldiers, with that man at the forefront, engaged the orcs at a run, but keeping to an obviously well-practiced formation. Weapons clashed, the metal blazing in the noon sunlight. Phaedra ran forward to get in closer, her arrows slicing into the melee to cut the orcs down amongst their foes. Khelgar ran forward to join the fray, his fierce assault buckling into the orcs from behind. The warrior Phaedra had noticed engaged with a particular ferocity, attacking recklessly, without thought for himself or his safety, pushing deeper and deeper into the band of orcs, his hammer cleaving through the creatures, bone and flesh alike, always, despite the boldness of his attack, moving with the same cold purposefulness she had wondered at before. Phaedra fired an arrow into one of the foes he nearly missed, slaying the orc instantly, he glanced up at her, and eyes of a startling icy blue met her own, then he dived back into the conflict with renewed fervour. At last the orcs, roaring their defiance, began to flee, scattering back towards the cliffs, and the Katalmach raised a hand, barking an abrupt order to stop his warriors pursuing, an order they instantly and unquestioningly obeyed.

Phaedra ran over quickly, so she had found the Katalmach after all, or he had found them it seemed, and he had saved their lives. She had to talk to him. Neeshka and Elanee walked on after her, and Khelgar came to meet them halfway. When she reached the battle site, the Katalmach's warriors were already gathering up their wounded and their dead, as well as the weapons formerly wielded by their foes in an obviously well-drilled manoeuvre. They were, most of them, farmers, with the tanned countenances and weather-stained skin of their profession, though they all held themselves with the toughness of trained combatants, or those who had lost much to war. Their commander, however, stood slightly apart, a strange regretful stillness in his posture, he looked up to the sky, but his thoughts were evidently on something else, something which brought a bleak austerity to his features. But he turned to them as they moved over, and Phaedra found herself face to face with the man called the Katalmach.

His eyes, light blue like shards of ice and glittering like glass, were again the first thing she noticed, they were intensely focused, clear and sharp, set in an aquiline face, clearly indicating that, despite the circumstances, this man was descendent of one of the highest noble families, his prominent cheekbones, high and cut to a crystalline sharpness, were another indicator of an august ancestry. His dark hair that was drawn back from his forehead, neatly and functionally trimmed in the manner of a soldier, and his skin, under a somewhat uncertain tan obviously gained recently here in the mountains was naturally almost as pale as Phaedra's own. He seemed to be about 30, a very tall man, and broad across the shoulder, a practiced warrior evidently, but he had an air of dignity and nobility about him which seemed incongruous to a man of blood. His armour was of the highest quality, plate metal, Phaedra saw, though she knew little of metalcraft, but he bore its weight easily.

"The orcs are deadly foes" he said slowly, his voice was deep and rich, palpably calming "But I am glad to see that we arrived in time to aid you"

"Are you…the one they call the Katalmach?" Phaedra asked, feeling young and quite uncertain of herself in a way she had not for quite some time under that gaze.

"I am Casavir" He nodded gravely "But the orcs speak of me by that name, yes"

"He's a paladin" Neeshka muttered sharply from Phaedra's side "I'd know that…aura anywhere…" Phaedra could barely restrain a gasp of surprise and awe…the paladins were near-legendary holy warriors, champions of the benign deities such as Tyr or Ilmater and pure warriors of virtue. So that explained Casavir's skill in combat and leadership, as well as, perhaps, the sense of deep inner strength he radiated.

"I assume you were looking for me if that name is known to you" Casavir continued levelly "None travel these mountains without good reason, especially now" He gazed at her for a moment, until she realised finally that he in fact was waiting for her to introduce herself in turn.

"My name is Phaedra, Phaedra Blake" She answered quickly, his presence was somewhat…overawing. "And this is Neeshka and Khelgar, and Elanee… they are my friends" Casavir glanced at each of them in turn, his gaze lingered longest on Neeshka, but he remained impassive, showing neither shock nor condemnation at the fact she was a tiefling. "We're here to find the Waterdhavian Ambassador to Neverwinter…Issani." Phaedra said carefully. "It seems he might have been captured by an orc chieftain, Logram"

"You are a strange fellowship to be in Neverwinter's service" Casavir remarked "But I do know of Logram…there are few in these mountains that do not"

"We were hoping…that is, I had been told that you might know where Logram's cave is" Phaedra continued "I have been instructed to rescue the Ambassador…and kill Logram" Casavir paused for a moment, those clear, sharp eyes, so astonishingly light and blue, settled on hers, and she too fell silent, awed by the solemn strength in them. He seemed to search her face for a moment, for something hidden in her perhaps, but, if he found it, he gave nothing away.

"I see" He answered at last "I do know the location of that monster Logram's lair, and if you strike at him, you will have my aid." He glanced away, up into the mountains "We are exposed here, my lady. Our camp lies only a few leagues to the west, it will perhaps be safer to discuss our next move there, if you agree" Phaedra nodded slowly, trying to hide her surprise to be addressed as 'my lady', even his speech had that same quality of quiet but undeniable authority and solemnity. "Let us be off then, it is not wise to linger here"

oooo0000oooo

"I don't trust him" Neeshka muttered, settling down by the fire in the midst of the camp Casavir's warriors seemed to have erected on a sheltered plateau "You can't trust holy warriors" Phaedra glanced around quickly, hoping no one was listening in. It had been already made abundantly clear that few, if any, of Casavir's soldiers trusted them in turn. It seemed this was because they served Neverwinter, though the root of their enmity remained a mystery to her. No one had said anything openly of course, not with Casavir standing by her the whole way, his presence a beacon of commanding security, but she'd sensed that they resented revealing the location of their base to outsiders. It was certainly a well-hidden place, sheltered in a deep bowl of rock at the heights of the mountainside, accessed solely by a single narrow path up the cliffs, though she did not doubt that these hardy mountain people had many other escape routes prepared if necessary. They'd erected tents, well-built but clearly portable, and the community seemed to be highly organised and seamlessly functional, was this all Casavir's doing?

"And they say I have irrational prejudices" Khelgar grunted, pattering over to where the others were just in time to hear Neeshka's remark. They were being given a wide berth by the warriors, while Casavir himself seemed to be conversing with his lieutenants on the other side of the camp.

"What?" Neeshka rounded on the dwarf. "Men like him have hunted me since I was ten years old…besides he's hiding something…"

"What do you mean?" Phaedra glanced at her, surprised. She trusted Neeshka's instincts, but…Casavir had seemed so reliable to her. Even now, when he stood some distance from her, she still felt that undeniable sense of…protective force in his presence.

"I mean, what's he really doing here?" Neeshka said "This isn't the kind of place you find paladins, believe me"

"Well, fighting the orcs does seem like a righteous mission" Phaedra glanced across the fire at where Casavir stood…he did seem at odds with his surroundings perhaps.

"So why isn't he with the Greycloaks then?" Neeshka asked "What's he really got against Neverwinter?"

"He seems reasonable" Elanee put in, shrugging elegantly "Why not just ask him?"

"Oh no, not me" The tiefling shook her head adamantly "I'm the fiendling, remember? The hellspawn…"

"I could talk to him" Phaedra said, glancing once again across the camp to where Casavir stood…well, perhaps Neeshka really was right that Casavir's presence here was strange but she couldn't believe that he was hiding some dark secret, as her friend seemed to be suggesting. It just didn't seem right…not him…

"Handsome, isn't he?" Elanee murmured

"Well…she certainly can't take her eyes off him" Neeshka grumbled in a stage whisper. Phaedra recoiled instantly, tearing her gaze away from Casavir as fast as she could to glare at the two of them resentfully, but even so she couldn't stop the blood treacherously rushing to her cheeks.

"He's helping us, that's all" She fumed.

"Okay, sure" Neeshka nodded sarcastically, as Khelgar roared with laughter and even Elanee sniggered behind her hand. "Why don't you just go over there then and…talk?" The way she said it, it sounded like…honestly, this was ridiculous!

"Fine, then…" Phaedra stood huffily, brushing down her gown "I will" Within a few steps, though, her determination faded as she felt the eyes of almost every one of Casavir's followers bore suspiciously into her as she made her way slowly and carefully across their camp. Plus, there was the issue of what to say to Casavir himself. She could hardly just confront him and ask for the truth outright; that would be horribly discourteous. And after what Neeshka had just suggested…by Lathander, there wasn't a grain of truth in it, except maybe that Casavir really was quite handsome, but it wasn't like that really meant anything, not to her at least. Oh great, now her thoughts were in a complete muddle, and it was all Neeshka's fault. And she had just reached Casavir and she had absolutely nothing to say now, and she was going to make a complete fool of herself. But thankfully, as she glanced up, she saw that Casavir was still speaking with one of his lieutenants, the only female warrior in his rugged band, Katriona, she had introduced herself as earlier. Neither of them seemed to notice her waiting, so she decided it best to keep silent for a moment while she composed herself.

"Sir…we have suffered losses…but I will ready the men for an assault on Logram's tribe" Katriona was saying, as Phaedra drew up to them. Clearly a veteran of both battle and grief in these mountains, she held herself with an assured confidence and grim determination, ready to fight…even to die, perhaps, at the word of her commander. Casavir commanded strong allegiance, and Phaedra could see why. Though he was sober, almost bleak, the paladin nonetheless had the presence, the stature of the kind which radiated strength, at once physical and spiritual, so that it would be easy to lay your fears aside and follow.

"No Katriona, not this time" Casavir answered "In this we shall be better served by a small group, by stealth. Logram shall never be overcome by what force you or I can muster here…"

"Sir…Casavir" Katriona glanced up into his face, a fierce loyalty in her eyes "Let me come with you at least. I know what you're up against. I've seen Logram's hordes, so have you, and they want your blood…"

"No…" Casavir shook his head sombrely "Katriona, I trust you with my life, but here, I cannot allow you to join with us" Phaedra glanced between the two of them carefully, trying to puzzle out their relationship. Katriona obviously cared deeply for her commander, but Casavir was distant, even to her. Phaedra sensed something in the paladin, something deeper than the steadfast strength he radiated, something which brought that bleakness to his features. What had he lost?

"Why?" Katriona protested "We should be the ones to go with you. Your comrades, your warriors, to the death!"

"Katriona, Logram must be stopped and Phaedra is here to accomplish that" Casavir replied "But we may fail and if we do the orcs will unleash a fury upon these mountains that will threaten even the garrison at Old Owl must take the others and go to Old Owl Well, warn Commander Callum what we plan to do…"

"Casavir…" Katriona pleaded

"If we fail…" Casavir continued implacably "I have to know the Fort is under your protection…do you understand me Katriona? If I die, Old Owl Well is the last hope against these monsters"

"Gods, Casavir..." Katriona murmured sadly, then she straightened and saluted, the dutiful lieutenant once again "I will do it, sir, then, if that is what you require of me but by Torm and Tyr, don't you dare let that beast have the satisfaction of killing you" At once she turned on Phaedra, the thinly veiled hostility in her glinting blue eyes clear and hard. Phaedra stepped back, excuses leaping to her lips for being caught effectively eavesdropping but Katriona had no time for it anyway "I hope you know what you are getting into half-elven" She said coolly "But if Neverwinter relies on you, who am I to argue?"

"Neverwinter relies on me, yes" Phaedra lowered her head, but her gaze remained fixed on Katriona "And so I shall see this through, I will do everything I can to stop this monster and his army"

"We'll see" Katriona murmured mutinously "You don't know what these monsters are, what they do…I doubt you have what it takes…"

"Katriona!" Casavir interrupted, raising his voice only slightly but it was enough to silence Katriona completely. When he spoke again, it was in the same measured, authoritative way he usually did. "Enough, Phaedra is here to help us."

"Very well sir" Katriona stepped back instantly, but even so Phaedra could see the strain in her self-control as she contemplated where her commander was to go. If even Katriona feared Logram's lair so, did Phaedra even have a chance there? "Look out for yourself Casavir…and you…" She glanced at Phaedra quickly, but less confrontationally "Keep him safe" With the she turned and walked away, with enough haste in her step to make it clear that she feared to stay a moment longer, unless her anxiety broke through entirely.

"Are your companions readied?" Casavir turned to Phaedra, immediately moving to the practical concerns of their mission, hiding anything Katriona's words had made him feel deep within. Phaedra thought it best not to disturb them, so nodded and tried to make herself focus similarly on what was important right now.

"You're coming with us, then?" She said

"Indeed" Casavir nodded slowly "You shall have little chance of finding Logram without my aid, even less of getting through to him unharmed. You fight well, all of you, but he is ruthless and merciless, you shall need my guidance and my blade" He lifted his hammer slowly, but somehow, despite the fearful reminder of what was to come in his words, Phaedra found herself deeply reassured that, whatever happened, Casavir's devotion to their cause would see them through. She vaguely recalled having come over to ask him something, but in the face of his grim determination it was forgotten. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter anymore. What mattered now was that she place herself under his guidance, whatever came next.


	30. Chapter 30

_Wow...Chapter 30. To mark this historic occasion, and also as a kind of taster of what's to come, I've decided to do something a little different. _

_So this Chapter won't be from Phaedra's point of view, instead it will be from none other than Casavir's! This is kind of experimental, so any comments on whether I've got him right as a character or if it breaks the sort of narrative thread, or whatever. Just any thoughts would be great! _

Leadership was a heavy burden…to be a leader was to know that you bore the weight not simply of your own life, the burden of your own choices, but also the lives, and the choices of others, those who followed you, entrusted their life to your decisions. More than that, though, it was to know that, no matter how much the trials of battle, and of life, and faith, wore you down, to know that you had to keep fighting, had to keep going on, for the sake of those who now relied on you. So, as it quickly became clear that the leader of this eclectic group in Neverwinter's service, was none other than Phaedra Blake herself, Casavir found himself grappling with emotions he had thought long behind him. For there she was, Phaedra Blake who walked on so purposefully along the hard steep path before them, her slender feet seemed to barely touch the rock beneath them, her gown fluttering about her delicately, a muted grey cut to the austere length one almost expected in a priestess rather than a sorcerer, or a young girl perhaps, rather than a leader.

There that was the problem, or, well, one of them; that she seemed so young, though he could never have guessed her age precisely. Partly it was the obvious elven blood, imparting a luminous shine to her hair and features, as well as that enigmatic quality he had always seen in the faces of true elves. It was an enigma her mannerisms seemed to echo, sometimes she embodied the leader, or the sorcerer, speaking confidently to him, to the others, her voice clear, her knowledge precise, her wisdom unquestionable. But at other times, when she laughed, for example, at something the tiefling said, or when she listened, and her slender, pale hand ran to the hair shimmering about her face, touched it lightly, toyed within the strands of red-gold, then drew them away and fell to her side once more, then what was he to make of her, she seemed little more than a girl. It was troubling that she should be the one, sent by Neverwinter, he had known would come eventually. He had vowed to himself that he would aid that one, but at moments like that, it perturbed him that he should be leading her into such danger, though logically he understood that she must possess exceptional gifts to have come this far.

Logic had not guided him for a long time though. Of late it seemed little more than a fatalistic resignation that had led him these past months to these inhospitable, barren wastes…that, or a masochistic longing for self-denial, it wasn't clear, even to him. The last months seemed almost like a waking dream, all his actions, under the promptings of austere duty, had scarcely seemed his own, he could muster no fervour for the cause as he had once done. He had not sought out those who Neverwinter ignorantly called crusaders for his cause, they had come to him, and he had allowed it. If they had chosen to see him as a leader, he had, if ever the thought crossed his mind, let them, but he had been no true leader. For though he watched those in his keeping because it was his duty, he had kept himself entirely distant from them, so that he became more an icon than a man…a role which had suited him eminently. Yet here, walking before him, trying to keep the hem of her gown clear of the dust, was a young girl, a beautiful young girl, who was that which he could never be, a true leader. He had sensed the spark in her from the moment her eyes had met his, the spark that could ignite devotion. It was not simply her beauty, though he had, to his intense shock, become aware of that in a most uncomfortable fashion, he had thought himself long since dead to beauty. No, it was something more, something deeper…but then he would turn to her once more and see only a pretty, delicate young woman with lovely golden hair and wonder where these thoughts came from…

And then she told him her story, he had asked her, with an urgency that seemed almost foreign to his mind, how she had come to be in Neverwinter's service. As he listened, and she spoke in that soft, lilting voice of an attack on her village, of silver shards, Astral creatures, necromancers, her service in the Watch, a tale that seemed almost as miraculous as any he had heard in the days of his instruction at the temple, he found himself searching her features for something he might have missed, a sign that these…incredible experiences had marked her somehow. Sometimes he glimpsed it, a shadow of deep sorrow that dimmed the pale radiance of her features, but still, that she had come through so much unscathed, it astonished him, though he realised that it would have taken someone far more accustomed to his reticence than these four to read the signs of it. Once she had finished he could not quite contain the questions that remained, that he should have had such a strong reaction to this tale was one mystery, though, that would remain his own.

"So" He inclined his head, slowly, unsure whether to look at her again "You have not encountered these astral beings since?"

"No, not yet" Phaedra answered quietly. "I feared they might be waiting outside the city, but…" So, on top of all the risks she was already taking, she was trusting him with all this…what had he truly done to deserve that trust?

"I see" He said "They must be otherwise occupied, perhaps these murders in the Blacklake?" That was one part of her story that had raised a host of questions, he had been absent from Neverwinter for some time, isolated enough that word of these murders had not yet reached him…and hearing it now he could only imagine the furore it was causing in the city. Neverwinter had forgotten him, he had no doubt of that, but still these events, or perhaps it was simply her presence with its troubling associations, stirred the ashes. He found his thoughts straying back to the city, though he had intentionally closed himself off from those memories for some time, still now it seemed so easy to revisit them, and wonder…

"I though, perhaps, it was them" Phaedra nodded. The slight movement stirred the light rippling through her hair, sending a gleam of red shimmering through each strand. The simple motion held such a startling beauty that his thoughts were caught, drawn back from the past and into the present of their journey, and of her tale.

"And yet…" He answered slowly, recapturing an earlier thought with some difficulty "Were it not for the attack on West Harbour…the demonic traces you speak of would lead me to suspect others, perhaps even Luskan. But even the Hostower would find it difficult to infiltrate the Blacklake, especially under the state of alert you describe…"

"You know the Blacklake?" Phaedra turned, a clear note of surprise in her voice. So she had guessed at the source of the regret behind his words, she was perceptive, nor did she have any reason to hide her feelings as he did. Beside the clarity of her innocence, he felt the weight of his own silence.

"I do" He said simply "It was my home once" She fell silent, sensitive to his reluctance to speak of this further. He could never have found the words to begin to tell of his past, though why that should seem like a burden, now, with her…he could not say.

"Still, this brings us no closer to working out why they have acted as they have" The elf, Elanee, Phaedra had called her, stepped lightly up next to Casavir, broadening elegantly a conversation that had hitherto been largely two-sided. The paladin glanced quickly at the druid, wondering if she had sensed the unease Phaedra's query about the Blacklake had brought him. Certainly Elanee was an unexpected presence, few druids would have travelled so openly with adventurers, nor would one expect one of their number to have come from Neverwinter, but Casavir could see instantly that she and Phaedra shared a strong connection. Was it because Phaedra also bore elven blood…no it was something deeper than that. "If these murders are the work of the Astral Beings, I must wonder to their purpose" The elf continued.

"As to that…" Casavir nodded, it was an important point… "I cannot help you" Elanee clearly had some insight, it would be wise to listen to her. The thought came almost automatically, presuming that he should join this journey of theirs…a prospect that moved him unexpectedly.

"Whatever they're after, we can stop them" Khelgar proclaimed assertively, and Phaedra smiled gently at the dwarf, a smile that accepted his assurance for what it was, but did not necessarily share his confidence, her eyes still showed a shadow of anxiety.

"I mean to see you return from these mountains successful…" Casavir said, wanting to hearten her "Once you have, I am certain your Captain will allow you to enter the Blacklake…and from there on, Tyr will surely guide your way"

"Well…that would be nice, for a change" The tiefling, Neeshka, murmured irreverently. "So far we haven't seen much sign of him"

"Neeshka!" Phaedra gasped, glancing guiltily to Casavir. He shook his head lightly, and smiled. Her concern was…charming, but he had heard far worse in his time…seen far worse…oh Tyr, how did she do this? Her every word, the smallest action, somehow contrived to awaken thoughts of his past, stir him from the ashen state of grim resignation in which he had walked for so long.

"Ah…" As his gaze swept upwards he at last caught the signs, welcoming the distraction…the jagged peak before them, almost skeletal in its sharp, jagged contours through which the bright, almost blinding, sun blazed as it sank slowly in the sky, the cliffs white and unforgiving. He knew this place… "We are there…" He said slowly "Logram's lair is just beyond the pass" So, at last he was here, he had known from the beginning that one day he would come to this place, that one day he would face Logram and his tribe, but he could never have anticipated the comrades he would have at his side now that the day was here.

"What?" Neeshka gasped, stepping back hesitantly…the tiefling hadn't seemed quite to grasp the reality of their situation, until now. "Already?" Phaedra leant over, laid a gentle hand on her friend's arm, as Neeshka glanced up to her worriedly, she gave a comforting smile.

"We'll be okay" She said softly "We fight together, and we can win here"

"Yeah…right" Neeshka answered with a growing confidence, a slight smile touching her lips in return "We've fought all those undead right? This can't be harder than that" Casavir's eyes rested on the both of them, so this was true leadership, that smile, the words that would put their fears to rest, knowing how to speak, knowing how to draw from others courage they might not even know existed, but you saw from the beginning. Phaedra was…extraordinary…

"So…what next?" Khelgar hefted his axe, interrupting the solemn moment. "A full-on assault?"

"No…" Casavir glanced away, examining the cold, white cliffs with a sweeping glance. He knew this area well…had made sure he did, and he knew too how Logram chose to defend it. "There are numerous entryways, Logram is thorough, and mistrustful, they are all heavily defended." He explained quietly, attempting to visualise the pass ahead, anything he could do to help… "But there is one, a small exit, they use it for refuse, it is less heavily defended than the others"

"You mean we'll be charging in through an orc rubbish dump?" Khelgar's beard bristled with outrage "Some kind of back exit? My clan would be outraged…!"

"Khelgar…" Phaedra sighed, shaking her head slowly. Here was another kind of problem entirely to the tiefling, but Casavir found himself intrigued as to how she would reign in his exuberance. "How many of your clan have ever stormed the stronghold of an orc chieftain with only five soldiers? Surely, however we accomplish it…it will be something they would be proud of?"

"I guess so" Khelgar conceded grudgingly "As long as we don't tell them about this part"

"Okay then" Phaedra lifted her head, met Casavir's gaze, her beautiful green eyes shimmering "Are you sure this exit is not a trap?" A possibility he had not considered, could it be that this girl from a Mere village had some kind of instinctive understanding of tactics?

"It is our only chance" He answered frankly "We are about to enter the lair of a king of orcs, he has a thousand of his kind at his ready call…should he become aware of us, he will have no mercy" A tremor ran across Phaedra's features at his words, a simple sign that she was more afraid than she had given the slightest indication of, but her control of it, for her friends' sake, had been formidable. He saw her hand move to her neck, around which a protective amulet, hung with the symbol of Lathander, was drawn with simple twine, she touched it lightly. Lathander…somehow that seemed appropriate. He was a God of light and she seemed sometimes more light than substance, a spiritual creature…Gods, what was he thinking? Such ridiculous notions, what would she think if she could hear them?

"It will be alright" He said, making sure his voice seemed distant, as a kind of obscure penance "I will be at your side." He had thought, once, that in slaying Logram he might find some kind of salvation, but here she was…and her words, her story, had enthused in him a shadow of the fervour he remembered feeling once for Tyr's cause. Could it be…that the Gods intended something different for him, for the both of them? That he should find his redemption through her…through this journey that she spoke of? If there were a chance, if there were the slightest hint of a chance, he would not allow himself to fail.


	31. Chapter 31

_Hi, it's another mammoth chapter I'm afraid, rather in the tradition of the opening chapters to this story. But I'm hoping if you got this far with my story, it doesn't bother you so much. I hope I'm not going into too much detail with everything here, perhaps not all of it is quite necessary, but I'm kind of a novelist at heart I guess (not that I've written anything actually of course) and I like the context to be fully established. Perhaps if anyone had suggestions for how they would select important pieces of the story to be written it might be a good idea to speak now or for ever hold your peace with the long chapters. Anyway I'm rambling a bit..._

_Warning...possibly disturbing implications every now and then here. I was trying to conjure up the sense of danger that being an adventuring woman like Phaedra might actually be like._

_Thanks to The Daring Hat Trick, and Gaspode for reviews, and voltagelisa for more helpful discussions._

Deep, deep in the darkness, the walls of the cave seemed to close in around them. This place was a stone maze, dark and chill, branching tunnels splayed out in every direction and the air was rank with the stench of the orcish kind. The creatures had made use of every crevice and tunnel in this huge, impenetrable fortress, and a fortress it was, for no army could ever hope to dislodge the orcs from these tunnels, where ambush could come from every shadowed corridor. Yet here they were, five of them, standing against the orc hordes, and against this monstrous king Logram, who had forged the tribes into a weapon in his hands. Magic, stealth and sheer good fortune had got them this far, from that small back entrance where Phaedra's arrows had struck down the sentries before they were even aware that they were near, then deeper into these tunnels, where Neeshka and Elanee's abilities had been the greatest help, Elanee listening to the stone itself, Neeshka guiding them through the shadows, and along tunnels where they would not run into orcs. It seemed that hour after hour went by, with her senses strained and her nerves at a knife edge, her heart pounding in her chest. Her magic had to be within touching distance, to be recalled if ever they ran into the orcs, spells to silence them, to hold them in place, to kill. But thanks to some gracious fate, they encountered few of the creatures wandering the corridors, perhaps, as Phaedra found herself slowly beginning to suspect, Logram had emptied these halls in order to prepare another assault on the Fort at Old Owl Well.

Casavir seemed to have the same thought, for his countenance grew grim in the flickering, uncertain light of the greasy torches that were hung irregularly along the cave passageways. Where her magic had failed, where they had unexpectedly come toward a solitary orc sentry, his fierce warhammer had been swift to rectify the mistake. In this fetid gloom, she felt the strength of his presence so much more palpably, it was more than simply his indomitable courage, there was something otherwordly, spiritual about his aura, a touch of courage as though from the hand of Tyr itself, and it buoyed up her faltering spirit, and gave her the courage she needed to go on into the darkness. She wondered if all paladins had such a gift…perhaps it explained how revered they were. That she should be walking alongside one of these vaunted figures still brought her a thrill of astonishment, even through the pressing terror of their descent into the orc caves. But she knew she had to concentrate, Casavir could not do this alone, he was relying on her to be ready when the time came.

Deeper, closer into the shadows their steady footsteps drew them, and closer to the orc king, for they began to pass hordes of treasure and tokens, weapons, armour, gold, kept here to glut Logram's avarice. The walls this far below were occasionally hung with a tapestry of unearthly splendour, whatever the creatures had taken over their long history of pillaging, some she recognised as elven and, by Khelgar's reaction, some were dwarven work as well. Phaedra found herself instinctively clasping her bow close, an arrow in hand…the final confrontation she had waited for so fearfully was drawing near.

"We are close" Casavir confirmed it suddenly, and his voice, though quiet, rang out in the silence of dread and anticipation, making Phaedra start with shock. "Listen…" The sound of orc voices sounded from just nearby, raised in anger, and echoing down into the recesses of the tunnel, was it really Logram, at last?

"He is not alone" Elanee observed softly, her voice did not even quaver, though beside her Phaedra was fighting with the icy chill touch of fear the brutish sounds from beyond the tunnels awoke.

"Guards, or perhaps his captains" Casavir answered, with the same unearthly calm as her "We may have the chance to slay some of the orcs' greatest warriors as well" He turned to Phaedra, and lowered his head, his icy blue eyes held her own, glinting in the torchlight, and she felt the grip of terror ease. "Are you ready?" He said "This will be no easy fight and I think your spells may be our greatest weapon" Elanee nodded her agreement. Her spells, though she did possess some that could turn nature's power against a foe, were largely to heal and defend, not to kill, but Phaedra's were an arsenal of weapons that could sweep aside even a ferocious orc chieftain like Logram…

"Yes…" She managed to whisper to answer, marshalling her will. She had expended much of her power already to get them this far, but she was very much aware that just one spell could be enough to turn the tide, to end the tyranny of this orc king and the torment of Old Owl Well and its people.

"If anyone asked me, which they haven't" Neeshka shook her head with clear frustration "I'd say that we're trying to get about this completely the wrong way. If we wait until Logram's on his own, one strike from the shadows will end it all"

"What?" Khelgar snarled "Like some sneaking assassin? Like a tiefling? Who do you think you're travelling with lass? I'm Khelgar Ironfist, and I never back down from a straight fight!"

"Even Logram deserves to be slain honourably in battle, not by the knife of an assassin" Casavir nodded slowly "We are acting here for justice, not vengeance"

"You're twice the fool then!" Neeshka snapped "What does any of that matter if it gets us slaughtered down here?"

"We don't have the time to wait" Phaedra put in, as gently as she could "Logram is planning something, planning another assault. We have to stop him now, before it is too late"

"You're siding with them…" Neeshka snapped but then she paused, and sighed "But I guess you're right, if Old Owl Well is destroyed, where's our reward going to come from?"

"Then, it is time" Phaedra nodded grimly, this was the only way…

oooo00000oooo

Across the great stone hall, a towering space adorned with vast, looming formations of rock and piled with fabulous riches looted by the orcs they faced him, Logram, a massive orc male, evidently in his fighting prime. He wore heavy armour, a set of chainmail with intimidating spines over his shoulders and back, and he glared at the five of them with unbridled rage in his ferocious red eyes. His tusks were large and dirty and he carried a vast double-sided axe, which was stained with the blood of old enemies. And he was certainly not alone, surrounding him were seven orc warriors or chieftains, some almost as large as he was. It appeared as though they had been interrupted in the midst of some kind of war council, but each orc had his weapons on hand, and was glaring fiercely down the hall toward the intruders, waiting only for the word of their king to unleash their bestial fury.

"What is this?" Logram roared ferociously "Neverwinter dare not face me in honest battle, their grey whelps cower behind fortress walls, but here they send assassins to kill me…" He was articulate, for an orc, Phaedra found the thought floating unbidden in the dazed fog of fear she faced, as his gaze passed over them all once again "Not merely assassins…" His lips drew back in a cruel smile "Women, and a runt with an axe…am I to take this as some kind of tribute? If so..." His roving eye settled on Phaedra, and his teeth glinted "I will gladly accept"

"No Logram, you have sealed your own fate with your brutality" Casavir gazed steadily back against the hatred of the orcs, calm, but with the barely imperceptible tightening of his posture that spoke of his readiness for battle "And we have come to execute that fate"

"Ah, so here is a fighting man" Logram turned slowly to Casavir, his bestial eyes widened suddenly as they focused upon him. "The Katalmach…" He breathed hoarsely, but quickly recovered himself. "So the time has come." He said, running a finger down the blade of his axe "I knew that you would end up split on my axe, I had simply not realised it would be so soon"

"That is for the Gods, and for our strength, to decide" Casavir answered

"You had best justify the fear my warriors have of you, or this will be sorely disappointing" The orc king laughed brutally "But come, I think the time for words has passed now. Let us see whose Gods, and whose blades, are stronger" He hefted his huge axe up over his shoulder. "The rest of them are yours to do as you wish, but keep that pretty one at the front alive for me...the one with the golden hair" The orc king murmured, as the seven warriors around him readied themselves, Phaedra stepping back with horror "The Katalmach is mine to kill"

Everything happened so fast after that…Phaedra, breaking free of the grip of Logram's cold, harsh words, conjured a blaze of fire which seared toward the orc king, but he leapt out of the way with a speed no human could ever match, and the spell slammed into the cave wall behind him, exploding in a ball of fire that dissipated instantly. "Ah" Logram roared viciously "So she is a witch...!" His seven captains advanced and Khelgar and Neeshka ran to meet them, their weapons glimmering with an unearthly light in the glow of the torches. Elanee flung out her hand, whispering conjurations that summoned a burst of acidic energy, one of the warriors went down instantly, screaming in agony. Then Logram and Casavir met like two elemental forces unleashed within the centre of the hall, the orc's axe slammed into the paladin's hammer with the ringing sound of blazing metal beat into the forge. Casavir parried, looping up his hammer, but Logram swung the hilt of his double-sided axe and slammed the paladin's strike away. Quickly Phaedra tore her gaze away from the fierce confrontation, turning back to her own foes. In answer to her terse, quick directions, her power blazed within, searing out from her in a crackling, shimmering loop of electricity that snapped into the nearest of Logram's captains who crashed backwards against the stone wall, lightning dancing over his flesh and armour.

Neeshka feinted forward, her opponent took the bait and lunged to meet her, but she was already leaping out of the way. Her short sword slid between the joints of his armour and an animalistic howl of pain burst forth from his throat, but the cut, which would have killed any human, was not enough, and he pulled forth his spear to attack her again. Khelgar met two of the captains on their own terms, bludgeoning and battering against their blades with as much strength as he could muster, holding his own despite their fierce strikes. Phaedra drew back her bow, her arrow cut down Neeshka's persistent enemy, but another of the captains quickly rose to engage her. Casavir and Logram fought relentlessly and viciously in the centre of the room, Logram swung ferociously, his axe clashed against Casavir's hammer, wrenching it downwards…Casavir swung back his shield and slammed it towards the orc's head, but Logram quickly parried, then Casavir responded just as swiftly, their speed was dizzying! Phaedra let fly another arrow, which slammed into one of Logram's captains, killing him instantly. Khelgar was dealing as well with his two opponents, he knew how to take advantage of their brutish rage, and Elanee's spells wound around her like a shimmering orb of light, she faced the last of the captains, her sickle shimmering ardently, as though it blazed with all the fury of nature, and she was cutting into his defences with a grace and speed he could not match. One after another these fierce orc captains went down, they were skilled fighters, ferocious, driven by rage and strength, but they could never have hoped to combat the fury of Phaedra's magic as well as the others' attacks. Phaedra found herself aghast at the destructive power she wielded, it was growing stronger, of that she was certain…what horrors could she unleash before this journey was over?

But the battle was not done yet, Logram and Casavir still fought their pitched duel, one striving against the other, and they fought like demons…all of the orc's fierce strength and fury pounding into Casavir's superbly trained defence and offence, he had a block against Logram's every attack, lunging, parrying, his hammer and shield as much extensions of his body as weapons with such a swiftness and skill that Logram's slower weapon could barely respond. But the orc was cunning, he went down, feigning weakness, and Casavir moved in, but then Logram was up, his axe swinging into Casavir's shield with splintering force.

"Will you bring your women in to finish me?" Logram hissed, as he and Casavir were held in a taut balance, hammer against the shaft of the axe, but Logram's hand forcing Casavir's shield down "Now they have made fine work of the other chieftains"

"No Logram" Casavir's voice, though straining as much as his arms, still had that same quality, such an authority that the others, ready to move in and finish the orc off, stopped abruptly "You will die by my hand, I shall give you that small mercy at least"

"You're a fool then!" Logram suddenly broke free, his axe snapping upward, breaking the hold of Casavir's hammer, slamming it backwards and upwards, and the paladin staggered back, but his shield was quickly forced upwards to block the blow "Use what advantages you have, Katalmach!" Logram snarled "When you are dead, they will live to regret your folly!"

"Watch out!" Phaedra screamed suddenly. The orc king's free hand darted downwards, drawing from his belt a long and jagged dagger, which he raised to attack, Casavir flung his shield outwards, the dagger slipped downwards, glancing over his shoulder and between the joints of his armour, Phaedra screamed…but Casavir made no sound, his hammer was already swinging, taking advantage of the orc's momentary lapse in his defences. It crashed into Logram's side, and they all heard ribs splinter agonisingly, Logram cried out, a roar of pain so violent that the walls of the cave seemed to shake…he fell backwards, his axe cluttering to the floor, his hand clasped to his side…Casavir turned the hammer round, raised it upward for the killing blow.

"You bested me Katalmach, but you won't live to savour your hollow victory" Logram snarled, blood trickling down over his lips "My tribe will not rest until I am avenged"

"Wait!" Phaedra ran over. She didn't want to face that terrible spectacle, the orcish king shuddering and coughing up the vestiges of his life, Casavir standing over with the authority of Kelemvor himself, but she had to know what Logram did "Wait!" she gasped, leaning over the dying orc, staving off a wave of nausea that threatened to topple her. "The Ambassador from Waterdeep…where is he? What did you do to him?"

"You foolish little human girl" Logram coughed, his eyes were barely focused on her, but they glinted with cruel amusement nonetheless. "They will take your flesh and turn you into a walking puppet, you, and all these others. The one you seek is deep, deeper into the shadows, where my warriors do not go. They keep him fast, as they will keep you, they like the mageborn, yes…"

"Who are they?" Phaedra leant closer, staggered by his words, the orc's voice was fading as was that fierce gleam of life in his eyes.

"That, you will find out, soon" Logram hissed "And you will wish, that I had been the one to…"

"Enough…" Casavir stated with a brutal finality, leaning forward to lay a hand on Phaedra's shoulder, and gently pulling her back from Logram "He shall suffer no longer. It is time to finish this. May your Gods deal with you as you deserve Logram"

Phaedra shielded her face as the hammer swept downwards with all the inevitability of death itself. Even so she could not block out that last, terrible roar of rage and agony as Casavir struck, that final scream of defiance, which at last faded into nothing, along with the life of the tyrant of Old Owl Well.

When she looked upwards again, it was over. Logram's corpse was drained of life but blood still trickled sluggishly over the stone floor. The orc's sightless eyes gazed upwards, that horrible defiant sneer contorted by the rigor of death into something horrifying. Casavir stepped backwards, breathing heavily, and his hand passed lightly over the straps of his breastplate, unfastening them over his right shoulder. Phaedra gasped with dismay, leaping upwards. The tunic he wore beneath his armour was stained with a spreading blot of dark blood, seeping down from the wound on his shoulder.

"By the Heavens, Casavir!" Phaedra gasped. She quickly stumbled over to examine the wound carefully. It was deep, and she couldn't doubt that Logram's blade had been dirty; the jagged edge of the dagger might have been devastating. She pressed against it to stop the bleeding, trying to remember what she'd learned from Merring.

"Here…" Casavir gently pried her hand from his shoulder "Let me, Tyr will provide" He pressed his palm against the wound, wincing slightly, and muttered something under his breath, something Phaedra suddenly realised was a prayer. She had forgotten what he could do. A warmth and a glimmer of golden light appeared beneath Casavir's hand, and, as she watched transfixed, the wound, an open, weeping sore, healed before her eyes, the tattered remains of skin healing, linking together, mending, leaving nothing more than a rip in the cloth of the tunic over Casavir's smooth, sculpted shoulder.

When it was done, she glanced up slowly and met his steel-blue eyes. He looked back into hers, and she glimpsed for a moment once again that devastation which lay beyond the calm, collected exterior of the paladin, a shadow deep within his eyes, and a pain which did not fade. But what he saw in her, she could not tell…

"If you've got your eyes back, we have a serious problem!" Neeshka, blunt as ever, interrupted sharply, Phaedra flushed and looked away. Casavir moved backwards and glanced questioningly at the tiefling. "Orcs, and they're on their way…fast" Phaedra gasped, she could suddenly hear the sound of running footsteps echoing in the rocks "Likely Logram's death has them all coming here, so we had better get out of here right now!"

"Look" Elanee exclaimed, pointing out into the depths of the room "There!" Just beyond Logram's throne there was another tunnel, a tunnel unlike any of the others they had travelled before. It seemed as though the darkness was thicker within it, the shadows deeper, but it was empty. No sound came from the cavernous depths, no footsteps echoing on the rocks…

"Deep, deeper into the shadows…" Phaedra whispered, was this were they would find the Ambassador? Casavir glanced at her meaningfully and nodded "We have to take it" she added quickly

"What?" Khelgar spluttered "Run, and into that hole!"

"It's our only chance!" Phaedra pulled up her bow, forcing new strength into her limbs, magic drained her so fast. She staggered forwards, and Casavir, Neeshka and Elanee quickly ran after her, with Khelgar bringing up the rear. They launched themselves into the darkness, to where the shadow lay deepest, to where the nameless danger which Logram's last breaths had invoked lay in wait…

ooo0000ooo

Lathander…the horror of it, the mind struggled to contain itself faced with something so vile. The smell hit you first, the stench of death that lay heavy upon the dry, cold oppressive air of the cave, and the smell of rot, and decay, but it was nothing to what met the eyes here. The five of them stood now in a small antechamber, a narrow, claustrophobic room that was lit with flickering, ghoulish torchlight, and they were not alone here, not by any means. A hive of sightless eyes, dead eyes glimmered in that torchlight, gazing soullessly heavenward as though begging for redemption. Bodies, corpses…orc and man alike, laid with the same brutal callousness on wooden carts that were driven up against the walls, the bodies simply stacked up in piles, side by side, almost as if to be prepared for something. Clothed in the tatters of shrouds and their tunics, they were a horrible sight, though it was obvious few had lain here for very long, and they had yet to be touched visibly by decay.

"By Tyr, I recognise…I know these men and women" Casavir groaned, staring horrified at a group of human bodies lain out wrapped in the tattered remnants of simple shrouds, many bore the marks of war on their corpses "They served with me, but Gods. I saw their bodies buried, I made sure of it!"

"Someone dug them up and brought them here?" Elanee gasped, appalled.

"And with orcs too?" Khelgar shook his head "This is not a tomb…"

"Lathander…" Phaedra whispered, she felt sick, the stench of decay rank in her nostrils but she steadied herself, an icy suspicion creeping painfully up her spine. This horror meant only one thing…

"Whoever has done this…" Casavir's grip on his hammer was so tight his knuckles were white, his voice quivered with anger "Whoever has defiled these bodies, my comrades, I swear by Tyr that they shall find justice under my hammer!"

"Oh no" Neeshka stepped backwards fearfully "We can't do this again, I know what's through there, what's waiting, we all do."

"Where do we go then?" Khelgar snapped "Orcs right behind us, there's only one way and that's forward!"

"I will not allow this defilement to go unpunished!" Casavir whirled round, a fierce, barely controlled anger breaking through his guarded calm "I owe it to them…we must stop this!"

"Stop!" Phaedra raised her hand, her voice echoed through the darkness, and the all of them instantly fell silent. She waited a moment, collecting her thoughts and catching her breath, then she glanced between the four of them "We have to go onwards, you know that Neeshka, and the Ambassador, if Logram was telling the truth, is down here as well. Casavir, I understand your convictions, and I share them" She nodded, the Morninglord would want her to purge this horrific sacrilege "But we must be cautious…"

"Yes, of course, my lady" Casavir shook his head, taking a deep breath, calm settling over him once again "It was not my place…"

"I, Phaedra…" Neeshka bowed her head "You're right, yes. I just…" She sighed "If we're going to do this, we had better do it quick. Let's get going…"

ooo0000ooo

Undead…her fears were swiftly and brutally confirmed, it was the undead, an army of the loathsome walking corpses, hordes, more than she had ever faced in the catacombs of Highcliff Castle and Fort Locke. They were human and orc alike, some only newly drawn from their rest, their faces slack with death, a horrific parody of the living, but they were swiftly being consumed by the dark magic which lay slick on the very air, which drove them forth against the intruders at the bidding of their master. After what they had already struggled through to get here, it was easy to see that the fight to drive the hordes back was slowly but implacably draining her companions, and she could feel the effort each step cost for her. Only Casavir showed no trace of exhaustion, either in the grim set of his features, or his upright bearing, though he had thus far fought with ferocity against the undead that even Khelgar could not match. Without him, Phaedra was very much aware that they would never have made it this far. The invocations of his deity, channelled through his will and his hammer, he wielded as a deadly weapon, a smiting fury, and that same reckless abandon he had shown against the orcs still drove him forward.

As the sense of dark magic on the air grew stronger, more potent, a cold and acrid sensation which slithered against Phaedra's skin like some rancid oil, she knew they were coming closer to the final confrontation and a sense of implacable doom pressed down upon her. Would they face another masked priest, the coincidence was too large for it to be otherwise, but he had raised this army, somehow ingratiated himself with the orcs, even got them to sacrifice their bodies to him, it seemed he would be more powerful than those who had come before him. In their weakened state, could they prevail?

As that chilling thought struck her, Casavir, in front of her, suddenly stopped short in the centre of the narrow corridor within which they stood…

"What is it?" she whispered

"Torchlight" Casavir answered quietly, gesturing forward to where. Phaedra's eyes widened, the flicker of a torch flame could indeed be glimpsed, just beyond the next sweeping turn in the tunnel.

"You can smell it, smoke" Khelgar muttered

"I heard…" Neeshka began, then paused, lowering her head "It's gone, but I think I heard a voice…"

"The necromancer…" Phaedra gasped "It has to be…" Her fingers ran along the fletching of the arrow she held ready. It was time, and she had to be prepared. The embers of her power stirred in response to the settling of her will, but there was next to nothing left. Well, she would have to rely on her other resources. "I'm not sure, I can hold him off for long" she whispered to the others, her voice strangely calm, despite the harsh pounding of her heart.

"Do not put yourself in danger" Casavir warned "You have been strangely fortunate this far, but I do not think luck will be enough here"

"Oh, then what will?" Neeshka muttered "You planning to take him on yourself?"

"Yes" Casavir answered bluntly "I will draw his wrath, and give you the chance to destroy him"

"What…?" Phaedra shook her head "He'll kill you"

"This is not the first time I have faced a necromancer" Casavir said "Nor one so powerful as this. I can hold him off, but you must be ready"

"Alright" Phaedra nodded. She had to trust him, this might just be the only way they could hope to do this.

So, with Casavir in the lead, and with what stealth they could muster here, they walked slowly into the realm of the real enemy here, their true foe in these mountains. The place was well-lit, by eerie, flickering torches which, strangely, gave off no smoke or soot. It was an austere stone chamber, carved by the elements and nothing more, with pillars of stone giving it the echo of some kind of chapel. But, Phaedra felt herself retch, she had thought what horrors she had already seen down here had numbed her to revulsion, but oh Lathander, there was a roughly carven table and on it, a human body. Someone had…cut them right down the middle, and opened them, steaming, to the cave air, their entrails black and glistening in the flickering light, and this was not the only one. There were corpses, and pieces of corpses piled upwards around the table, heads gazing sightlessly at her. What kind of horror, what twisted mind, by the Gods…she felt the world spin round her…

"He…he has been experimenting with the dead!" Casavir was white with rage, his blue eyes flashing like cold iron. "Defiling their bodies, instead of allowing them to rest!"

"Oh Gods…" Phaedra's gaze swam before her, blurring. She staggered backward, the stench of blood drenched her nostrils…

"Phaedra…!" Elanee caught her as she collapsed, steadying her gentle hands against Phaedra's shoulders "Breathe, Phaedra, breathe…" Phaedra gasped, drawing in a heaving breath, trying to steady her shaking limbs. She had to…be ready in case.

Suddenly a shadow, a looming form, appeared, cast from within the next corridor by what torches were there. Someone was coming! Phaedra tried to push herself upward, but blood pounded in her head and she retched helplessly. Elanee held her arms tightly, as though trying to shield her from what was coming. What if the others needed her…she had to get a grip on this wave of revulsion…no one else was so badly affected!

"Well, well…" Phaedra gasped as a cold, urbane voice, delicately cultured, echoed through the vaults of stone. She forced her head upward to gaze into the masked face of their enemy, that same, white mask as those other necromancers, with its slitted eyes and the strange mouthpiece which gave the emerging voice an almost metallic ring. This priest, however, wore voluminous robes of white wool, with a band of black material along the hem. He carried a brutal mace and a shield, but these were not his true weapons. Behind that mask, in those cold, dark eyes, she could see the power, the dark flame which burned like light in obsidian glass. "What have we here?" his gaze travelled over the five of them, but came to rest, at last, on Casavir "I thought I felt a disturbance in my domain, like a bright light trying so desperately to cast aside the shadows, and here it is. I bid you welcome at last, paladin"

"What have you done to these people?" Casavir snarled "You deny them their rest, deny them their peace!"

"Peace?" The cold laughter which echoed from within the mask was truly chilling "Come now, surely you recall how they died paladin? It was you who led them after all, in one glorious charge after another, soaking these mountains in their blood. You led them to their doom, along that dark and winding path that took them here, to me. I have simply taken from their flesh the price that you should have paid; it is a mercy in comparison, no?"

"Enough!" Phaedra cried, coughing hoarsely, as Casavir gazed back at the necromancer, a slight tightening across his broad shoulders the only sign that his words had cut deeper than the paladin could show. "Keep your bile to yourself, you snake! We're here to stop this defilement!"

"Phaedra!" Casavir cautioned, reaching out a hand towards her.

"Ah…but who is this?" The bloodless lips behind the mask drew back into a gloating smile, as his cold eyes settled on Phaedra "What treasure have you brought me paladin?" He took a wavering, almost involuntary step toward Phaedra, breathing deeply as though scenting her power on the wind "So young, and such power. I can see it…I can smell it. Yes…" He breathed out sibilantly "It is you…you are the final component, not even unlife could quench your flame. I would have it, the secret, at last!"

"Never!" Phaedra snapped, her voice shrill, she could hardly control the rising tide of hysteria that the necromancer's words moved within her. She didn't even understand what he was saying, what horrors these experiments were trying to create, but his intent was horrifically clear.

"Ah…" The necromancer laughed, cold and high "Such bravery, such spirit. You are a remarkable specimen, child. But I wonder…could even your spirit endure once you are strapped to these tables, with only bloated corpses beside you, and my touch upon your lovely white flesh…" As Phaedra recoiled in horror, the necromancer took another halting step across the stone, from within the mask he drew in a hoarse, rasping breath, his hand, gauntleted in bronze reached out towards her…clawed nails stroking the air…

"Enough!" Casavir snarled, placing himself instantly between the necromancer and her, as the rest of her friends closed ranks protectively about her. "This is between you and I, dark sorcerer"

"Wrong," The necromancer murmured, withdrawing his hand back into the folds of his white robe. "Wrong, paladin, for as you once led these, my playthings, on the path that took them to me, so you have now led these others on that same path. This time, however, you shall pay your due alongside them, I think"

"Whatever evil you serve, whatever corruption lies within you" Casavir shook his head slowly, once more he seemed entirely unshaken by the necromancer's words, and the light of the Gods seemed to gather about him "It runs deeper than you could ever know, and it shall be your undoing"

"Paladin" The necromancer breathed softly, deeply "Shadows always run deeper than we know, even into your heart I think" He raised his hand, and Phaedra gasped, as the stinging surge of necromantic energy seared into life around his clawed gauntlet, pounding in her head and seeming to drain the life from the very air "Ready, my poor lost paladin" The sorcerer laughed "Good…let us see what your petty God of justice can muster against the King of Shadows!"

ooo0000ooo

It was over now, it was done. The necromancer lay back against the cave wall, his gauntleted hands clasped together in the throes of his final agony. Beyond that fearsome mask, the terrible light of life which had gleamed in those black crystal eyes with such a fierce intensity had dimmed to nothing. A dark stain, deep red, black where the torchlight did not touch it, spread insidiously over the front of his immaculate white robe. The wound which had, at last slain him had been a blow from the sharp-edged blade of Casavir's hammer. So, he was dead, the victims of his cruelty were avenged, and the defilement he had brought about was ended at last but Phaedra found she could feel no sense of triumph. The horrors she had witnessed down here, those vile totems which still lay scattered in the necromancer's domain, no act of hers, not even their perpetrator's death could reverse them and she was utterly exhausted, weighed down by toil and sick at heart.

"Phaedra…?" It was Elanee, she too had drawn on all the reserves of power she held during this terrifying descent into the depths of the caverns, and she looked ashen and pale, though her eyes still glimmered with that same concern for all of them, but Phaedra especially.

"I…I'm alright…" she gasped

"No, we have to leave this place…" She pulled the cloak from her shoulders, wrapping it around Phaedra "Casavir…!" The paladin glanced up from his hauntingly passionless survey of their enemy's dead body, no sorrow, no anger in his face. He scarcely seemed to recognise Elanee and Phaedra when he glanced up toward them. His gaze seemed empty…scarcely alive…but only for a moment, then he seemed to collect himself, hefting his hammer, and arranging the torn cloak over his shoulders.

"Of course" he said simply

"Look, I don't know about you four, but I'm starting to doubt if this Ambassador is even still alive" Neeshka gasped clutching at her arm, which the mace of the necromancer had caught in a glancing blow, Elanee had healed what she could, now unable to help any further. "And even if he is, if it's worth going one step deeper into this hole to find him"

"There's nothing to stop us now, he's dead, his army's gone, and the orcs aren't coming down here" Khelgar argued "We've come this far, we're going to bloody well end this!"

"Yes, there is no way back" Phaedra sighed, she glanced around the room, shuddering with grief and horror "But we can't leave these people like this" They deserved some dignity, some honour in death. Casavir nodded remotely in answer, and he leaned forward to take one of the flickering torches from its roughly-hewn bracket in the walls. Phaedra understood, they would burn, and no one could ever defile their rest again, perhaps their spirits, in whatever climes their souls had fled to from the horrors of this place, could find some small measure of peace from this.

With a ceremonial solemnity, Casavir anointed each of the desecrated corpses with fire, tongues of flame which leaped hungrily from the torch, consuming hair, and cloth and flesh alike. Soon there would be nothing left to be touched by the powers of necromancy again. For a moment, they all, even Neeshka, stood silently, watching the burning with sombre attention, Phaedra's lips formed the prayers of the Morninglord for the dead. Rejoice, for there is another dawn, upon another shore…and be at peace…

At last, as smoke began to fill the chamber, Casavir turned once more to her. It was time to leave, and so they did, in silence. The next chamber, too, had belonged to the necromancer, though there were no horrors here, only vast black tomes marked with the sigils of the arcane, a bed with rich dressings, weapons on display. Here was where that man had slept, what darkness had hovered over that bed, whispering him horrors in his dreams? As if from an echo of that shadowed presence, she felt suddenly icy cold. She shuddered, these depths of evil, these depraved insanities, she could never have conceived from safety in West Harbour. Evil there was a distant nightmare from the tales of Georg and the bards, but out here, she had seen its face, and it would haunt her now for ever. Was she truly ready for this? For more deaths…Amie…for more losses, for more torturous terrible vile horrors to stalk her in her waking and in her dreams…

"There…" Neeshka suddenly announced, breaking apart Phaedra's frenzied thoughts "Look, it's some kind of cell…" It was true, a door, wood and iron-bound, with a small window sealed by crudely shaped bars of iron, the work of the orcs, closed against the air of the cave, fitted into what must have been a natural antechamber just beyond the necromancer's collection of books and scrolls. Phaedra and the other hurried over. This had to Issani…please, Lathander…let him be alive, please dear Gods. Within the window, a man, a form, crouched down in despair, or extreme pain, he seemed insensible, hardly even breathing, his head laid down against his hands. He wore the remains of rich crimson robes, the only clue to his identity, the only possible source of the hope, beyond all hope, which sprang up like a flame in Phaedra's chest. Perhaps all was not lost…

"Hey!" she cried, pounding her fist into the door, please…please "Are you alright? We're here to help!"

"What…?" the man looked up suddenly, he was a pale man, aristocratic, with dark hair which had once been carefully trimmed. Thank the Gods, this was no undead, she felt not a drop of that awful sense of acrid power which the creatures were draped in. "Who, who are you…?"

"Neeshka…" Phaedra turned quickly to the tiefling, who nodded emphatically, withdrawing from the pouch at her belt the lockpick, which she fitted into the large and rusty metal lock, evidently looted from some treasury that the orcs had plundered. "Sir, we're here to rescue you" she said to the captive, her voice quiet and calming "Just wait one moment, we will get you out of there"

"You? I, yes, I will wait…" the prisoner shook his unkempt hair, his eyes were glazed, his voice confused, hesitant. Dear Lathander, what horrors had he endured in the captivity of that monster?

"Phaedra…" Casavir's voice. She looked up, her eyes were blurring with tears of pity and exhaustion and horror. The paladin was holding one of the scrolls from the necromancer's desk "Look at this" He handed it to her, a long piece of parchment, unfinished, though half-covered in a graceful flowing script, she raised it to her face…Dear Gods…

"Greetings Master of the Fifth Tower, Strength in Shadow" she read with a quavering heart, almost hearing the ghastly tones of the necromancer in her mind "Our holy charge in Old Owl Well is finally running according to plan. Your servant, that beastly fellow, Lorne, has been most helpful in persuading some of the less cooperative orc tribes to fall into line, the creatures only respect brute strength but once cowed they make excellent pawns for our purposes. My army here grows daily, and I am working on certain modifications to preserve greater strength in the creations, on which I shall keep you informed. Soon I shall have enough to assault Old Owl Well as instructed. There is a slight difficulty, a paladin, the orcs call him the Katalmach. Though his crusade has been useful for raw materials so far, he may become a difficulty once we are better established, he has shown himself to be remarkably proficient in guerrilla warfare. Instruct me as to how to proceed, my lord. As the matter of the Waterdhavian Ambassador, he is proving remarkably resilient to both physical and mental persuasion, despite my vigorous efforts he holds firm. I understand the need for haste but he is a strong mind. I will do what I can to …" There it ended. Phaedra shook her head with horror, the plot continued, wheels within wheels, and it seemed the reach of this Master of the Fifth Tower was creeping and insidious. Brelaina would have to know of this…

"Done" Neeshka said with satisfaction, deftly unclamping the large unwieldy lock from the door. Phaedra stepped over, pushing it open with a gentle touch, the man was standing, unsteady, a spark of life slowly returning to his eyes. Heavens, his elaborate robes were bloodstained, his flesh, what was visible, bore gashes and burns, brands, some, others seeping and strangely coloured, only hideous chemicals or spells could be responsible. But in his eyes she saw the shadows of such horror that these physical wounds had to be only the least of his sufferings.

"Who, who are you?" he gasped, but strength was beginning to return to his voice, lucidity, and a note of doubt. "You are not…his…?"

"No…" Phaedra stepped gently into the cell, her hand outstretched "My name is Phaedra Blake, I am from Neverwinter."

"Neverwinter…?" A gasp of longing escaped the lips of the captive "Then, the priest…he is dead?"

"Yes, we killed him…" Phaedra took another step toward him "You are free, Issani of Waterdeep"

"Yes, I am he" he answered, a strange wondrous note entering his voice as though memory of who he was, and where he came from had almost faded "You, you, have saved me"

"Here…" Phaedra gently took his hand in hers, he winced but held firm, that expression of wonder still gleaming on his tortured features as he gazed into her face "Come, you are safe now…It's over" But what is truly, the black sea of despair rolling within her murmured. She was forcing herself to be strong, for Issani's sake, for her friends' sake, but beneath that she knew she was close to breaking. They needed to go, she needed to feel the soft touch of sunlight on her skin, perhaps it would banish this clinging film of disgust that seemed to flow over her from the very air. Gods…please let it be over…


	32. Chapter 32

_Hey, here we are again. It's moving fast once more, but you can read at your own pace. I promise I don't spend all my time doing this! _

_If anyone wanted something else to read too, I'm doing some beta work for voltagelisa whose stories 'Black Light' and 'Hidden Beneath the Dark into the Light' I've found really interesting while working on them. I don't normally advertise, but hey...you could give one of them a go._

_Hope you like this one...it's another quite Casavir-centric chapter. Hopefully it reveals a new side to the paladin!_

Before the dancing, restless beauty of the flickering flames, Phaedra knelt, the warm, thick fur of her blankets clasped close around her. It was night, a serene quiet night, and she watched as the sparks leapt up into the air from the flames, pinpricks of light, glimmering a moment against the darkness, before vanishing into the gloom. The others lay, wrapped in their blankets and in the heavy weight of their sleep, their deep, steady breaths unwavering. Exhaustion from yesterday's toils had felled them all, even Issani was firmly asleep, his tormented features strangely peaceful in the fickle touch of the firelight. No dark dreams plagued them, no haunting visions flickered before their eyes each time they closed them to sleep. But Phaedra…she feared even to blink, that horrid masked face haunted her, and the dead lay just beyond the veil of dreams, their cold, sightless eyes begging, imploring, their mouths slack, open as though to speak, but nothing emerged from those bloodless lips. She had not slept, the terror, the horror, was still so fresh, its icy touch still flickered upon her spine, clasping at her throat, at her heart.

Casavir had led them here, to a place beyond the reach of Logram's tribe, and known only to his people, to this hidden grotto with its roof open to the night sky. It had been an arduous, staggering trek through the mountains, while panic, and the relentless tide of exhaustion surging in her veins had stalked them, cold and chill as the searing winds that flayed against them. Now, though, the air was still and clear, the embrace of the night, strangely, had wrapped the mountains in a tranquil quiet, nothing seemed to stir beyond their little sanctuary. No…the fears which now stalked around her were of her own devising, a vague, but such a powerful terror…

"My lady…?" Casavir's voice suddenly sounded from behind. She started, turning…the paladin had been awake all this time, like her? He was standing in the cave's entryway, wearing a simple white, rust-spotted tunic, the moonlight streaming into the cave beyond him cast him into a shadow, but his eyes glimmered with the flickering flames. "I apologise if I startled you"

"No…" Phaedra answered, wrapping her fur mantle closer around herself. It was cold, such a cold night, or was that simply the lingering touch of her fears chilling her to the bone. "Where, where were you?"

"I was keeping watch outside for a moment" As he spoke he moved over, and crouched down by the fire, next to her, his voice was quiet, and the flames touched the ascetic contours of his face. "It is easy to forget what we are fighting for" he said, but it scarcely seemed as though he spoke to her "But when I look out onto the mountains and I see them as they are this night, I sometimes glimpse a moment of that memory"

"Casavir…?" Phaedra glanced at him. They were companions, friends maybe, and she hungered for a voice, for a story, to distract her from these fearful thoughts. "If you can, please, what made you come here to these mountains?" He looked up, paused for a moment, the steady movement of his chest, up and down, as he breathed seemed to be the only sign of life in him, he could have been carved from marble.

"I came, because I thought my blade could make a difference" He answered though, at last "These lands, the people who inhabit them, have been left to the mercy of the orcs for so long. They needed hope, and they needed a reason to fight"

"But the Greycloaks came to Old Owl Well as well" Phaedra asked, quietly "You could have fought alongside them. What made you go on alone?"

"My allegiance is to Tyr" Casavir replied "And I came here in his name, in the name of justice. Neverwinter, my city, did not. It is a state, it acts for profit, for wealth, for the prestige of the few, but in doing so it forgets the suffering of the many, of the people who have a right to look to it for safety. These mountains have been occupied by the orcs for over a decade, a decade of torment for their inhabitants, but Neverwinter has sat by and done nothing, until now. Until now, when the Council sees the opportunity for trade through to Yalter. So you see the people here had a right to mistrust the Greycloaks. I myself feared that were I to take up arms for Neverwinter's cause, put myself under her command, they would force me to choose between the will of Tyr, and the will of Neverwinter. So I found another battle"

"But, it is over now…" Phaedra whispered

"Yes" he nodded thoughtfully "Yes, thanks to you…" He glanced at her, and the hint of a smile softened his features for a moment, yet it passed almost as quickly "But my work is not"

"So, you will leave…?" Phaedra shook her head with sadness. The paladin had, in the short time since she had met him, made a deep impression. She didn't want him to go, how could she go on not knowing that he stood behind her, a force, a dam against the tides of evil?

"I go where the need is greatest" Casavir answered gravely "Does that trouble you perhaps?"

"Yes…" Phaedra admitted "I…I am not sure that I should be the one to bear this burden. I thought…perhaps, you might…" She paused, her thoughts in turmoil.

"What do you mean?" He asked, raising his hand from the floor almost as though he wished to touch hers but dared not.

"I don't think I can do this, Casavir" Phaedra bowed her head, tears of pain and remorse clouding her vision. This thought, it had lain so heavy on her mind "I…I'm afraid, so afraid, and I can't stop it. I can't fight this evil"

"No…" Casavir began to protest, but Phaedra shook her head, sobbing

"I never meant for any of this to happen" She burst out, cutting him off "All I wanted was West Harbour to be safe, and I've done all I can do to try. I've brought the shards this far, but I can't go further. I…I…don't have the strength to face this darkness, and if I try I'll fail and the shards will fall into its hands and any hope of stopping it will be gone for ever!" She had left her home illuminated by the light of her purpose, ignorant of evil but now she had seen the true face of what hunted her. Now she realised, deep in her heart, that she could never face it. She looked up into his face, her feelings wild, racked with that fear bursting forth like a cold wave of icy malice from within her "You have to take them!"

"Phaedra!" Casavir leant forward and took her shoulder with great urgency, his touch was so sudden and unexpected, yet so strongly affecting, that she gasped and fell silent "There is no other way for you!" He said. His gaze held hers' implacably, she felt lost for a moment in that stunning blue. "I cannot take up your burden. I cannot let you leave here empty-handed and take with me the shards that fate has brought to you! Do you truly think that will stave off the fury of this shadow, keep it from you? That it will not hasten your doom, and that of your village? I have been here with you for only a little while, but even I see that this shard is bound up in some great destiny, and you with it…I do not believe that it can be denied"

"I can't do this!" she cried desperately.

"Can you not?" He shook his head, his voice becoming gentler "You have come this far. You have braved a peril greater than any I have ever faced, and willingly, by that strength you hold within yourself, the strength which led you onwards in that darkness"

"It, it is not like that…" Phaedra gasped, but she already knew that her fears were receding, that his words, and the implacable, but comforting, force of his presence was guiding her back to herself…

"What further proof do you need, Phaedra Blake…?" Casavir continued, his grip on her shoulder easing "That these, your companions, an elf, a dwarf, and a tiefling, would follow you into the shadows, against the orcs and the undead, because you asked it, and for nothing more than that. You have a gift, Phaedra, from others you draw what is best, and I…I could never hope to do as much"

"You…?" Phaedra whispered, stunned that he should think so. "No…no, you are the paladin, you led us to Logram, you killed him, and that necromancer, the priest of darkness. How can you say that?"

"I know, because I too have felt it" Casavir answered, so softly it was almost lost to the wind. For a moment it seemed as though he wished to say something more…then he looked away abruptly, and the shadows fell upon his face once again… "You see, Phaedra, it must be you…" He slowly let go of her shoulder and leant back.

"Yes, I see" And she knew it in her heart, at last. She could never set aside the shards, not now, not until what peril lay locked within them was put to rest, but she would not, at least, be alone. Neeshka, Khelgar and Elanee would be with her always and Casavir… "Casavir…?" she said softly "I…Could you come with me, us, please?"

"Yes…I will" Casavir nodded gravely, then he stood slowly, towering over her he seemed once again impossibly distant. "You must rest, Phaedra. From here to Old Owl Well is a hard trek, you will need your strength"

"I…yes, I must" she sighed, drying the tears from her face on the sleeve of her nightdress "Thank you, Casavir, for saying those things…"

"Do not let these thoughts of darkness weigh you down" He cautioned "They are only as powerful as you let them be. May Tyr guard your sleep my lady"

ooo0000ooo

It was just before midday, the sun upon the mountains was bright, shimmering across the peaks of the Spine and imparting them with an august majesty, the air and sky were clear, the wind a light breeze across Phaedra's face. Wrapped in a tranquil hush, the mountains became in their own way beautiful, a beauty not unalike the serene splendour of the Mere beneath the blazing dawn, that same sense of the ageless timeless power of nature, and free at last from the horror which had stalked in Phaedra's footsteps since first she had walked these mountain paths. Elanee felt it too, Phaedra could see, though as a druid she must have had a unique sense of that power, certainly there was an even greater stillness about her than usual, an awareness of something on the edge of hearing. Khelgar, too, it seemed had a special appreciation of the mountains, long the homeland of his dwarven people, his own awed silence, so unusual in him, almost mirrored Elanee's. Neeshka was also quiet, though exhaustion and the echo of the horrors they had all seen beneath the earth showing in her face, were perhaps more responsible than awe at the mountain beauty. Issani, trudging on by the dwarf, was walking taller, though the pain of his wounds was still obvious, strength was returning to his posture, his features, and hope, as they came closer to Old Owl Well, sprang forth in that strength. Casavir, by contrast, and strangely it seemed to Phaedra, only seemed to grow more tense as he took them along the easiest paths to the Greycloak Fortress. It was something barely perceptible, but Phaedra could see the way his features grew tighter, his brow furrowed, something was troubling him…but what? She could only hope that he would speak of it, with time…

Phaedra, herself, felt no such apprehension and could imagine no reason why the paladin was so troubled, hope spluttered into life in her chest as they rounded the last ridge, gazing down the valley, at last, at Old Owl Well, hope that perhaps she could do this, do whatever more this strange journey had in store, to bring the mystery of the shards to light. The fortress itself already seemed to have grown larger since she had left, with the walls, towers and support structure still a feverish work in progress nonetheless. Regiments of the Greycloaks patrolled in their strict ranks, attending to each and every task at hand. From high up, she could almost see the fortress emerging from the mountains, a stronghold to endure for ages, a stronghold whose fate she and the others had safeguarded, at least for now. Now Callum could do what was needed, and bring the mountains Neverwinter's protection.

"I barely believe it" Issani breathed harshly "You have done it, I…am free" It was almost a question, so powerful was the force of amazement and disbelief in his voice. He glanced wildly at each of them in turn, before his gaze settled on Phaedra "I can't help but fear this is still some trick of his, but I…feel that it is true at last…"

"He is dead" Phaedra leant forwards gently, and touched the Ambassador's scarred hand "He will never torment you again"

"Yes…" a weary smile touched his lips "Dead…yes…" He shook his head as though to scatter the thought of the dark priest and his hazel eyes seemed to clear of pain for the first time since they had found him. "We should go down…now…"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded, smiling gently. Callum would be waiting, would he already know of Logram's fall? But Casavir frowned again, and he seemed to grow even more apprehensive, poised, waiting for something he would rather not face. Well, he raised no objection nonetheless, and it seemed no one else noticed, so they moved down the path and into the fortress of Old Owl Well, waved through by the sentries at the gate, who recognised Phaedra instantly.

The activity was even more fervent than before, and no one even seemed to see the six of them as they walked into the dusty tracks running through tents and constructions, so Phaedra made her way with the others straight towards the commander's station, that large grey tent marked with symbols of the city and the Greycloak forces. Phaedra asked of the two guards at the door whether they might see the Commander, and they quickly assented, looking with astonishment at her, Casavir and the others.

"By the Nine Hells!" Callum vociferated wildly as he raced straight out of the tent, astounded. He barely stopped before he ran straight into Phaedra, but still how he gazed at her...it was as though she had returned from the dead! "Gods, you have some lucky star, Lieutenant! I had scouts on the lookout for the orcs the whole time and every single chieftain's heading for Logram's hideout! How in the Hells did you make it through there?"

"I had a lot of help" Phaedra smiled lightly "But it's over now, Logram is dead"

"Gods, that's what's got them so worked up" Callum shook his head, disbelievingly "They must all be fighting it out again…" He gazed up at her "By the Gods you've done some fine work, Lieutenant, This'll go on for months if we're lucky, time to build up the fort, lay down some roads, recruit…" He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, glancing at the others "And Issani?"

"Commander, this is Ambassador Issani of Waterdeep" Phaedra stepped back, and Issani moved over to the Commander, a silent air of authority gathered around him, so that the scars he still bore, and the filthy, tattered state of his robes scarcely seemed to matter anymore.

"Welcome to Old Owl Well Ambassador" Callum bowed deeply and respectfully "You are perfectly safe now…your ordeal is over"

"For that…I owe the Lieutenant everything" Issani nodded. He glanced at Phaedra, and nodded to her gently "Lord Nasher will hear of everything you have done as soon as I reach the city. It is all I can offer you"

"You're still going on to Neverwinter?" Callum nodded. Phaedra had wondered about that as well, but it seemed Issani's courage was steadfast for he nodded vigorously.

"Yes" he said "I have a duty. Phaedra has shown me what strength lies in Neverwinter and I shall see to it that the city has all the help it needs from Waterdeep"

"Thank the Gods for that Ambassador" Callum smiled "The Medical Officer's just inside, he can take you to the infirmary, if you need it"

"Ah…I shall see them at once" Issani rubbed his neck, then he turned to Phaedra "If I do not see you again, I must thank you, all of you. I have no rewards, but my gratitude, and what influence I have in Neverwinter shall be yours for ever, Lieutenant" He bowed deeply…and Phaedra curtsied, though behind her she could hear Neeshka sigh with disappointment…well, if gold was what she wanted, Phaedra was sure the Captain would be well pleased with this, and what rewards the Watch could give were greater than anything Issani might be able to offer. With that Issani gave them a last grateful smile, then stepped back into the cool shadows of the tent and was gone…

"So…" Callum's cool, blue gaze glinted as it fell finally on Casavir "You'd best tell me then how you fell in with my old friend here…"

"Your old friend?" Phaedra gasped, staring at the two of them. They knew each other?

"Callum, it is good to see you again" Casavir answered with surprising warmth "And you should know how our paths crossed, it was by your devising I believe"

"Ah, so you're the Katalmach then?" Callum laughed gruffly "Just as I thought, this here is the only man I know crazy enough to take on a whole clan of orcs, and just about good enough to win"

"I wasn't alone, as you well know" Casavir said. Phaedra glanced at him quickly, something subtle had changed, he seemed more open, more…light-hearted, just a little. Perhaps Callum reminded him of a past before he had borne so heavy a burden. "Did Katriona and the men make it here?"

"Yes, they did, and they're settling in well" Callum replied "They'll make some fine Greycloaks, if you're willing to spare them."

"My work in these mountains is over" Casavir nodded slowly "Wherever they wish to go, they are free to do so"

"Good, good…and you'll be leaving with our young lieutenant now eh?" Callum leaned forward, but though the question was light-hearted, Phaedra suddenly glimpsed a taut tension in his gaze. His eyes narrowed slightly, sending deep lines across his sunburnt features, as though he were being forced to consider something very unpleasant, had Casavir also noticed? What was he thinking of?

"Yes" If Casavir had seen the signs, the paladin gave no sight of it, replying levelly and coolly, although the light tone he had spoken with prior to this tightened almost imperceptibly. "We agreed it was in both our interests to stay together, for now"

"Casavir, we both know this isn't going to be that simple" Suddenly Callum's smile faded, and his gaze hardened, becoming like cool crystal "When you left Nasher's service, I wasn't the only one who wondered about it. There was talk, a lot of talk, and someone decided that it was desertion. I'm not saying I agree, but you took off really fast. Since then, there's been a warrant out for your arrest"

"No!" Phaedra gasped. So this was why Casavir had been so concerned about coming to the fort! "Callum, Commander, listen to me, Casavir saved my life! And I could never have done any of what I did without his help, please, you don't have to do this!" Whatever Callum was talking about…desertion…she knew in her heart that Casavir had to have had a good reason to have acted as he did. Surely Callum also understood that?

"Phaedra" Casavir laid a hand on her shoulder gently, and she fell silent instantly, glancing at him "Thank you for your words, and for the kindness behind them, but I must defend myself" He turned to Callum, tall, monumental and impassive "I always have honoured my duty to Neverwinter, and to the law, you know that, but there are times when what our city demands of us goes against what we demand of ourselves, against the laws of Tyr. I faced such a time, and such a choice, and I realised that it is no choice at all, that Tyr alone has the right to dispense the law and so I left…I found my calling"

"Look Casavir…I think I understand that…but remember you had an obligation" Callum sighed heavily "Just as I do"

"Callum" Casavir stepped forward, glanced down at his old friend, so that somehow it seemed as though he made the plea not for himself, but for Callum. "It has been years, only you, I think, remember what I was once. Keep those of my men who wish to stay, but no one shall ever know if I walk free from this fortress" Callum frowned, considering heavily, his brow furrowed with the turmoil of his choice; Neverwinter's laws, or his friend…?

"Maybe you're right" He said, at last, glancing up to the paladin "You're forgotten, my friend, and I hope you stay that way. As for me, I'll turn a blind eye to this, it's a lot simpler that way, believe me" He turned again to Phaedra, laying aside his concerns with Casavir once more to speak with her once again. "You saved this operation Lieutenant and I can't thank you enough" He said "I'll be sending a message to Brelaina in the city, making sure she sees that you did what you had to…and a lot more."

"Thank you Commander…we will leave right away, I won't put you or Casavir in any more danger" Phaedra answered, nodding

"Ah, but before you do…" Callum glanced once more at Casavir "Come with me old friend, there's one other thing I wanted to show you, all of you" Phaedra glanced between the paladin and the general, a little confused, but as Callum moved away and Casavir followed silently, she fell in step behind them, and so did the others. They moved through the camp quickly, the busy Greycloaks parted at the passage of their Commander and his guests. It was unlikely anyone could have heard, even had Phaedra asked about what exactly Callum wanted, since on this side of the camp the sounds of construction, hammers, shouted orders, brusque, loud military conversation, were absolutely deafening, the activity feverish. From on the ground the fort's construction looked completely chaotic, but she supposed Callum could see some kind of order amidst this madness. The dwarf moved through it all with an effortless sense of command.

At last they arrived at a quieter corner, a place Phaedra suddenly recognised to be the stables where they had left their horses when they had left Old Owl Well in the beginning. Of all the buildings in the fort, this one looked to be the most near completion, a rough square construction with a high roof, door open to the cool mountain air. Inside there were two rows of narrow wooden stables, small booths set one after the other, some stacked high with straw, others still empty, the smell of hay and of horses was heavy in the air nonetheless, a strangely comforting smell. Their three horses from the Watch were there, at the other end of the stable, Phaedra saw with a thrill of joy, and some of the Greycloaks already seemed to be getting them ready to move out. Mistletoe stood patiently while they lifted a saddle onto her gently sloping dappled back. Phaedra couldn't wait to go over and see her mare again, but Callum led them instead to another stall in the corner…the only other one, in fact, which actually held an animal. "Well, here he is" Callum nodded slowly, and beside him Casavir suddenly froze, a ripple of shock and wonder running across his features for a single instant, though he still stood there perfectly still…and stared at the horse which stood with regal majesty amidst the fine, soft hay about him.

Phaedra followed his gaze; this stallion was an impressive animal indeed, huge, towering, broad across the shoulder and flank. Beneath his silken fur, grey, a darker grey than Mistletoe, glimmering with an almost silver sheen, his muscles rippled with power and tension, the veins standing out in clear relief down his legs and along the nose. He would have stood above any of the other horses here, and she had no doubt that he could have out-ridden any of them as well. His mane was long, silken and dappled white, his deep, black eyes, fixed upon Casavir, glistened with a strong sense of intelligence. Phaedra had thought the Watch's horses impressive, but this one was something else entirely, she was left with no doubt that he must be a pure-bred warhorse, a creature of the type one would see the knights or the highest nobility of Neverwinter ride into battle, trained for war. She glanced again at Casavir…could this horse be his?

"Halueth…" The paladin said softly, taking a step into the stall to stand beside the horse, who continued to gaze at him with guarded solemnity, they were a perfect fit. Halueth…he was named for the founder of Neverwinter, well it certainly suited him. Cautiously Casavir laid a hand on Halueth's snout, touched the stallion's heaving nostrils for a moment. It seemed the horse recognised him, for it bent his head towards him, and touched its nose to his hand with that same sense of noble dignity. Casavir turned quickly to Callum, and Phaedra was astonished to see the emotion in his face, raw and powerful. "Callum…" He said simply "How…?"

"Well, after you left him behind back in Neverwinter he got assigned to the Nine, and I decided I'd keep an eye on him for you" Callum answered, with a slight twinkle in his grey-blue eyes. "He's not much use to me, of course, but I was hoping you'd show up one day so I could get him back where he belongs. You can take him with you from here"

"He's magnificent" Elanee remarked as the stallion's gaze travelled to her, and they seemed to share a momentary glance, brief, but filled with the mysterious druidic communication. "And…he knows you, Casavir" She glanced again at the paladin, seemingly seeing him once again anew, as though what she had seen in the horse's eyes revealed something that gave Casavir a new respect in her own.

"We have been through much together" Casavir answered quietly, his broad, pale fingers winding for a moment in Halueth's sleek mane "I owe him my life many times over…" Phaedra nodded, not trusting herself to speak, she doubted that few had ever seen Casavir so open… "Callum" The paladin turned once again to the dwarf general, for a very short moment he looked almost uncomfortable, as though he didn't quite know how to thank his friend, in the end he said simply "Thank you"

"That's alright, my friend" Callum nodded "He's always been yours, never really let anyone ride him like you used to do. Can't say I didn't give it a try once…" He grinned broadly "But, some things dwarves just aren't meant to do"

"One of our Ironfist kings rode a warhorse…" Khelgar glanced uncertainly at Halueth "Seems bigger than I imagined"

"Wait, you're Clan Ironfist?" Callum turned to him curiously, as Casavir personally began to ready Halueth for riding out of Old Owl Well.

"That's right" Khelgar answered, somewhat defensively… "What's it to you?"

"Just that a group of Ironfist dwarves came through here just yesterday…" Callum answered, shrugging "I thought you might know them"

"My brothers?" Khelgar frowned, seeming slightly confused. "Here?"

"Looking for their old clanhold apparently" The Commander replied "I heard it's around these parts, just to the south"

"It is!" Khelgar exclaimed, looking up instantly and excitedly, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I don't believe it!" He grinned "They're actually planning to dig it up. By Clangeddin Silverbeard, they're going to do it, finally!" He laughed uproariously "They really said that eh?"

"Yes" Callum nodded coolly "Scouting it out apparently, looking for what might still be intact around there, sounds like they really are planning to raise it again. A dwarven presence in the mountains would really help us out, I figure, and the Ironfists especially know a lot about fighting orcs"

"Well then we should go give them a hand" Khelgar turned, alight with purpose to the others "What do you say? It's only a short way off the road to Neverwinter, we could get there, have a look round, and get back in no time!" Phaedra frowned, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and thinking hard. She knew that, of course, it would have to be her who made the decision whether or not to take the detour to the Ironfist clanhold. Khelgar certainly had embraced the possibility whole-heartedly. She wondered if they could afford the delay.

"Oh no, you can't be serious Khelgar" Neeshka, however, was less than impressed "We do not have the time to help a bunch of dwarves with home improvement! And did you even consider what's actually inside this old clanhold…more orcs, ogres, giants? I say we give it a wide berth"

"They're my brothers, they're counting on me!" Khelgar answered belligerently "And if you're right about it, they could use our help!"

"I agree with Khelgar" Phaedra glanced up, surprised, as Casavir spoke from where he was emerging from the stall, holding Halueth by the now secured reins around the stallion's bridle. He was impassive once more, his concern now clearly on their mission, on the troubles of others. Phaedra found herself strangely regretful that she had allowed the moment's opportunity to go by, though what she should have done with it was anybody's guess. "Neverwinter needs allies" Casavir continued levelly "And the dwarves will do much to stabilise the Spine for the future"

"Phaedra, lass, I feel this is right!" Khelgar whirled to her, desperate to convince her. Here we go again, she thought for a moment, without bitterness. "Think about my Trials, we said we'd complete them together, maybe this is the first step!" Well, that rang true at least, she had promised…

"Alright then" She said, settling her decision at last. "We'll do it, perhaps we can find something useful on the way"

"Well, let's hope he doesn't get us all lost!" Neeshka sighed resignedly

"What?" Khelgar protested, obviously offended by the very idea. "I'm a dwarf. I feel the hammers of my ancestors in the stone, I'll get us there!"

"Are you sure about that?" Neeshka asked acidly "Or was that just your gut rumbling for more ale?"

"Alright, that's enough" Phaedra chided, she then once again turned to Callum, and lowered her head respectfully, hoping to maintain some air of respectable decorum. "Thank you, Commander…" She said "For everything you have done for me, for all of us"

"No Lieutenant, thank you" Commander Callum bowed formally to her, to all of them "Good luck, wherever your path might lead next" Phaedra nodded, turning at last to where their horses stood waiting. Yes, it was time to leave at last…


	33. Chapter 33

_Hey everyone...it's been a longer wait than usual for this chapter, partly because school is slightly taking over my life, what with all the homework and everything, partly because I had decided to write a small oneshot to broaden my writing experience. This is finished and published now, if you're interested...it's called Cold Fire and is a oneshot about a half-drow assassin and femme fatale and her relationship with none other than Ammon Jerro. I know it was a slightly strange choice for a romance, but I wanted to do something a little unusual, especially as this story is following more...traditional romance options (hint,hint...Bishop and Casavir, although I'm still not telling you which. It wouldn't be fair since you haven't had a chance how I write Bishop yet!) Anyway it's in the 'M' section...oooh, it really isn't that bad I just put it there because that seems to be the custom with stories that are a tad more racey than this one. Or you can find it from my profile._

_Anyway, thanks to Daring Hat Trick and Gaspode once again for comprehensive reviewing. Thanks to voltagelisa for discussions. Thanks to Mabbee for the favourite. And thanks to you for reading!_

_This is Khelgar's Trial of the Maimed. Is it helpful for understanding characters, or a pointless digression? Your thoughts? _

"We're close" Khelgar announced suddenly, leaning over from the back of his horse, leaving Neeshka who sat once again behind him, quite unsteadily, sighing and cursing under her breath at another interruption. Phaedra glanced quickly at the dwarf, it had almost seemed to her as though they had been travelling in circles over the same path for the last few hours. Certainly the barren cliffs and valleys of the Spine had scarcely seemed to change at all as they had made their way from Old Owl Well. However Khelgar did seem to be hearing something no one else could, an intuition perhaps, that his people's feet had once walked these mountain paths. On his guidance they had taken the road towards Neverwinter; once a great trade highway, and perhaps with the potential to be so again now Old Owl Well was secure. Then he had led them down another road, one even older, fading into the very stone around it, but enduring in traces within the ancient rocks here. The horses, aside from the indomitable Halueth, were a little uneasy even now, as though sensing something she could not…

"How do you know?" Phaedra asked, bending over Mistletoe's neck to glance away out into the desolation of a bare and lifeless valley of sheer, angular rock with nothing to distinguish it from any other in this region of the Spine.

"Every Ironfist has the location of this place drummed into them from the first" Khelgar answered confidently. "Trust me, I know"

"Look, here" Elanee said softly, from where she had guided her horse to the side of the valley. Her delicate fingers were raised to the stone beside her, tracing markings in the stone, markings which would have seemed invisible but to her keen elven eyes, yet which now seemed to flow beneath Phaedra's gaze to some kind of script, angular runes that were carved almost delicately into the stone with hammer and chisel. She wondered what the message carved into the stone said…

"See…" Khelgar shrugged "That's dwarven script, clear as day…"

"Clear as mud more like" Neeshka muttered under her breath. Khelgar shot her a fierce glare, but chose not to reply, to Phaedra's relief, the two of them had been at it again almost the whole way here.

"Is there any sign of the dwarf warriors Callum spoke of?" Casavir asked softly. Phaedra glanced once more at him, he had been almost silent for the whole journey here, a silence which had warned her away from asking about the circumstances of his service with Neverwinter and its termination. Just before they had left Old Owl Well he had spoken briefly with his Lieutenant Katriona, she and the rest of his former compatriots had been garrisoned now with the Greycloaks. Whatever had been said there had left him grim-faced and severe: did he doubt whether it had been right to leave these old allegiances of his, or had the clear strength of Katriona's feelings unsettled him, reminding him once again of the bleakness of his enforced solitude? What made him keep himself so apart, Phaedra wondered anew.

"Nothing yet" Khelgar shrugged in answer, his poor horse groaned in protest. "If they don't want to be found, though, this might be a struggle" Phaedra frowned, she hadn't quite considered that the dwarves might not wish their mission to be discovered, if so, this was going to be more complicated than she had originally thought…

Suddenly that thought was cut off as the cool mountain air was split apart by a violent, ferocious war cry, no orcish voice, no this was a man, no…a dwarf! In the next instant, before any of them could even hope to react, the valley's silence exploded into the dreadful clamour of pitched battle. The clash of steel roared across the cliffs, howls of anger, grunts, squeals and screams, more animal than man, sounds of sheer bestial rage and pain, and violence…but dispersed amongst them, even audible above the roar of conflict, were voices far more human…the dwarves! It had to be! Staggered, shocked to the core by the sudden explosion of violence, the fight had to be just ahead, Phaedra clung to Mistletoe's back, and swung round. She instantly met Khelgar's gaze and knew instantly that he had come to the same conclusion as she had, that his brothers had to be ahead, and he was not going to let it stand.

"Khelgar…" She gasped, the noise was panicking the Watch horses, Mistletoe drew back beneath her, shuddering, straining against the bridle, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide, rolling with terror. Phaedra found herself clinging on to her saddle with fear, her hold on herself suddenly completely unsteady. Even Elanee's horse had stayed where it stood, unwilling to move on, its flanks straining, the elf bent over, trying to calm her, but even that couldn't seem to have any effect. Only Halueth stood firm, Casavir direct him forward quickly, so that he stood by Phaedra and Mistletoe.

"It's them, it's my brothers, lass!" Khelgar growled, casting aside the reigns of his own fearful, trembling horse with disgust. Neeshka squealed with fright as the horse buckled, heaving and snorting. "We've got to get to them! And no damned animal is going to stop me!" With that he clambered off his horse, an act of extraordinary recklessness given his difficulties with the animal, and essentially fell from its back, to land, thankfully, on his feet, with a rattling thud and a grunt of pain. But he drew his axe with indomitable vigour, seeming almost unaffected by his rough landing and glanced belligerently down the valley.

"Khelgar…wait!" Phaedra cried, Mistletoe's panic, the trembling motion of the horse beneath her, only fed her own. Her breaths came quick and fast, as the battle ahead intensified. These were not orcs, by now she knew the battle cries of the orcs all too well, no…but then what could be attacking the dwarves?

"No time!" Khelgar shook his head "We've got to get to them now!" He turned, his axe raised high, and raced down the valley, raising a cry of "For Ironfist!" The sight of his courage forced Phaedra to confront her own panic, she forced it down, grasped at Mistletoe's mane for support.

"Come on girl!" She whispered soothingly to the horse, hoping her voice would calm Mistletoe, at least enough to move onwards, her hands were trembling, but she held on to the reigns fast. "Come on, we can do this" Mistletoe neighed piteously "Come on girl" She kicked in her heels, Mistletoe pawed forward, then suddenly gave a high-pitched scream of terror, pawing and turning against Phaedra's straining hold on her bridle… "Elanee!" She turned to them, frantic "Casavir, what do we do?" Neeshka was having as little success with her own horse, with Khelgar gone he was revolting, trying to go back, flank thick with sweat, the muscles straining and veins in sharp relief.

"Here, give me your reigns Phaedra…" Casavir reached towards her calmly, she threw them to him desperately, as Mistletoe gave a heave against her, and he caught them in one hand, letting go of Halueth entirely. Despite this his stallion seemed to remain completely calm, if anything Halueth looked more than ready to advance after Khelgar…stern and implacable, just like his master. Casavir caught on Mistletoe's reigns, drawing the mare back against Halueth's flank. "Hold her steady" Casavir ordered, though how she was supposed to do that quite was beyond her, especially as the paladin seemed to be taking charge of everything, he was guiding Halueth forward with a light kick of his feet, Mistletoe seemed to calm slightly at the presence of the sturdy stallion beside her, and followed where Casavir led her by the reigns. "We can't leave Khelgar to fight alone" Casavir said to her quickly "I will guide us, just hold on"" Phaedra grabbed the rough leather of the saddle and Casavir pulled forward, Halueth springing into a brisk trot almost immediately. Mistletoe panicked instantly, but an even older instinct than fear seemed to rise in her and she followed at Casavir and Halueth's bidding, her rough trot nearly dislodging the by-now extremely precarious position of Phaedra, but, held as much by the indomitable strength of Casavir next to her as by her own frantic efforts, she managed to stay on Mistletoe's back.

They rounded the valley, just as Phaedra glanced back, her golden hair flying out behind her, to see that Elanee seemed to be getting her horse under control and was coming to the aid of the fraught Neeshka. They would be alright, and would join them, but right now she and Casavir had to get to Khelgar and the other dwarves, as well as this unknown enemy. Within instants they had rounded the cliff, and entered the small hollowed-out alcove in which the battle was already under way. Khelgar had joined three other dwarves at the other side of the valley, each fought the same ferocity she had come to know from him, without finesse but fuelled by sheer raw power, and what they fought…creatures, brawny and bulky creatures, taller than any orc, covered in a brownish down, fierce tusks protruding from between their slack lips. They had somewhat flat, brutish faces, their ears long, their eyes savage and bloodshot. They wore some semblance of armour, normally nothing more than rank furs belted at the waist, and they all bore weapons, but they scarcely seemed to know how to use them, roaring out their fury with ferocious bellows that shook the valley, the dwarves cut them down fiercely but there were so many more. Phaedra gasped, holding onto Mistletoe's saddle, as the horse froze where she stood, looking down panicked into the melee. Phaedra had never seen creatures like these, but Khelgar and the other dwarves would need her help!

"Casavir!" Phaedra turned quickly to him where he had paused alongside her on Halueth. She'd never fought from horseback, but as long as Mistletoe stayed where she was perhaps she might have a chance. Drawing a longbow like this would be impossible, but her spells would most likely be enough to scatter these creatures. "You have to charge down there, now…" She ordered the paladin "Get these creatures off their back! But make sure you stay out of my line of fire…" He glanced at her hesitantly, obviously unsure whether to leave her vulnerable up here alone, but as long as Mistletoe didn't panic again, she would be okay! "Go, Casavir, hurry!" She urged, raising her hand upwards for the spell she'd need. He nodded swiftly, his blue eyes flashing, and then, turning, kicked Halueth's flanks and charged down the valley, the thundering pounding of Halueth's hooves raising a cloud of dust, just as Phaedra chanted the words of the long-range spells she'd need here, a crackling surge of lightning gathering over her palm. Mistletoe buckled, but Phaedra squeezed the mare's mane comfortingly with her free hand, even as the lightning played about her fingers, her hair rising with static about her, a golden cloud that snaked about her in the air. At once, her voice rising to a dramatic crescendo, she cast forth the spell, and lightning burst from her palm, a crackling surge of light and heat. It caught the creature nearest to her, and an explosive crack of lightning snapped outwards, so that the beast fell instantly. From its body the lightning arced once again, under Phaedra's urgent gestures, the weave of the spell was still burning within her, so that she directed it to the next creature, and to the next, burning out the spell to limits of what it could do and felling three of the creatures in all. She gave a grim nod, knowing that even Tarmas might have been astounded by her progress, to be able to adapt magic to this extent. It was something she was beginning to learn, to discover on her own, and it was nothing his books could ever have taught her.

Meanwhile Casavir's charge was causing sheer panic amongst the simple-minded beasts, even more so than Phaedra's spell had, they scattered from the paladin as he cut down one and another, and another, with one deadly blow of his hammer. His mastery of Halueth was exceptional, even in close quarters like these, and the horse responded to his directions almost instinctively, darting one way and the other. Phaedra pulled back, about to draw another spell into being, but then Elanee and Neeshka pulled in next to her on their own steeds, obviously ready to fight, and suddenly the creatures began to scatter totally, fleeing, startlingly swift for their bulk, like a herd of startled deer, their rough voices raised in a chorus of terror and pain. Phaedra's heart quavered…what were these beasts? What had driven them here?

"Bugbears…" Khelgar spat harshly, wiping the blood from his axe on the fur of one of the slaughtered creatures, as Phaedra drew up on Misletoe with Elanee and Neeshka in tow. The dwarf was remarkably callous about violence, where Phaedra still felt sick with the smell of blood and fear that hung rank and heavy in the air. "That's what we call these beasts" He quickly, though, turned to the three dwarves who had remained silent from the moment the bugbears had fled and did not seem at all inclined to offer any kind of thanks or gratitude. One of them was injured, clasping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic sodden with blood, but he showed no pain, the suspicion in his eyes undented. It was perhaps merely a first impression, but the enthusiastic recognition that lit up Khelgar's features as his gaze settled on the seeming leader of the three dwarves seemed decidedly out of place to Phaedra given the coldness, if not sheer hostility, that was offered in return. "Khulmar!" Khelgar laughed, smiling openly, as Phaedra and the others dismounted to join him silently. "Well I might have know the clan would have sent you out here to do the dirty jobs, eh?"

"Khelgar…" The dwarf leader said, though there was none of the friendly greeting that Khelgar had given in his tone or his blue eyes. He, Khulmar it appeared, was stocky, with long straggly blond hair and a matted beard, his armour was finely crafted, though it had seen much use and was somewhat battered. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching your back of course" Khelgar answered, unperturbed, or perhaps even unaware of Khulmar's icy response "We heard you were down here back at the fort, thought I'd give you a hand if you're having a look down in the clanhold."

"You might have saved yourself the trouble" Khulmar replied harshly "It's overrun, infested with those damned Bugbears and there's something else too, something big, a leader of some kind. We've already lost three good men, three true Ironfists."

"Well then we could give you a hand there Khulmar" Khelgar glanced back at the other four confidently. "They're handy in a fight, you saw that"

"Indeed" Khulmar's cold gaze swept over Phaedra, Neeshka, Elanee and Casavir, and there was certainly nothing grateful or welcoming about it "What Ironfist could do without the aid of demons, elves and human maids?" Elanee had moved closer to his wounded companion, in a quiet voice she offered healing, but he pulled away angrily, seeming to want none of it.

"Yes…quite" Neeshka scowled, obviously annoyed by the cool reception they were receiving, something that was likewise bemusing Phaedra. She might be able to understand if the Ironfist clan were suspicious of outsiders, but why so hostile to one of their own? To Khelgar? "Without us you'd be meat for the bugbears, remember"

"Keep a civil tongue demon" Khulmar growled "Khelgar, these are no proper companions for an Ironfist or does that name no longer have a meaning for you?"

"What in the Hells do you mean by that?" Khelgar squared his shoulders belligerently, rapidly reddening at the insult, not merely, Phaedra noted, because of his own honour, but primarily because his companions, because Neeshka, had been similarly insulted. "I came here didn't I?" Khelgar continued with outrage "For the clan's honour!"

"The clan's honour?" Khulmar roared, sheer white-hot rage exploding across his sunburnt features. He clenched his fists tight by his sides, as though hearing Khelgar speaking of his own clan was the gravest insult he could imagine "Did you think of the clan, of honour, when you left us behind on your own quest for personal glory" He demanded "When you abandoned the Ironfist name, fortress and king?"

"I abandoned…" Khelgar spluttered, speechless with shock and anger at these accusations "You know it wasn't like that! I learned…I am learning to fight for the clan!" Phaedra gasped, what bitterness had Khelgar's departure wrought? Phaedra knew well in her heart that he truly wanted to help his people…but they, it seemed, saw his leaving as some kind of crime. How could anyone who knew Khelgar think such a thing?

"And what good is what you have learned!" Khulmar shook his head, calming somewhat, his anger giving way to a cold, bitter condemnation. His words were no less cutting for it nonetheless. "When has it served any other but your hunger for glory, when has it actually helped the clan?"

"I'll show you what it's good for!" Khelgar roared violently "I'll show you, and I'll show you what I can do for the Ironfists with what I've learned. You couldn't chase a couple of bugbears out of our historic home, Khulmar, well, watch and Khelgar Ironfist will do just that, with my comrades, my friends at my side"

"Do it then, Khelgar" Khulmar snarled defiantly, disbelievingly "Do it, and perhaps you will strip the shame of your desertion from the Ironfist name, but I have had enough of your hollow words…You will right this wrong by deeds alone!" Phaedra gasped suddenly. Those words "right that wrong", she heard them again in Prior Hlarin's soft, measured tones. Could this, what they were confronting right now, be Khelgar's Trial of the Maimed? If so she would have to help him, any way she could.

"Khelgar, we're with you" she said quietly, and the dwarf turned, nodding determinedly. The others, even Neeshka, seemed to accept this. Something told Phaedra that in Neeshka's case at least this was more to do with proving Khulmar wrong than out of a sincere desire to aid Khelgar in any way. Well, with things as they were, it scarcely mattered.

"We will await you then, or sign of your deaths" Khulmar stepped back coldly, turning from them "And if you fail Khelgar, and somehow the Gods of the humans keep you from an honourable death, never show your face to a true Ironfist again…or nothing you say will matter."

ooo0000ooo

"So, we kill three puny dwarves, and now another comes to test himself against us in the very heart of our lair" The huge, hulking creature that stood before them smiled, as though amused, showing large, sharp teeth black with decayed blood and flesh, a wave of foul breath swept toward where Phaedra and the others, Khelgar at the very front, stood. This creature was massive, a behemoth, towering over the bugbears which clustered around him, all muscle, with a mane of matted fur, an evil bestial face, and sharp yellow eyes. Phaedra knew what this one was, one of the greatest of the mountain tribes, an ogre, and evidently the leader of this bugbear clan.. "How kind of him to bring with him so much meat, and so fresh"

"You'll pay for any Ironfists you've killed!" Khelgar snarled "With your blood!" They had already spilt much blood to get here, a towering hallway at the heart of the Ironfist clanhold, a place lit by the bonfires of the bugbears, but here they faced the true adversary. Here, in the cave crafted by hammer and chisel of the dwarves in ages long past, with the wrought stone crafted masterfully into pillar, buttress, statues scarcely touched by time, the ogre lord of the caves stood in his obscene court…and they had to slay him.

"Oh no little dwarf" the monster hissed, he bore no weapon save his own massive fists "Kill him, kill them all" At once its bodyguard of roughly armoured bugbears raced forward, howling warcries which echoed in the cavernous halls. Phaedra's power lanced forward, magical energy, bolts of iridescent light, she felled four of the beasts this way. As Khelgar and Casavir moved in to engage the rest, Neeshka was suddenly behind them, dancing out from the shadows of the hallway, striking, then retreating, leaving death in her wake. Elanee's power concerted with Phaedra's own, ready to heal and defend, and Phaedra was quick to fire an arrow, cutting down the one behind him. Though swarming with bugbears, the dwarven clanhold had been smaller than ever Logram's fortress had been, much of it collapsed by the weight of centuries, and so they all faced this now quite fresh, and Phaedra's magic still burned steadily and with a comforting strength.

So the bugbears were killed, one by one. Phaedra, feeling a stab of pity for the dumb brutes, wandered to what clime they came after they died, perhaps what simple things they desired would be there for them. As for the ogre, who stood back, shock, but not yet fear in his eyes, as his minions were killed. Well he would be dealt with as he deserved, once her arrows stilled that rotten, loathsome heart.

"Well, admirable work…" the monster snarled, at last "A worthy foe, for myself…" He pulled back his fists, and lunged forward with a speed which so shocked Phaedra that her arrow went wide, slamming into the ogre's shoulder instead. He roared, but his advance scarcely slowed at all. Khelgar rose to meet him, axe at the ready, and Phaedra cried out with horror, what was he doing? She stumbled forward, the range was too close, and she couldn't cast without the risk of striking Khelgar instead…

Khelgar and his foe met together like hammer and steel, the dwarf was fast compared to the lumbering ogre, whose wild swings of his fists Khelgar managed to avoid, but even the mighty cuts of his axe failed to slow, or stop the ogre's feverish attacks. Neeshka darted in, her short sword cut a deep wound into his back, then she leapt backwards, out of reach of his retaliatory strike, blood poured down the ogre's broad back, and he gave a scream of agony. Casavir, standing ready, sidestepped around their massive foe, his hammer poised to strike, he pushed in, slammed the weapon into the ogre's arm, bones cracked under the impact. Phaedra pulled back, seizing control of her frantic thoughts, forcing her power to obey, pushing it outwards with a supreme mental effort. As spells sprang from her lips, a bolt of flame leapt from her hands to slam into the ogre. He shrieked once, falling backwards onto his huge hands, the scent of burning flesh and hair plunged into the room and Phaedra staggered backwards, gagging. She raised her head just in time to see the ogre's fist pulled back, Khelgar racing forward for the killing blow.

"No Khelgar…!" She screamed, stumbling forward. The ogre swung, his fist slammed into the dwarf, sending him flying against the wall. Quickly Elanee swept to his side, but the ogre was still struggling upwards, through all the terrible pain the spell must be causing him, though the fur on his chest burned, and Phaedra pulled back her bow, aiming right at his heart, and let loose. The creature howled, one last screech of rage, fear and pain, he struggled to rise, but then his massive bulk collapsed, crashing to the floor, with a force that shook the hallway. Phaedra, gasping, sprinted over to Khelgar. Elanee knelt over him, the warmth and light of healing magic glimmering beneath her palms, as Khelgar lay back against the stonework, at an awkward angle, there was very little blood, but, kneeling by him, she did not doubt that bones had broken in the fall…oh Gods let Elanee be able to heal him! The elf''s eyes were closed, her breathing heavy, Phaedra could almost see the light gathering around her face, aglow in the strands of her auburn hair.

"May I?" Casavir joined them, laying his own, larger hands over Elanee's slender fingers. The druidess' eyes opened, she gazed at the paladin steadily, and nodded, and Casavir's hands clasped hers. Light of the Gods and power of Nature, knitting broken bone, healing torn flesh, and then Khelgar's eyes opened, a ruddy glow returning to his cheeks, and heavy breaths emerging from his lips.

"By the Gods" he gasped "That was some blow, think I cracked a rib or two…ah…"

"Khelgar!" Phaedra cried, crouching down beside him, her dress sweeping across the floor… "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I think so" He focused on Casavir and Elanee, his eyes widening "I needed healers? Must have been harder than I thought…well…"

"There, that should be alright" Elanee withdrew her hand slowly, Phaedra glanced up at her concernedly, she seemed to collapse inward, her flesh paler than usual, how much power had it taken? And Casavir as well…

"Thanks, tree-worshipper" Khelgar muttered, glancing up at the elf. Elanee nodded, a slight smile touching her lips, as Khelgar pushed himself upward, glancing around the room to focus in on the dead ogre. "What a kill, eh?" He smiled excitedly "Hope Khulmar and the others believe all this…"

"Well, there isn't all that much else here" Neeshka appeared abruptly from the shadows by them "The whole hall's collapsed just ahead, there's no way through" Phaedra looked up quickly, glancing out into the shadowed recesses of the hall, she saw what Neeshka indicated. Just beyond the ogre's squalid camp, the stone ceiling of the hall had fallen, crashing down into the floor in a great pile of stone, some of it she could still see the remnants of the dwarven architecture, but as it was, it was well and truly blocking off their passage forward.

"Bah, when I think of how long this place has been left, with just that ogre leaving his stink everywhere, I tell you, it turns my stomach" Khelgar grumbled "Wish you all could see it as it was once, hells wish I could see it as it was once" He moved over to the ogre's corpse, examined their fallen foe disdainfully "At least maybe the others have a chance to move in, have a look around now…" He said, but then something just beyond the globe of firelight that fell with a flickering urgency about them, seemed to catch his eye and he squinted with clear interest into the gloom.

"What is it?" Phaedra stood, walking over to him. He didn't answer right away, and seemed to be gazing, transfixed, at a life-size, half-complete statue of a dwarf, so Phaedra joined him. The statue was severely damaged, it was missing a head, and the pedestal on which it stood seemed to be have been defaced, but what remained was masterfully-crafted, the tension in the downward sweeping arm, one could almost see it about to move…and the gauntlets on each hand, wait…those weren't even stone at all, were they?

"It's Torim Ironfist…our legendery king" Khelgar muttered reverently "And that means…" He stepped forward, taking his place beneath the half-broken statue, and reached upward slowly to take each of its hands in one of his own. Phaedra wasn't surprised to see the two gauntlets come away instantly, it was obvious they had never been part of the statue, added later perhaps, and they certainly weren't stone. Phaedra stared at them in wonder as Khelgar turned them over in his hands again and again. Despite the long time they had lain here, despite the ogre's desecration, they were unmarked, almost new, with not a sign of rust, except for a light coating of dust that gave way almost instantly. They were iron and jet, black and glittering silver, inlaid with precious metal, crafted with such magnificent detail…and yet seeming almost as flexible as a second skin, with joints that slipped over one another, under Khelgar's testing touch, with natural ease… "By the Gods" Khelgar breathed disbelievingly. "It can't be" He slipped one hand into the wrist of the gauntlet, where it fitted perfectly, then he swung his fist a few time experimentally to test them, an experience that seemed to fill him with a sudden, unrestrained delight. "I don't believe it…after all this time!" He gasped

"What…what are they?" Phaedra couldn't but smile, as always Khelgar's joy at this discovery was infectious…and of course she'd always been interested in magical artefacts. Dwarven-forged gauntlets, who could know what power they might possess?

"They're the Gauntlets of Ironfist!" Khelgar shook his head "These are legendary…Gods to find them just lying around down here"

"The Gauntlets of Ironfist?" Phaedra leant over to examine them more closely. She sensed magic bound up in their forging.

"Well, I'm a little rusty on the history, but they say these were forged here, in these clanholds, by Torim Ironfist himself" Khelgar glanced back at the statue, with such respect that Phaedra could suddenly see the dignity it still possessed, despite its sorry state "He was our greatest king, no one else could have forged something like this. They're supposed to be able to increase the strength of the wearer by ten times, or so the legend says. It's how our clan earned it's name"

"They'd be worth a lot then…" Neeshka padded over, her eyes gleaming with undisguised avarice. "Maybe that snivelling dwarf back on the surface would even…"

"Keep your hands to yourself" Khelgar snapped "These belong to an Ironfist" He turned the gauntlet he already wore over before his eyes, then nodded with satisfaction "That should be it then" He said, slipping his other hand just as easily into the other gauntlet "These will be proof enough even for that blockhead Khulmar"

"Then we'd better get going" Phaedra said, drawing her cloak around her "I think it's past time to leave this place" The flickering darkness, amid the touch of the fickle, dancing firelight was eerie and the degradation of the dwarven ruins was deeply melancholy. How long had they lain like this, empty of the life and light that should have filled them, stalked by the ogre's vicious clan, and falling away before the implacable passage of time. And that was how they left it, silent and empty once again…

ooo0000ooo

"So, you have returned" Khulmar murmured, sounding less than impressed, his icy stare travelling dismissively over the five of them, taking in the marks of battle they all wore. It was only with no small difficulty, and Elanee's knowledge of tracking and the land that they had actually found the small encampment the dwarves had set up in a small alcove above the mountain valley near the clanhold's entrance. Before they had done so, though, they had to pick up the four horses they now led. Elanee had secreted the animals securely in a cave, sealed by nature magic, while they had delved into the Ironfist clanhold. Clearly the three scouts had been trying to avoid further bugbear attacks and had not expected or wanted Phaedra and the others to return or look for them again. They had constructed a small base camp, a basic, leathery tent and a small fire and attended to, amongst their other wounds, the broken arm of their companion, who now bore a makeshift splint, but the suspicion in his gaze as he glared at Khelgar had not been blunted in the slightest. "Perhaps you bring the golden hordes of our greatest kings upon your backs, or perhaps not?" Khulmar's voice dripped with sarcasm "I warned you deserter, you and those you travel with, you were not to come back!"

"No gold Khulmar" Khelgar shook his head, moving forward away from the others. He was calm even in the face of his clansman's mockery and anger, and Phaedra was suddenly struck by what had changed in her friend since that evening back at the Weeping Willow. "But a treasure beyond your imagining nonetheless" He raised his hands, and the gauntlets he bore upon them upwards to Khulmar's cold scrutiny. "What would you say these were eh?"

"A pair of gauntlets Khelgar" Khulmar snapped, with little patience, as though speaking to a child fond of wild dreams and imaginings, and Phaedra felt a snap of anger in her. After all they'd done, would he still be too thick-headed to see? "Finely crafted anyway, with the markings of a dwarven craftsmen" Interest suddenly sparked in the dwarf's acrid face. He raised a hand, turning Khelgar's left gauntlet over experimentally, then suddenly his eyes widened as they focused in on the rune carved into the surface "It can't be…" He gaped, raising his awe-filled gaze to Khelgar's grinning face "You, by the Gods…the Ironfist gauntlets…the totem of our clan. You found them down there?"

"Yes Khulmar" Khelgar answered, with satisfaction "In the horde of an ogre king himself"

"I can scarcely…" Khulmar stepped back, shaking his head as though with disbelief "You did it, you, and these elves demons, humans…" He frowned, lowering his head with shame "While we, the supposed true Ironfists here, we skulked like yearling cubs here scared by a few bugbears. The clanhold is safe, empty, then?"

"Safe, and our brothers avenged" Khelgar nodded "But we didn't find much else, most of it seems to have collapsed…"

"We had foreseen that. It has been many centuries since the footsteps of our clan sounded in Torim's halls" Khulmar sighed "Now, I think it fitting that yours were the first Khelgar. I misjudged you, I misjudged all of you, I suppose, I let myself forget what a friend you were, what a warrior and what an Ironfist…"

"Ah, that fault is mine as well" Khelgar clasped his clansman on the shoulder "I'm beginning to realise, maybe I shouldn't have left the way I did. But I'm starting to find a reason to put these skills of mine to a proper use, so I'll be staying with this lass here anyhow, for a while yet" He moved his hands as though to remove the Gauntlets "These should go to a true Ironfist" He said, as Phaedra looked on, shocked, but deeply impressed that he would choose to surrender them to Khulmar. "One who's stuck with the clan through it all"

"Keep them" Khulmar shook his mane of pale hair "It is not by chance, I think, that you took them up, and they belong in your hands, in battle, not in Keros' vaults. Besides, I would hardly steal the glory of their discovery from where it belongs" He turned to the others, nodded respectfully, his blue eyes glinting with a sudden warmth "My thanks to you as well." He said "You took up our cause, made it your own. You have our pledge that the clan shall remember this"

"We were happy to help you and Khelgar" Phaedra answered, smiling gratefully.

"I hope your clan may have the chance to repay us, by aiding the soldiers in Old Owl Well" Casavir added.

"Well, Keros has some kind of grand plan for the old place you cleaned out" Khulmar shrugged "Maybe us Ironfists'll finally be going home. If so, I will convey your words to our king. Khelgar. Perhaps next time we meet it shall be within the halls of Ironfist, remade…"

"The Gods grant it Khulmar" Khelgar nodded "Good luck my old friend"

"And to you…" Khulmar raised a hand in salute "May the stone shield you from the sky, and ale be ever at your hand. But not too much ale, I know how you get after the twelth tankard"

"Speaking of which I'm dying to get back to the Flagon" Neeshka muttered "So shall we get going?"

"Yes, of course" Phaedra turned to leave, laying a hand on Mistletoe's head gently. As she did so, the horse gazed back at her with liquid eyes "Farewell Khulmar" She said simply, and took her first step to leave, followed quickly by the others. Khelgar stayed perhaps a moment longer, but soon made his way to join them as they walked, on foot just for a little while longer up the valley. Phaedra glanced back once to see Khulmar watching them go with a smile of amused admiration on his features, before he turned, heading back to prepare his comrades for another expedition into the clanhold, and the five of them left the alcove, and the dwarven scouts behind…

Phaedra smiled to herself, they had done something good here, and not just for Neverwinter. She had seen just how much the clanhold had meant to the Ironfists, and was glad she had had a hand in returning it to those to whom it rightly belonged. Perhaps the clan would indeed become great again, with time. At the very least they'd helped Khelgar along the path to his vision of monkhood, if Phaedra's intuition had been correct.

"Khelgar, you know, I think you might have completed one of the Prior's tasks" She said, wondering if he had noticed. Well, obviously he hadn't, since he glanced at her, frowning with confusion "The Trial of the Maimed" she added "To right a wrong in your past"

"Ah, yes, that's what he said, wasn't it?" Khelgar nodded, thinking deeply for a moment, before understanding dawned in his ruddy face "You know, I think I might have..." He nodded with satisfaction "I did wrong when I left the clan, I know that now, and perhaps clearing out the clanhold was what's needed to make things right…"

"Oh wonderful…" Neeshka rolled her eyes "The dwarf has seen the light"

"Shut it, demon-spawn" Khelgar growled "Of course, your kind would never understand" Well…perhaps there was still some progress to be made…maybe a lot of progress. But, they had made a start, Khelgar had made a start, and they'd also recovered the Gauntlets…

"And I'm glad of it" Neeshka shrugged, then lifted her head to glance at the others too. "Admit it, you four need me because I'm the only one who still has a realistic outlook here…"

"A realistic outlook?" Elanee glanced sideways at Neeshka.

"Oh, you know, understanding that you've got to look out for yourself if you want to get ahead" Neeshka answered confidently "And keeping an eye on everyone else, just in case they're planning to knife you."

"Oh, really?" Elanee turned, an enigmatic smile touching her lips as she lowered her head, coppery hair shimmering as it touched her cheeks "Then perhaps Khelgar is not the only adjusting their outlook, although he seems to be the only one who realises it"

"What do you mean, elf?" Neeshka asked with guarded watchfulness, her confidence suddenly falling away as she gazed at Elanee with puzzlement.

"Oh, I'm sure you realise what I mean…soon enough" Elanee shrugged elegantly, as Phaedra smiled secretly behind her hand. She knew Neeshka well by now, and recognised what Elanee was saying. However much she might protest or pretend otherwise, if any of her friends needed a hand, the tiefling would always be the first to offer it. She didn't know if it was really this journey that was changing Neeshka, or if she had always hidden this courage behind the thief's façade, but it didn't really matter. Phaedra could rely on her, on all of her companions for anything. She wondered briefly if this journey had changed her, would the Phaedra living out a small life in West Harbour be able to recognise the woman she had become? Her smile faded a little, so much had changed, she had indeed seen horror that had marked her deep, but at least she had her friends, and now Casavir beside her. Whatever happened, she knew they would stay by her.


	34. Chapter 34

_Chapter 34...or Bishop and Phaedra's first conversation (dramatic music please!) In many cases this is an important insight into Phaedra's psychology as well as a chance for Bishop to be the bastard we know and love. And there's a Casavir conversation too, so everyone should be happy._

_Thanks to rianess for review and favourite!_

They returned, some two days after they left the Ironfist clanhold behind, to the warmth of the Sunken Flagon while cold and gloomy night fell swiftly over Neverwinter. As sunset dwindled to almost nothing outside, drenching the city in the gusty bitter cold and a rapidly encroaching darkness, the inn was a sanctuary even brighter and more welcoming than it had seemed any other time she had returned here. Phaedra was almost shocked by just how much she welcomed the Flagon's familiar atmosphere. The aching tension in her muscles from the long horseback ride and the strain of Old Owl Well's mounting terror both had imparted a tightness to her shoulders which became so familiar that she had hardly been aware of it until now when it seemed to drain away in the soothing warmth of the fire. Her thoughts, having been a state of heightened anxiety for so long, eased…and she felt the horror of what had occurred deep within the caves leave her for the first time in days. The smell of wood and ale drove away the stench of death, the raucous noise of the patrons that had once been so unpleasant and noisy now seemed to welcome her. Indeed more than one, who knew her by sight, raised a toast to Duncan's niece and her safe return, an unexpected, but welcome blessing she received gratefully, though shy as always around these men. And Duncan…oh Duncan, what could she have ever done without dear Duncan? His joy at her arrival was so clear, so open. It warmed her heart to see his smile, that joyous smile that never left his face the whole night as he rushed around, scarcely staying still, attending to his patrons, speaking with her, admonishing his barhand, desperate to make everything perfect for her.

Sitting at the table near the Flagon's roaring fireplace, she glanced across the inn to where Khelgar was perched precariously on a barstool, heaving a tankard high. He had been drinking with abandon, threatening and joking with the other men there with a high spirit, and endlessly showing off the jet and iron Ironfist gauntlets on his hands. Again and again, in a loud and slurred voice, he entertained his audience with tales of his fights with ever-increasing numbers of orcs, bugbears and ogres to reclaim them. It was the type of behaviour, Neeshka noted with a grumbling murmur, that would get the gauntlets swiped by some quick-handed pickpocket once he was passed out on the floor. But Phaedra doubted that could ever happen with so vigilant a guard as the tiefling at Khelgar's side, she eyed every one of the patrons who joined them at the bar suspiciously. It was rather amusing to think of her taking on the role of protecting Khelgar from thievery, but once again had to be part of the changing attitudes within her group. Normally reticent in crowds, even Elanee sat with Phaedra for a while, sharing in the effervescent joy that Duncan and his inn radiated on this special night. And Casavir…he seemed, in the brief words they shared, to win her uncle's grudging respect, though his quiet sophistication might have seemed at odds with Duncan's vibrant enthusiasm. Once Duncan learned that Casavir was actually technically a fugitive from Neverwinter's army, his attitude towards him noticeably improved, it would seem her uncle had a prejudice against the excessively law-abiding. Though the two of them would probably never be friends, Duncan nonetheless entrusted his niece readily to the paladin's continuing protection.

"I never thought I'd see a paladin in this old place" Duncan muttered to Phaedra, once Casavir had left the common room to see to the horses in their stable and Elanee had retired back to her room. "But I guess he's alright for a holy warrior. Just needs to loosen up a little…"

Oh, he's fine as he is, I think" Phaedra answered absently, her thoughts weren't exactly on the conversation. It was West Harbour, she was thinking again of the village, and how faint and distant her memories seemed to be becoming, how long had it been now? Weeks…far longer, and farther than she had thought it would be, though how she had conceived this would ever be simple was beyond her. Every time she tried to get close, there was some other enemy, some other obstacle in her path. And meanwhile, the feeling of the cool Mere wind upon her face, the sound of the water of West Harbour's small brook, the scent of freshly cut crops in the fields…slipped further and further from her.

"You okay Phaedra?" Duncan glanced at her sideways, with clear, open concern, obviously seeing her disquiet. She turned back toward him, a weary smile touching her lips lightly. In his face, in the small, subtle things, that nonetheless spoke so strongly of his filial relationship with her foster-father, she saw Daeghun so clearly for a moment. Daeghun, was he alright? Oh Gods, please let him be alright…

"It's okay Duncan" She answered at last, knowing she had to keep being strong, it didn't do to dwell on the past like this. She had to keep moving forward. "I'm just tired, really tired. Old Owl Well, it wasn't like…like I expected it to be" She lowered her head, how to tell him, how to explain? How could she even start?

"Hells, Phaedra…I know" Duncan leant in towards her, drawing her eyes back to him as he laid a rough warm hand gently over her own "Of course I know" She remembered that he too had been an adventurer, he must have had a family and friends he'd left behind too, he must have seen horrors as she had, killed as she had, knowing it was right in her head, but never quite able to convince her heart.

"Duncan…" Phaedra sighed "Does it, this, get any easier, ever?"

"Phaedra…if it did, then you would not be the girl I know you are" Duncan answered sadly "There are men who kill easily, who do it without thinking, for gold, for revenge…just for their own twisted amusement. You are not one of them, you're fighting them. And I know Phaedra that it is so hard…but you have one thing none of them have ever had, you have something you're fighting for, something good. Just, hold onto that, always…and I know you'll do right"

"Yes…" Phaedra nodded, he was right. She had West Harbour, she had her friends, they'd be waiting each and every day for her return, Bevil, Tarmas, Retta, Brother Merring, everyone…even Daeghun. It was more than many had…here in this world she had never imagined beyond the village, with its dark sorcerers and walking dead, its cruelties and nameless victims…and here in this city where even now the darkness stealing over the marble spires and fetid slums alike would hide a thousand crimes and evils, great and small. "Thank you Duncan…" She said softly "Thank you for everything"

"Ah, there's no need for that, lass" Duncan leant back in his chair, the earnestness fading as he smiled lightly at her once again. "You're the one who's out there, fighting. I'm just your washed-out uncle." He glanced at her again, his brown eyes sparkling "And right now, your uncle says you should get to bed. You look like you really need it" Ah…a bed, that would be wonderful, and Gods she really, really needed a bath too. A long, warm bath…

"I really do" She stood slowly, and smiled lightly down at Duncan. "And whatever you say, I am going to thank you, uncle, because I would never have been able to do any of this without you"

"Okay, if you must" Duncan grumbled half-heartedly, but grinned, pleased nonetheless "Goodnight, lass…" He said, nodding "I'd better go see to this rowdy lot…make sure they keep it down for you" He stood quickly, and left the table, gathering up the dirty tankards to head back to the bar, where an increasingly unsteady Khelgar and Neeshka still stood. Phaedra smiled softly, Duncan…when she had returned from Old Owl Well, she had seen how overjoyed he was at her safety, the shadow of the worry and anxiety that had troubled him as she had wandered the paths of the Spine was still heavy upon his brow nonetheless. That was another reason to fight, another person who waited for her each day…

She turned slowly, the folds of her dress rustling about her, it was an old one, she'd almost ruined Retta's precious gift in the bloody foray into Old Owl Well. As she stepped forward, the opposite direction to the one Duncan had taken, she gathered the linen cloth in her hand, and stepped lightly towards the door that opened into the soft, flickering shadows of the corridor behind the inn, the place where all their rooms were. She stepped through the tables and crowds, lightly, almost automatically, she knew the way well and her mind drifted as though on tides of dark water within her: Duncan's words, West Harbour, the choices that lay before her, the journey she knew she must yet take. Her thoughts were so completely occupied, so heavy upon her mind, that as she walked through the haze of warmth that radiated from the flickering fire, her gaze passed blankly over the one occupied chair in this corner of the Flagon. And she would have passed it too, without even noticing the man who sat in the shadows there, languid and wolfish in the casual ease of his posture, but that as she tried to do so he suddenly and completely unexpectedly stood to intercept her.

"Well, well…if it isn't Duncan's lovely niece, back from the mountains at last" Bishop was right in front of her before she had even fully comprehended what was going on. In the second it took for her even understand that he was here, that he was standing in her way, that he had actually spoken to her at all, it was already well clear that she'd lost the moment she might have used to get past him, or even to alter the balance of power in a dynamic that was now completely skewed in his direction. She simply stared at him, aghast, as he manoeuvred his way in front of her, and she saw him in the flickering firelight, out of the shadows for the first time since his baleful eye had been set upon her. "I'm glad, you wouldn't believe how dull this place is without you around" He continued, with the same casual, almost careless ease which somehow set her off balance even more.

She couldn't help but find her gaze skirting over him quickly, trying for a moment to solve his mystery, find something to explain what made him stand here in front of her, as though she could find some way to gain a foothold over him, before he made this encounter all his own. He was tall, taller than she'd thought he was, taller perhaps even than Casavir, though less massively built. Instead there was a certain hungry leanness about him, lithe and deadly, but strangely compelling, like a lone wolf. The stubble running over his chin and cheeks, like the shadow of blood upon a knife blade, was the same shade of dark brown as his casually ruffled hair and sharp eyebrows. His hooded, shadowed eyes were tawny, glinting with insolent disregard, the sneer on his lips seemed fixed in place. And yet…she could not but notice that there was something intensely arresting in the untamed fierceness of his features. Well what she meant was…it was just he was standing so close to her, close enough that she realised that he was in fact deeply, deeply handsome, striking in the rugged physicality of his build, in that acutely compelling casual arrogance with which he held himself.

"Excuse me" She blurted out instantly, before that thought could go any further, trying vainly to slip past him, but somehow, without even seeming to stir except slightly, he managed to block her attempt, leaving her somewhat out on a limb "I need to go…" She murmured, disgusted by how obvious her disquiet must have been to him, but paralysed by the confusion his presence was wreaking on her. For the Gods' sake, she was an adventurer, a sorceress…so why was she so utterly useless with men?

"What's the hurry, girl?" He smiled slightly, darkly, he was so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from him, and smell the alcohol on his breath. She raised her head slowly, fixing her gaze on his own, trying to force the strength and sense of command that came so easily when she was around her friends, but she was alone now, out of sight of the bar behind her, out of earshot of the rooms ahead. But that shouldn't have mattered…she was not afraid of him, why should she be? This was the Flagon, she need only shout and Duncan would be here in a moment, besides she could easily defend herself if need be. And yet, her heart was beating faster against her ribs, her throat tight and dry, her breaths shallow… "Why don't you stay a little longer?" He continued, taking another step closer, she stepped away automatically, but found herself backed up against the unyielding wood of the Flagon's wall. "That new one, the paladin you picked up, he isn't waiting for you, if you wondered. He's gone straight to his bed, alone…" He grinned suggestively "Or perhaps the elf is in there with him…"

"What do you want?" She snapped, suddenly bitterly angry that he should speak so, and of Casavir, who was obviously a better man than he was, and Elanee, her truest friend. "Why are you even talking to me?" She demanded "Duncan said…"

"Oh, I don't give a damn what Duncan says" His gaze hardened for a moment, before it travelled down to her face once more. "But right now, how about you and I get to know one another a little better? I've got a sense of you, Duncan's precious niece, and I think you're waiting for something. Maybe I can give it to you…"

"Just stay away from me" Phaedra hissed "You don't know anything about me" She reached forward to try and push him away, slip past him perhaps. She had no mind to continue this conversation, but at the moment her hand landed on the leather padding of his shoulder she suddenly realised that it was a mistake. There was no way, even if she pushed her hardest, that she would be able to dislodge him. Even through the leather armour she felt the incipient strength in his shoulder, that tension of muscle that tightened almost imperceptibly under her hand. Her fingers closed about his shoulder, without her even wanting them to, knowing that beneath the armour she would feel his muscles hard as rock, and the heat of the blood roaring through them. At the thought, the sudden, sweeping knowledge of all his maleness, something rebellious, something out of her control, thrilled like the string of a harp plucked by an unseen hand. A thrill that was part fear, but a fear that longed for what it shrank from, and part something she scarcely recognised, a yearning as though she were wound up tight around herself and longed to be released. She clenched her arm, a small gasp escaped her lips, instantly stifled…but still she could not stop the tremor that ran down her body, a sensation at once so unsettling and yet so achingly sweet that the blood rose to her cheeks at its intensity.

"Careful, girl" His smile, in the flickering torchlight that set his tawny eyes aflame, was…ravenous "You shouldn't try and get so intimate. It might give a man the wrong idea" She withdrew her arm, as fast as though it had been scalded and drew it between them in a slightly futile attempt to shield herself somewhat, suddenly more than a little frightened of what exactly his intentions were. "Don't flatter yourself" He said, seeing her unease "If I wanted that right now, there are plenty of whores in this city that are more game than you" She flushed instantly at his coarseness…as well as the mention of…well that…but the heat of shame seemed only to rush through her like fire put to silk…

"What do you want then?" Her voice trembled pathetically as she forced herself to speak with some effort. Lathander…she really was only sixteen years old, how could she know how to deal with a man like this? She thought vainly of what Amie would have done. No doubt Bishop would be head-first in a horse trough by now if she were here. But Phaedra's mind was so completely muddled that even spells that might have given Bishop a slight warning were out of reach…

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" Bishop leaned in towards her, his voice quiet; they were inches from each other now. And she slumped back against the wall, as still and frozen as though she were carved from rock, for though there was a part of her that was still lucid, and fought through her to get some kind of response from her heavy limbs, to escape him, it seemed a part distant from herself right now. The rest of her swam in confusion, in the ache of a longing that seemed so much older and wilder than her inexperienced heart. That longing…it ran deep, and she felt it…wanting him to touch her, somehow…for her to feel the strength in his muscles again, from him. Her uncertainty deepened, knowing it was true and knowing it was wrong, but unable to deny the power it held over her. "You know what?" He said softly, gazing at her across his hooded eyes "Tonight I will get myself a whore. And I'll imagine it's you…" With that he stepped back suddenly, and simply walked away, out towards the door far from them, without even giving her a second glance. She didn't dare look at him either, nor could she, paralysed as she was by confusion. Instead she slumped further down against the wall, awash with shock, drawing her white dress closer around herself as though to shield her body from the undeniable reality of what had just happened. She gave a short, sharp gasp, as though she had been starved of air, and drew her arms close to her heaving chest. What had just happened? What had she just let happen?

And why, why…had she wanted him…to…well she didn't even know what she had wanted. Oh Gods…why had she, for a moment, for a long moment actually longed for his maleness as she feared it? She felt the keening of that longing even now, but this time shame doused through her, and she felt a deep flush touch her cheeks. He…was foul, and she felt besmirched by his words, by the gleam in his eyes as he had surveyed her, but how could she lie to herself and pretend that she hadn't been transfixed by the vital spark of life in his eyes? That the moment she might have touched him through his armour had affected her so deeply she could even now scarcely understand it? She shook her head, Gods she needed a bath now, a hot bath…right now. Rubbing her arms, steadily getting back to her feet and composing herself once again, she breathed deeply and fought for a moment's calm. For a brief instant she almost considered going straight to Duncan, but the thought of speaking of that to him, of repeating the foul things Bishop had said, of explaining why she hadn't just slapped him and been done with it…quelled that thought right away. To speak of him to Duncan would be too much to bear, she knew the words would stick in her throat right away. Better, perhaps, to ignore the incident, ignore Bishop, not even let a thought of him intrude upon her peace of mind. Yes, that would be best. She turned on her heels, her step as light as it had ever been, and walked down towards her bedroom. One good night's sleep and everything would be as it should have been…

ooo0000ooo

Dawn's light streamed through the windows, silver and as insubstantial as gossamer, falling delicately upon the white linen sheets that Phaedra had cast aside with frustration as she had risen that morning. Despite all her assurances, she was still troubled, and had spent most of the night troubled, tossing and turning …Bishop had unsettled her. And more so than Bishop even, was her response to him. She couldn't deny the strange and secret thrill that had ran through her as they had spoken, even as she had felt disgusted by his obvious intent. Something told her, some voice of common sense that sounded just a little bit like Amie Fern might have, told her that responding in such a way to a man, especially a man quite so well…handsome as Bishop clearly was, was only natural, even despite the…horrible circumstances. And that felt like good advice almost, except it couldn't convince that deeper part of herself that still ached at the mere thought of Bishop, or her conscience which was convinced she had done something wrong and brought to bear another wave of shame to punish her disobedience. She paced up and down the room, running her hand through her hair distractedly, her footsteps echoing with the anger that she still felt at herself. For Lathander's sake, she'd been far better prepared to deal with orcs and undead by her upbringing than she had been to grapple with this. She'd lived her childhood in an abstract world of thought and magic, her body had scarcely existed for her, until she'd had to confront the inevitable changes that womanhood brought. Even then, she could never have dreamed of approaching Daeghun or Tarmas with anything to do with her own femininity, it was Retta Starling who'd in the end had to take her aside and explain. But the shame had endured, a child-like unease surrounding well…sex that had never quite left her. She'd tried her best to well…pretend that the whole thing was nothing to do with her as she went about her business, to ignore the admiring glances she sometimes received from the men of West Harbour. But never had any of them…affected her like this, like Bishop…

Enough about Bishop, she decided suddenly. There was no use even considering it. She would just run around in circles, and this certainly wasn't helping, blaming Daeghun and Retta when truly it was her own body and her own feelings, her responsibility to control. Whatever he'd hoped to gain by accosting her like that, the best way to beat him was to keep on going as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn't affected her at all. She would focus on what was in front of her, right now, where she was going, and the people who mattered to her, not low-life trash like him. Honestly, he was probably nothing but a debauched drunkard trying to get some sick amusement from her. She had almost convinced herself, as she opened the door of her room and stepped out, that it was so, but still something troubled her; that Bishop hadn't been looking for well…the obvious, that he'd been hoping to gain something else from their encounter, though what it should be entirely evaded her. There, Gods, she was doing it again! She forced herself to concentrate, she'd have to see Brelaina of course, and they had to return the horses too and report back about Old Owl Well. There, plenty to occupy herself with for now.

She hummed a light tune as she made her way towards the stables, yes, she had plenty to occupy herself with. Duncan wasn't awake yet, she passed by his door to catch for a moment his heavy snoring, and she smiled lightly. No doubt the celebration had gone on for a long time last night, which meant Khelgar and Neeshka were probably still out of it as well. As for Casavir and Elanee, if they were up, well, maybe they could help her with the horses. She'd probably need some assistance. She passed through the main inn, unable to stop herself checking the shadows…just to make sure, but the Sunken Flagon was well and truly empty. He'd said something about finding…a prostitute, hadn't he? Gods, he was a repulsive man…ah! She berated her thoughts once again…and carried on, glad not to be bothered by anyone this time.

The stables were a small room tacked on to the Flagon's farthest corner, Duncan had confided that they had been a rather over-ambitious venture he had attempted to attract a more higher class of customer, a fruitless dream since the Flagon was at the heart of the Docks. But now the stables had come in handy for Phaedra and her friends, they were spacious enough for the three Watch horses as well as Halueth, quite enough for the animals' comfort for one night, and more, if Halueth was staying on. But right now she'd have to bring Mistletoe and the others back to where they belonged. She felt a pang of sadness as she laid a hand on the door, she didn't want to leave her brave mare behind, but…perhaps the Watch would let her use Mistletoe again if she needed her. She slowly pushed open the door, and stepped into air heavy with the smell of hay and horses, rich and fragrant. The stables were small and rectangular, divided into three stalls and a central grooming area…and right now they were not empty. Halueth stood tall and resplendent in all his silver-grey glory at the centre of the room, and by him Casavir, wearing his white tunic and boots, was hard at work grooming the stallion, at the moment running a thick brush through Halueth's wiry coat. Mistletoe and the other horses lingered in their stalls. Phaedra found herself pausing for a moment to watch him, the paladin didn't seem to even know she was there. He was taking such care as in everything he did, teasing each scrap of dirt and mud from every minute clump of the horse's fur. As she watched he ran an affectionate hand over Halueth's muzzle, a rare moment of unguarded peace running over his austere features. It was a moment she suddenly felt ashamed to be witnessing without his knowledge and abruptly she stepped forward into the damp straw to make herself known. Reaching for something on the stall by him, he glanced up and his ice-blue eyes settled upon her. If he was surprised to see her he didn't show it, instead simply laying down the brush and turning to her.

"My lady" He said soberly "It is good to see you up so early. I expect many of our companions will not join us for a while."

"Good morning Casavir" She stepped over, standing just by Halueth's side and next to Casavir. Carefully she laid a hand on the stallion's side, feeling his powerful heart beat under her palm as his head turned towards her, his grave, wise eyes glimmered. "You're hard at work"

"It is a good time to be working" Casavir answered "You serve Lathander, I have always had some sympathy with your God's teachings."

"You know Lathander's teachings?" She asked, interested, as her fingers wound in Halueth's mane.

"Yes" Casavir nodded "Though Tyr may be our city's patron, there is a temple to Lathander in the Blacklake as well, the Church of the Morninglord has many followers" Ah…that was the temple Brother Merring had mentioned then. It was a deep source of regret for her that the closing of the Blacklake had left her unable to find guidance there. "Some find the demands of Tyr, and of his Church, too…severe" Casavir continued, with less levity…

"What do you mean?" Phaedra glanced at him. Even in West Harbour, though none had served Him so directly as Casavir did, all had respected the Evenhanded Tyr. Justice was something everyone wanted…wasn't it?

"The priests of Tyr serve as judges here in the city but any organisation which enforces the law attracts enmity" He replied gravely "Justice…is not always to our liking, but it must be absolute…"

"I see" Phaedra fell silent for a moment, turning back towards Halueth, to tease the tangles from his long grey mane with her fingers "Casavir…" She said, at last, unsure exactly of how to approach this, but wondering if the teachings of Tyr might shed some light on her present trouble. "Does the Church of Tyr say if we should be blamed…for our feelings as well as our actions?" She asked

"Our feelings…?" Casavir glanced at her, his blue eyes questioning "What do you mean, my lady?"

"If we felt something we knew was wrong, but we couldn't stop feeling it" Phaedra began cautiously "Does the Church say we should be condemned?"

"Sins belong to the mind, as much as the body" Casavir answered slowly "And Tyr knows our will as well as our actions, but justice cannot be rendered for thoughts alone. If a paladin were to confess such a sin…the church could not strip him of his honours, but it would be recommended that he retire from temptation. Remember that Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande, who fell from grace, did so because her dreams were tainted by the Old One Morag and her thoughts became consumed with vengeance. Such a silent sin, hidden from others, has a way of growing" He shook his head, as though impatient with his own sermonising "But this is dour talk for this morning, my lady, I doubt one so young as you has much patience with talk of sin."

"Oh…no, I was just wondering" She amended hastily. Well, when she was so evasive herself, it was scarcely likely she would get any concrete answers. Still she had one at least…what she had felt was clearly wrong, and she would have to get rid of it before it made things any worse. "Do you know if Elanee was up yet?" She said "I wanted to go to Captain Brelaina this morning, and return the horses too. I could use her help with that"

"She had gone outside for a moment…I believe she suffers if enclosed indoors too long, it is the way of druids" Casavir answered. Phaedra glanced down at Mistletoe's shining flank for a moment. Elanee had never told her that she hated being indoors so much. "Phaedra…" She started as he spoke her name. He rarely did so, it was almost always 'my lady' with him. "Is something wrong?" She glanced up at him once again, shocked that he should have noticed, and suddenly caught off guard. His blue eyes, so light that they seemed almost to shine, caught her own as though in a mesh of light. They were concerned, the fine lines around them slightly tightened. For a moment she almost confessed, explained her trouble with Bishop, but the thought of telling him, of even beginning to speak of it to him, he was a man, and he thought her good, and sinless…was so uncomfortable that the words stuck in her throat immediately.

"No, not right now" She managed to answer, but her hesitation seemed so yawningly obvious to her that he could not but have noticed it. Still he accepted her answer for what it was, nodding slowly and turning back to Halueth for a moment.

"Once I have Halueth back in his store, I could escort you to the Watch Headquarters my lady" He said, glancing back at Halueth "I think we can manage three horses between us"

"Thank you" Phaedra answered awkwardly. Yes, they did need to get to the Headquarters, right now, as soon as possible. But had he known that her answer, if not a lie, had been only partially complete? It was impossible to tell, yet she still felt guilty as though he had. For the first time since they'd settled down so well into their group she felt somewhat adrift, bereft of the kind of guidance she'd had for so long from all of them. This…it wasn't something any of them could help her with. She could just imagine what Neeshka's grinning response would be, and Khelgar…she wouldn't even bother. Elanee…might be of more help, but after what had just occurred with Casavir she suddenly felt terrified of giving more away than she intended. Would Elanee be able to glimpse that she had not only not stopped thinking about Bishop, but she hadn't stopped wanting him either? She didn't want to upset anyone, or make anyone think any less of her. Suddenly she felt a pang of terrible grief for Amie…for her friendship with Amie, both of them the same age, with the same troubles and concerns, though different answers in many cases. She knew Amie would not have thought any less of her, would have understood not merely how she felt, but also that she didn't like how she felt, and would have some kind of sensible way of putting things that made Phaedra feel less entrapped by her feelings. But it was a foolish thing to think…Amie was gone, and if Phaedra didn't fight her own battles, no one else would. She gave a light nod to Casavir…it was time to get going…


	35. Chapter 35

_Chapter 35...in which the plot thickens once again. Phaedra learns her next task for the Watch is a not too appealing prospect...oh and Sand makes another appearance. He has a secret, I wonder what it is? Also Phaedra gets a rather useful item of clothing. I prefer my magical items to be few and far between, here is one of them. Another sort of set-up/characterisation chapter I'm afraid, but the next one is, I promise, you quite an awesome spectacle. _

_Thanks to Gaspode for adding me to alert as well as all the helpful feedback, also thanks to bublinka likewise. _

It was soon that Phaedra found herself once again before both Marshal Cormick and Captain Brelaina in the Headquarters of the City Watch. Clear morning light filtered through the high, glass windows of Brelaina's office, bathing in a radiant stream the desk, and the papers upon it, including a dispatch she recognised as one from the fortress of Old Owl Well and Commander Callum, the summary of her activities there perhaps? Brelaina was as stoic and composed as ever, sitting ramrod straight in her chair, but Phaedra could tell, blushing, from the look of awe and admiration directed her way by Marshal Cormick that they were both obviously aware of what had occurred in Old Owl Well already.

"Lieutenant, excellent" Brelaina leant forward business-like as soon as Phaedra was composed before the desk but a small smile touched her lips as she continued "Commander Callum's report arrived just yesterday, and I was hoping you would be here soon, so I could offer my thanks in person"

"To be honest…I'd assumed Issani was dead and this operation was a waste of our time" Cormick added "What you did, pulling him, alive, from the lair of an orc king and a necromancer, killing both in the process and probably single-handedly ensuring the success of our operations in Old Owl Well…"

"We are impressed, very impressed" Brelaina nodded, cutting crisply across Cormick's enthusiasm "And I do not believe we are the only ones, the Nine are taking an interest, and if my sources are to be believed, Lord Nasher himself received a copy of Callum's dispatch almost as soon as it arrived. It would appear your fortunes are on the way up, Lieutenant"

"My thanks Captain" Was all Phaedra could really say, astounded by the thought of Lord Nasher reading of her name, and her exploits, she could only trust that Callum had left Casavir's name well and truly off his writings…

"But I was…concerned to hear of a necromancer's involvement" Brelaina's eyes quickly hardened like dark agate "Issani's accounts suggest he matched your own description of your previous adversaries"

"He did" Phaedra could not help but shudder as though the ghost of that white-robed phantom reached across the veil of death to touch her momentarily "And his activities…were of a similar intent as well" She drew from her pack the folded-up piece parchment that they had recovered from the necromancer's dark lair, the letter, hinting at his plans, and at the involvement of the Master of the Fifth Tower as well. Perhaps this was the proof that the Cloaktower would require to more fully engage with the threat represented by the necromancers. She passed it wordlessly to Captain Brelaina who scanned it briefly, her countenance rapidly darkening as she read the baleful message it gave. Cormick too, standing at her shoulder, seemed to stiffen in response to the cold malevolence written into every word.

"This…is deeply troubling" Brelaina said at last, laying down the paper once again, her gaze bleak "And more so because, aside from your reports Lieutenant, not a whisper of this plot's existence has reached Neverwinter. How can they even hope to be so ambitious, this, they speak of attacking Old Owl Well, and yet conceal themselves so completely? Lieutenant…" Her dark eyes bored urgently into Phaedra as she raised her eyes "You are our only source on this, any information, anything I can tell the Council would be of great help. Who are these men? Whom do they serve? And…this Master of the Fifth Tower…?"

"I can't tell you very much" Phaedra said, helplessly, tugging at her hair thoughtfully "And what I can…I don't know what is even true and false…" She gave her best summary of her one encounter with the Master of the Fifth Tower, the Sending glimpsed through the shadows of Highcliff Castle, what he and his necromancer pawn had conversed of, the plans to attack Fort Locke… "But even he didn't seem to be the ultimate authority, at least not according to the priest himself" Phaedra remembered, it was somewhat difficult to recall these things. The darkness of the Castle, and of the crypt seemed to gather around her, chilling her suddenly "He mentioned an entity…the King of Shadows, he seemed to treat it as a God…"

"The…King of Shadows?" Cormick leaned forward with a dark scowl, as though he wished to seize all these mysteries and beat them into a form he could understand "I do not know a God that goes by that name…"

"Nor do I" Phaedra sighed "But these necromancers, they have some power from somewhere, and they do possess kinship with the shadows "

"Are you sure…the King of Shadows?" Brelaina laid a hand on the desk, growing agitated "Those exact words? That exact name?"

"Yes, I'm certain of it" Phaedra nodded, shocked that Brelaina seemed to know it. Certainly she did, and it caused her no small amount of confusion.

"It's impossible" Brelaina breathed, glancing out into the morning air through her window, the city bright and luminous in the dawn sparkled, giving no answers. "It can't be"

"Captain, what do you mean?" The Marshal grasped at the desk harshly, impatiently "Captain, do you know this creature?"

"Yes…" Brelaina glanced back at Cormick, then to Phaedra "Yes, and he's dead…"

"Dead?" Phaedra stepped forward. Anything the Captain knew, she needed to know, she had to, and she hadn't missed the 'he' either.

"He was a warlock" Brelaina answered, tapping the desk with her fingers "We, Neverwinter, fought him, almost seventeen years ago"

"What?" Phaedra gasped, as Cormick's jaw dropped with shock. This was going beyond coincidence, far beyond it…"Not…the…warlock who was killed in West Harbour?"

"The same" Brelaina nodded gravely "A terrible war, and all the more so because we know so little of what we fought. Even now our chroniclers struggle to agree exactly what occurred then. Not a single of our soldiers sent to West Harbour ever returned alive, but the warlock was undoubtedly slain there. To this day his true purpose, his nature, the extent of his forces…all remain a mystery. If any in the city knew then, they have kept silent. But once the dust had settled after the conflict, one name seemed to surface above all…that name, the King of Shadows"

"How does this even help us?" Cormick snapped, as Phaedra's mind reeled from this new information. Everything, everything was connected. What bound the shards she bore to that conflict that had scarred the earth in West Harbour, to the necromancers, to the Astral creatures that had pursued her for so long? A web…it was like a web, slowly closing around her… "I was there, in the village, six years old. We fled that day and when we came back he was gone, all of it was gone…"

"The Greycloaks combed that swamp for days, Marshal, they even enlisted locals" Brelaina said, rubbing her forehead thoughtfully "I've read the reports myself, they discovered nothing: no demons, no undead…no trace of the warlock himself. It was concluded that he must have been slain by unnatural magical means…"

"No evidence was ever uncovered?" Phaedra's breaths were coming quick and fast "No evidence that he was actually killed?" No evidence except the shards at her belt. Brelaina had said they'd enlisted local help…Daeghun? Had he recovered the shards on that hunt…and, what? Hidden them from the Greycloaks? Why?

"In death he was as elusive as in life" Brelaina answered "And yet, this letter, it seems these necromancers you speak of believe he has returned…" She looked up, contemplating something deeply unpleasant "Is it truly possible that he survived? That he has waited these sixteen years…? And now returns to continue his scheme? How? Why?"

"Maybe he is nothing but a figurehead" Cormick considered darkly "A way of manipulating these necromancers, maybe a ploy by this 'Master of the Fifth Tower'?"

"And yet you say they channel power…" Brelaina shook her head

"Are they former associates of the warlock?" Cormick questioned, glancing to Phaedra. "Hoping to revive him perhaps?"

"The King of Shadows worked alone" Brelaina answered "His servants were undead, or demons, nothing more…at least as far as the records say"

"Not even a warlock could disperse power to associates" Phaedra racked her mind of all Tarmas had told her of the formidable magic of warlocks, each time she had inquired after the circumstances of the war that had destroyed West Harbour. "Only Gods can do such a thing…"

"And that brings us back to where we began…no God, as far as we know has claimed that title" Brelaina shook her head "And I can't believe that there is no connection with the warlock. There was always something amiss there, but we lacked the manpower sixteen years ago to truly settle things once and for all…" She shook her head "By Tyr, this is frustrating. Even now they may be gathering and we flail in the dark, looking for answers…" She took up the piece of parchment, the one piece of evidence that collaborated all that Phaedra had said, and scanned it quickly "I shall hand this to the Nine, and perhaps the Cloaktower as well. With so little information on hand, our options are limited though. At least you put a stop to their schemes in Old Owl Well…" She frowned slightly, glancing again at the note "And this paladin, this one he calls the Katalmach, could he help us perhaps?"

"Unlikely" Phaedra answered hastily "I made contact with him there, he helped us find Logram's lair, but he knew as little as we did about the necromancer." There…no lie, simply evasion…let Brelaina and Cormick take from it what they would.

"I trust that this means enough to the Nine that Phaedra will be allowed into Blacklake at last" Cormick glanced at Brelaina, as though suspecting the opposite was true.

"Unfortunately not…" Brelaina answered, with that same careful curtness of tone, and Phaedra felt the words crush down around her, she'd been so sure that now, at least, she would be allowed to carry on her journey, discover at last the information she had searched for so long, but now, as always, something more seemed to get in her way. "The Nine are still unyielding on the matter, still proving uncooperative despite all you have done" A slight strain in her tone and in her perfectly trained, impassive features was the only sign of her disapproval of the Nine, ostensibly her superiors, though that barely perceptible tension revealed to Phaedra that she had personally taken her Lieutenant's cause as far… "They refuse to discuss entry into the District unless the matter relates to the security of Neverwinter, and fail to see why it is so urgent that you bypass their blockade…"

"Captain, you aren't telling me…!" Cormick burst out "That's outrageous. Phaedra's done…"

"Enough Marshal" Brelaina cautioned, Phaedra sat back exhaustedly. She did not need Cormick to defend her and she could see that angry words could get her no further here. The decision remained in the hands of the Nine, not Captain Brelaina "The Nine are unmoving, as of yet, despite Callum's praise and my efforts, but I am confident that a little more work within Neverwinter will help to sway them …" She leant forward, the morning light falling upon her sharp features, as she seemed to grow only graver "With that in mind, I have recently become aware of a matter which requires your special gifts, Lieutenant. I realise you have done much to aid our cause here in the Docks, and in Old Owl Well, but you must understand that I only ask you this from the direst need…It is Luskan…"

"Luskan?" Phaedra gasped, again the name of Neverwinter's dark reflection, City of Sails, came to the fore here. Luskan, the haven of piracy, hub of crime, with tendrils of its dark influence spreading across the Sword Coast and ruled by the Hostower. Tarmas had taught her something of that dark place, its four great spires rising above the city beneath like a dark nightmare…a whole city subjugated by the cruellest and most twisted branches of magic that were harnessed by the ambitious, pitiless minds within.

"When the Ambassador disappeared we suspected Luskan's hand in it" Brelaina nodded "We have had our disagreements with the city before…"

"A war actually" Cormick's scowl was like a thundercloud "There is no need to mince words when it comes to their kind"

"Yes, and it seems they have forgotten who won that war. Whatever the case, you seem to have found no evidence linking them to Issani or your Shadow Priests but now they are preparing to act against us within the borders of our own city, this we cannot allow" Brelaina continued sternly "I recently received word from our covert operatives in Luskan that an agent of the Hostower, accompanied by an elite Luskan bodyguard, left Luskan some days ago. His destination was this city, and the Docks you have guarded so fearsomely Lieutenant. The ship he is aboard, the Sea Ghost it is called, is scheduled to arrive here at midnight tonight"

"Clearly the Luskan dog wanted to get by without being noticed" Cormick snarled

"Luskan must know that this subterfuge shall not be tolerated" Brelaina answered "You will be there to meet this agent, Lieutenant, and you will eliminate him"

"You don't want him arrested?" Phaedra asked, shocked.

"No" Brelaina sighed, tapping her desk "Be clear that we face a formidable foe here, with a dangerous position all too close to Lord Nasher. I speak of the Luskan Ambassador to the Court, Torio Claven"

"A politician through and through" Cormick said, disgustedly "She'd have this agent out of our hands and loose on the streets in days on some damned technicality"

"Torio Claven is not a woman to be taken lightly, Lieutenant" Brelaina continued "She was trained in the Hostower, trained in the arts of magic, politics and assassination, and she is utterly ruthless in the application of all her resources against any who oppose her. Nothing can be proven, but I suspect her hand in this agent's arrival, it reeks of her plots…and she certainly has a vested interest in getting him through our defences. We must not allow a whisper of our, or your, involvement to reach her, the agent must die, quickly and silently"

"Once he's dead, Torio is out of options" Cormick added with satisfaction "And she can't accuse the Watch, not without implicating herself."

"It will be a message she and her masters cannot ignore" Brelaina said "But, it hinges on you, Lieutenant. This agent will be a Hostower mage of the highest order…"

"I understand Captain" Phaedra nodded "And I will face him" Confidence she had to be able to muster when the time came, but right now she had no choice. She had to do this, to protect this city she had come to respect, to which she had this great responsibility. And she had to continue what she had begun, there was no turning back. Despite this inner resolution, turmoil still stormed within as she considered how exactly she could defeat a trained master of the Hostower. Her mind flitted through all that Tarmas had taught her of the Hostower and its magics, what little was known anyway. Curses, bindings, spells to torture, weaken, to kill slowly and with great pain. She knew…she knew what she would be up against, and this agent would have no qualms about unleashing every tool at his disposal to kill her. She would have to be twice as resourceful, twice as fast, and twice as ruthless as she had ever been to beat him, how? Where could she find the resources to face a master of the Craft, and of a discipline as cruel and twisted as that of the Hostower? She knew, deep in her heart, that alone, undisciplined, as she was, she could not beat him, but where to find help, and in such a short space of time? Then, suddenly, she remembered…

oooo0000oooo

Later that morning, Phaedra, with Casavir and Elanee in tow, made her way to the establishment of the hedge-wizard Sand, her only contact in the city who she could be sure had the knowledge she would require against a Hostower wizard. It was a clean, well-kept place by the sea, larger than the slums which comprised most of the Docks, with a small garden out the back in which were growing a number of plants which Phaedra recognised as able to yield reagents essential to the production of potions and some complex spells such as summonings. The building was two-storied, no doubt comprising Sand's habitation as well as his home, and there seemed to be ample space for storage and experimentation as well. Wizards who peddled their craft as Sand did had to be ready for any kind of order, from love potions, to the enchantment of weaponry or armour.

Phaedra knocked gently on the door, which swung open almost as though of its own accord, sounding a small bell above the doorway, and thereby alerting Sand, no doubt, to their presence. She stepped inside quickly; it was a small room, panelled across with wood, and mainly taken up by the counter which stood across from the door, a large, imposing creation carved with symbols of Mystra and other deities of magic. She blinked, momentarily seeing the charms which suffused every grain of wood, charms which guaranteed any potential thief foolish enough to attempt to steal from Sand a jolt of magical energy, the result of which was really very painful. She was glad Neeshka wasn't faced with the temptation of the variety of magical wares on display across shelves in the room, amulets and charms of silver and gold in glass caskets, potions brewed and distilled for common use set up in neat rows of bottles, a kaleidoscopic panoply of artefacts all shimmering with the touch of crafting magic. The tiefling had remained back at the Flagon alongside Khelgar, though whether Neeshka ever did actually stay at the inn was a mystery. Phaedra had a suspicion that, when left alone, she found ways to continue her lucrative and shady business in the Docks. Whatever the case was, Khelgar was unlikely to be any help, the celebrations the night before had left him predictably of a delicate constitution this morning, and he was probably engaging in his favourite cure right now, which was more ale and in larger quantities than before. How he managed to find a spare minute for anything was beyond Phaedra.

"Welcome" Sand suddenly appeared behind his counter, the elf seemed little changed since she had seen him last, he wore his purple robes marked with arcane sigils, his dark hair sleek and impeccable, even his slightly oily smile and the nasal tone to his voice. "Ah…Miss Phaedra Blake" His smile widened as he saw them, and his blue eyes glinted with welcoming warmth "Or should I say Lieutenant Blake? You have risen in the world since our last encounter"

"Well met Sand" Phaedra smiled in return

"So you've finally seen fit to consult my expertise" he tutted, but there was no genuine accusation in his voice, which was rich with welcoming pleasure "Still, it would appear you were doing alright thus far without me. I must say I've noticed a definite improvement in the atmosphere of this District, which according to your legions of devoted admirers is down to your efforts. I know quality when I see it, Miss Phaedra, and my expectations of you were high indeed, and it would seem quite justified."

"Thank you" Phaedra flushed briefly "But I've had…"

"No false modesty my dear" Sand chuckled lightly "But it is a right scandal that they haven't let you into the Blacklake yet. Mind you, that makes two murders now. No one will miss Lord Dalren I assure you but Gentry; I had my dealings with him…" Phaedra gaped at him, was everyone aware just how well her quest to get into Blacklake was going? Not exactly an ideal situation, if there were indeed hostile forces present in Neverwinter. "But enough of such dire talk" Sand rubbed his pale hands together "What can I do for you?"

"I have a problem" Phaedra began, and quickly explained what the Captain had told her, and what she was expected to do. Sand's features grew by degree more and more grave as she did so. Was that a hint of anger, even hatred, in his brow, in his light blue eyes? At last, as she finished, he turned away from her to look into the depths of his storehouses, something in his posture told her he was considering this, very deeply. She began to wonder if she had been right to bring this here, though why, she had no idea why that could be "So, any advice you have, and anything to protect against magic I need it all and I'm prepared to pay" she finished. Her salary, increased as she had become a Lieutenant, had remained almost untouched in her pouch, and a good thing too. She'd need it, no doubt.

"You were very wise to seek advice" Sand said, at last, his voice suddenly empty of the dry wit and sarcasm which had always characterised it before "And you have come to the right place I assure you. I have some…experience dealing with Hostower magics" He turned, his pale features, lit only dimly by sunlight streaming through the small windows of the place, were expressionless, though something haunting lurked just beyond his gaze "Adepts of that accursed place are more assassins than mages. Their powers are deadly, refined to a single purpose with ruthless precision, that purpose, Miss Blake, will be your death, and as painful as they can make it, I assure you. It is a unique discipline, Hostower magic, one they guard fiercely, but here and here alone, in this city, I can tell you this knowledge you require"

"How is that, wizard?" Casavir asked, his voice, as ever, was impassive, but there was a force behind it that made Sand look to him, gaze honed to a needle point "How, if this discipline is so guarded, do you know enough to aid her?"

"That need not concern you now paladin" Sand hissed, though he was slight and slender compared to Casavir, something about him coiled dangerously, as though he contained a weight of potential energy that he was on the verge of unleashing "But I will aid her, that is enough for now." He leaned forward "We have not much time, Miss Phaedra, so what I can teach now will only serve you so far. That will not be enough, but here I have something that might be. Wait one moment…" He vanished, without a sound, into the darkness at the back of the shop

"I do not think we should trust him" Casavir took that moment to say "There is something he's hiding…what you have told him touches him deeper than he has let on"

"He seems prepared to help us" Phaedra answered "It's certainly more complicated than that" And it was, she sensed that Sand meant no harm, not toward them, that hatred, and raw emotion, which had appeared momentarily in him, was directed against Luskan and the Hostower, she saw that. That made him an ally, no matter what his motivation was

"Here…" Sand suddenly appeared once again, emerging from the rooms beyond the counter, where Phaedra glimpsed the trappings of a wizard's workshop. He held an item in his hands, it seemed like a piece of folded cloth "I think it is time you finally took on the mantle of our craft" He unfurled the cloth dramatically, revealing something Phaedra would never have suspected, a robe, a mage's robe. It was a soft grey colour, a simpler cut than one might have expected, no extra adornments or highly fashionable flourishes that some mages, like Tarmas, favoured. Instead it was marked for utility, coming down to the length of about the knee, for easy movement, but still it was the most beautiful, the most eminently feminine, dress Phaedra had ever seen. It seemed to be woven in silk, a shining silk, so soft it seemed almost dream-like. Woven into the design with such subtle complexity that they appeared simply a flowing organic pattern were a smattering of arcane runes, running over the hem, around the breast in which was set a single glassy stone was set, the runes curling and sweeping around it, and at the end of each sleeve. At each shoulder was a small metal plate to guard the neck, these were silver, but polished to such brightness that they appeared almost opalescent, and silken cloth unfurled beneath them. To complete the ensemble, a sash of light pink wove around the belt, curling around once, then in a shimmering stream, falling back down to the knee once it was tucked beneath itself. "Many mages, when preparing to duel with others of the calibre of a Luskan adept, will utilise the power of arcane robes such as this" Sand explained, running a finger over the robe's soft surface "It is a variant on a typical Battle Robe, and I've woven a variety of protective charms into the fabric, these will defend you somewhat against peripheral magical damage, and may rob weaker spells of some of their potency. Here, have a look…" He handed it to her, and she took it, marvelling at the expert weave, and seeing, as it rippled in her hands the shimmer of those charms. They were a small protection, but still it was notoriously difficult to bind any magic into the substance of a fabric like this, taking many years study. Sand had done a great work here…

"You made this…?" She asked, glancing up at Sand. It was extraordinary, this work, this beauty…the fabric was as soft as a whisper, but as she tugged lightly, it felt as strong as woven metal.

"I did" the wizard nodded, with pride "When you have peddled your Craft as long as I have, Miss Phaedra, you learn some very useful tricks of the trade. It is no divine vestment, but it will aid you time and again, I assure you." Phaedra lifted the rippling gown to lay it against herself, a perfect fit. She felt a prickle of emotion, and a small glow of pride touch her for a moment. A mage's first robe was supposed to be something of a rite of passage. She had once dreamed of perhaps weaving their own, but never could she have created something so lovely as this. She only wished it could have been under less dire circumstances, but she couldn't wait to put this on nonetheless. "But…" Sand cautioned lightly and she looked up to him "Remember that you cannot rely too much on any tool, your wit and your own magic shall never disappoint you, as long as you feed them with knowledge. If you're ready…" He glanced up, his gaze travelling momentarily over Casavir and Elanee "And your friends are prepared to stay?"

"Yes" Casavir answered abruptly, folding his arms "We're both staying"

"Well then, let me teach you something of Hostower magic" Sand nodded, his blue eyes glimmered dangerously "Foiling Luskan plots is…a pleasure to me, and I assure you, I shall teach you more than enough to send this Adept squealing back to his masters"


	36. Chapter 36

_This was as dramatic a chapter as I could make it. Hope it works out for you! _

_Note: Phaedra's power rather gets away from her again. I don't know if you've guessed what's behind these little events, but I rather think it helps to explain how she can kill an expert magician when really she's little more than a novice. More to come on that later anyway, if you're still puzzling it out. No easy answers!_

The night was still, the heavy air charged with anticipation, eerie silence lay over all the docks. Even the lapping of the waves against the dock front seemed stilled, calmed, as though the weighty sense of expectation which lay on Phaedra's spirit so deeply had stilled the very atmosphere, silencing the normally so vibrant Docks. A thick, white mist, illuminated from within by the silver sheen of the moon, curled with an eerie grace from deeper out to sea, muffling sound and cloaking vision in its silencing embrace. And Phaedra waited, waited in the cold darkness, watching the obsidian-dark waters for a sign of the foe that drew nearer as the hour of midnight edged closer, with the haunting, silver light of the moon shimmering across the water the only guide, the only beacon in the gloom. Her vigil here was shared by Casavir, Elanee, Khelgar and Neeshka. They stood, cast deep into shadow alongside her beneath one of the Dock's great marble statues, as the moments went by in that same cold, eerie silence which none of them seemed willing to break. It was the silence of cold anticipation, fear…seeping from the night deep into the bones, into the soul.

Taking a deep breath, Phaedra forced herself to focus. Now was not the time to allow these formless terrors such power. She had to know how she was going to deal with what was coming, to face this mage of the Hostower, whose mind and spells would be far stronger than her own, and bent to a greater cruelty. Her thoughts slipped quickly through her own arsenal, which spell to counter which, which defence against what power, what her best hope in attack was. The exercise was a balm as well as a necessity, freeing her thoughts from the oppressive darkness. She catalogued once, twice, going over everything over and again, forcing herself to painstakingly consider every word that Sand had spoken, each spell and counter-spell he had drawn from his experience. The lesson in Sand's shop had been exhaustive, but she had absorbed everything she could, and she now went over it again, as time passed over the silent stillness of the Docks and the silvery mist gathered over the waters. It was just so empty, everything here, she knew this could not be natural…

Then, just as her thoughts were growing by degree more and more restless, her concentration on the spells fading, a light suddenly glowed from within the mists, an unearthly glow burning amidst the swirling clouds that brooded over the rolling sea. It was a light not of the moon, a light that was almost as though those dark Harbourman tales of restless spirits walking the paths of the Mere were true, and that reality transplanted somehow here to the seas of Neverwinter. But that light, it was in fact something much more chilling than any tale of spirits, the light of the Sea Ghost illuminating the way for the ship and that which it bore, her enemy. She sensed the taste of malice in the air, as though the darkness grew darker, thicker at the mere thought. The mist seemed to gather around that glowing place, heavy and grey, forming slowly around the vast, looming shadow which emerged with macabre grace from the midst of its embrace, it was the prow of a ship larger than any she had seen before. It was massive, more of an edifice than a vessel, but glided forward with all the deadly elegance of a well-honed blade, barely making a sound as it cut through the dark water. Its bulk was ebony or some dark wood, practically invisible in the gloom, but the golden markings that curled around the hull, strangely unnerving, like skeletal constructions, glimmered with the moon's silver flame. Its sails too were black, and bore no identifying marking, most of them had already been taken down as it approached the Docks. It was grand, gilded, magnificently crafted, but in its opulence it had a cold malevolence, a compassionless façade of cruel intent. The Sea Ghost, a flagship of the Luskan armada…

They watched, transfixed by the deadly elegance of the ship's approach, as the Sea Ghost bore down upon the Docks, borne forth by the steady movement up and down of the many oars along its sides which touched the water and rose away from it in almost complete silence. The speed and stealth with which the ship moved were beyond belief, considering its sheer size, ranked alongside those other ships which floated, silent and still in the harbour it was a true behemoth. It began to slow, though, as it drew nearer to the Docks, its destination was clearly a single long jetty that was left entirely empty. Phaedra felt the chill of apprehension, it was clear that the agent was not working alone, who else here in the Docks was under the influence of this Luskan Ambassador?

"Wait…" She whispered softly, as she heard Khelgar stir behind her, impatient. There was no chance if they rushed the Sea Ghost as it was, the crew of that monster had to be in their dozens! No, she knew the only possible way to do this was to ambush this agent once the Sea Ghost was departing, when he was alone and disorientated, well, except for the elite bodyguard that Brelaina had spoken of. Lathander protect her, this was not going to be easy.

The Sea Ghost at last glided to a halt, perfectly placed beside its port, and its full magnificence and malevolence lay revealed, a ship at once grand and fearsome, coated in gold and in the shadow of evil. Phaedra shuddered, seeing covert, silent movement on the decks, and she prayed that where they stood they were invisible to those who scattered about their tasks, Luskan warriors or perhaps little more than slaves. There was a yawning creak of wood, and a doorway opened in the side of the ship's vast hull, a gaping maw into darkness. Within she could see naught but the movement of shadows, then a gangplank was slowly pushed down from inside, with that same utter silence, landing down onto the jetty with scarcely a sound. Phaedra's hands tightened around her bow, so tight she could feel the bowstring digging into her flesh, but she could not let go. This was it, this was time…

The moon glimmered, caressing the lapping waves in a stream of silver, and utter silence enveloped the Docks, as in strictly regimented pairs the first of the figures emerged from the bowels of the Sea Ghost. They were men, armoured, tall, uniform in the darkness, without feature to distinguish them one from the other. They bore swords, large blades which caught the silver light and glistened as though with blood. She counted six of them, each exactly alike with that blade of silver and shimmering light, and last a figure whom the shadows clung to more than any other, robed heavily in black. He bore a staff, no mere adornment this but a weapon as sure as any of the swords his companions carried. The light fell upon him for a moment, and Phaedra saw a cruel, hard face, younger than she might have expected, but filled with a wild malice and cruelty which defied any description. He was olive-skinned, no native of the North, and his harsh face looked as though he was no stranger to physical violence, the long scar across his cheek, a broken nose. Set amidst these cruel features he had eyes of an astonishing blue, deep and dark and cruel as a storm-wracked ocean. His robes were lined with silver and bore, set amongst a sea of dark runes, the badge of the Hostower in gold.

As they watched, this apparition descended the gangplank, brutal solemn ceremony in his forward stride, and wreathed in an aura of dark purpose. His guard formed up at the jetty, and he came to their head, that keen blue gaze sweeping the Docks for a moment, searching, for something. The gangplank was then swiftly withdrawn, the yawning opening in the belly of the Sea Ghost closed, all as soundless as its arrival had been. Phaedra tensed, she sensed the others ready to move. And with all that silent elegance it began to move again, the Sea Ghost, withdrawing from the harbour, cutting its way out into the waters, dark and cruel as some great monstrous leviathan. It was leaving, Lathander…it was time…and quickly before whatever was sent to meet this interloper arrived.

Phaedra moved out into the moonlight, drawing all the authority she could hold in her upright bearing. The silver streaming radiance shone softly over the rippling contours of her new mage's robe, which hung loosely, elegantly upon her, and also upon the Watch cloak which was drawn over her shoulders, soft grey, with the crest of the City Watch emblazoned in white. Her bow was at her side, and her quiver, filled with arrows, upon her back. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, touched with the moonlight so that the golden strands seemed to take on the silvery light and shine it forth. She knew she would look different, more like a warrior than she felt, and the others followed her as though in the footsteps of a leader, no, now was not the time for doubt. She must find this strength within her! She had to have faith…

It wasn't long before they were spotted, the Hostower mage, cold and grim, his blue eyes alight with that implacable malice, turned to meet Phaedra's gaze as she, and her companions, moved up onto the jetty. Five, there were five of them against him and the six Luskan soldiers who gathered threateningly behind the wizard at the sight of the intruders. Each of them carried that same palpable sense of cruelty, of strength and brutality, as though they were vicious hounds waiting only for a word from their master to rip her and the others to pieces. And the way they bore themselves, even Phaedra recognised the coiled alertness of a trained, deadly warrior.

"Well now, what is this?" the mage, dark robes rustling in the darkness, straightened himself, recognising a threat, though the cruel leer upon his face did not fade in the slightest "A welcome to Neverwinter, how generous…" His voice was silken-smooth, and menace poured from his every syllable.

"There is no welcome here for one such as you" Phaedra raised her head, meeting those dark pitiless eyes; her voice rang out in the darkness, shockingly strong and resonant, even to her. "Your presence is a direct threat to the sovereignty of Neverwinter and in challenge to the principles of the Lords' Alliance. The Hostower has no business within the bounds of our city"

"You are mistaken, my dear" The mage shook his head, with a smile at once condescending and openly threatening upon his lips. "We are here on the word of the Luskan Ambassador to Neverwinter, Lady Torio Claven to assist her with a delicate matter which I assure you is of no concern to your City Watch. Now let us pass or this exchange will very quickly become…deeply unpleasant for you, I'm afraid"

"I have no choice, Hostower minion" Phaedra's hands closed around her bow, as she settled her will. She knew what she had to do, there was never any question of giving in, or giving up. This man…this monster, he would die by her hand. "Torio's word or no, you shall not set foot in this city"

"What, she actually thinks she can stop us?" one of the soldiers at the mage's side laughed cruelly "I don't think she's ever had the measure of a Luskan man before" He grinned obscenely "She's a pretty enough little thing, though. I don't think we should be letting her go quite so easily Ajah"

"Yes, perhaps not" the mage, Ajah, whispered with a tone of vile threat that made Phaedra's blood run cold "Neverwinter ought to learn not to send a ragtag group of maids and temple fodder to do their business…"

"Oh, it'll be more than enough!" Neeshka cried out, her blades were out in her hands, gleaming threateningly, and the fierce rage in her eyes was just as intimidating. She was quite prepared to go into vicious battle to defend her home, even against these enemies as fearsome as these.

"My, that one has quite a barbed tongue and she's a demon to boot" the outspoken bodyguard commented, leering. "Much as I enjoy toying with fire, she's a little too feisty. We can kill her quickly, but the first one, the precious golden leader there at the front…I'd say that Torio's not going to take it personally if we have a little fun with her"

"For that, I will take your tongue from your throat, Luskan" Casavir's voice, though it was quiet and almost without a trace of emotion, as though the threat was nothing more than a statement of bleak fact, rang out with such force and menace that Phaedra saw even this battle-hardened mercenary pause before the implacable force of the paladin's cold anger.

"I'll take my chances Neverwinter hound!" He snarled, livid with anger, once that split second's indecision had passed "Let's see if you can guard your own tongue when I have my blade at your neck!"

"Come now, let us be gentlemen" Ajah stepped backwards, drawing his dark robes tightly around himself as he raised a hand to restrain his bodyguard. She could see the storm of dark anticipation swirling in his cobalt eyes, by Lathander he longed for blood! "You may have the first move, my dear…" He bowed mockingly, a sweeping movement of swirling black silk.

It took only an instant, but in that instant all time seemed to slow, almost to a halt. Phaedra, pulling her longbow upwards, and drawing, in a single fluid motion, an arrow from the quiver behind her, nocking it in the already straining bowstring, saw Ajah's bloodless lips curve upwards into a smile, though the expression contained no feeling. She let fly at once, the arrow flew forth straight for Ajah's skull. But in that same instant, his ebony staff flew upward in his hand, spinning round upon the axis of his arm, as his magic seared outward, through the staff, whose tip gleamed suddenly with a blazing white light. Phaedra's arrow disintegrated against the ward, its fletching dissolving into flying sparks which petered out to nothing, an entropic shield! Ajah scarcely paused a second, he was already raising a hand. His long fingers arched inwards like claws, and a spell seared outwards from his lips, the words spat like an oath. A blast of negative energy launched from his hands, a swirling mass which seemed born from the darkness that surrounded him, searing out through the air with the sound of metal scraping across glass. Phaedra stepped forward to meet it, to shield her friends from the vile evil it radiated. Her hands outstretched, the bow falling to her side, she whispered an incantation, and a counterspell flashed bright across the jetty, a sheet of luminous blue, scattering the curse as though it were night before the sun's dawn. "What?" For a split second Ajah paused, shock shattering the cold composure in his features, then understanding dawned in those raging blue eyes, understanding and a maniacal glee… "You, it is you" he burst out laughing, shocking Phaedra into utter stillness "Our little dove finds her way straight into the trap before it is even set." He cackled "And to think I spent this voyage thinking out a thousand ways to strike at you from the shadows, thinking this would be some kind of challenge, now I find you waiting for me, thinking you can best me in a duel!"

Ajah paused, his eyes, now alight with a rapture of mad delight were fixed on Phaedra, who stared back at him with mounting horror. He…had been sent to find her, impossible…it couldn't be, but… "The Arcane torch of the Watch, Brelaina's pet sorceress…" He continued, his voice low and sibilant "Oh yes, I know all about you."After all the trouble you've caused us, I thought you'd be a little more cunning, a little older, and a little less pretty, but, if you insist on making this so easy for me, I will oblige you" He stepped forward, his hand raised as though in invitation "Kill the others, Captain" He murmured lightly to the warrior on his left "But our young Lieutenant here is mine" With that, he wrenched his staff forward, the spell, a burst of dark fire, leapt forward, scattering harmlessly against the shield of pure white light that Phaedra hastily conjured. As she raised a response, arcane power wrapping around her outstretched hands, the mage's bodyguard leapt forward, swords drawn and flashing, to meet Khelgar, Neeshka and Casavir in the centre of the jetty with the clash of steel. Elanee skirted round the edge of the furious battle, light and power shimmering around her, and those whom her spells touched, imparting strength, or taking it. Her sickle was at her side, ready to cut down their foes.

But Phaedra, despite the rolling anxiety in her chest for her friends, had eyes only for her foe, standing halfway across the wooden jetty. Though the physical fight went on between them, she and Ajah fought their own titanic duel over and across those who aided them. They exchanged a volley of spells, flame, ice, wind, shadow, curse and hex and enchantment alike, striving with all their strength. Each incantation was a fierce attempt to overwhelm the other's defences, to pour power through the crack in their foe's armour. Ajah was guileful, feinting, parrying, trying to wear her down. His magic was like some insidious evil, attacking her where she was weakest. In answer, summoning Sand's teachings to mind, she unleashed her brightest spells, light and flame, benediction, smiting…until the docks became wreathed in a spectral halo of light, crackling, sparking, as though alight with falling stars. She blazed, she felt it, like fire in her veins, crackling outwards through the spells she spoke…but for every spell she poured forth, he called on one greater, and then another to attack her once again.

She could scarcely concentrate on the others, but even as she duelled with Ajah she heard the great splash as Khelgar, with the Ironfist Gauntlets on hand, slammed one of the warriors so hard he went slamming into the dark water of the Harbour, and sunk beneath it almost without a sound, but easy victories like this were few indeed. These elite Luskan warriors were masters of the blade, often it was only Elanee's magic which saved her friends, the elf bound water and wind to her, unleashing them to aid and destroy. Phaedra could feel the warm glimmer of nature's power even around herself, it gave her a small measure of strength to aid her own furious battle. But Ajah was unrelenting, soon those spells he unleashed were not to bind or compel her, but to kill, the darkest, most inexorable curses she had ever experienced. She had to continually improvise her defences, recalling abjurations she had scarcely read in Tarmas' books, and never cast. Ajah's teeth were clenched, his eyes narrowed, dark slits, his fingers clasped so tight they were white around his elaborate staff, that pulsed with a werelight of arcane power. Phaedra's hands wove magic as much as her words did, drawing light and magic with her pale fingers, casting it forth…her hair whipped about her face, alight with eldritch energy. And yet she was simply reacting, defending…and in her fevered, spell-drenched mind, she could see no way to force her power home to the offensive, she lacked his sheer raw power, and the relative subtlety of her own defences was swiftly becoming less of an asset as one after the other her conjurations failed to delay him for more than a few precious instants.

Then Ajah, his face a mask of madness, slammed his staff forward and she knew at once that he was bringing all to bear to crush her. The staff blazed, and a howling, ravenous shaft of pure shadows launched from it, crackling with arcane lightning. She pushed forth her hand, crying out the spell that sprang instantly to mind. All the power that blazed about her launched forth in a scintillating blaze of blinding radiance. The two energies met, with a burst of light and a howl of unleashed power. Everything hung in the balance, each spell vying against each other, trying to envelop light in shadow or shadow in light. Ajah howled out his fury, clawed hands gripping at the spell, forcing more and more into its heart of raging fury. Phaedra gasped, her head splitting with the pain of holding the spell in place, but she responded in kind, her hands a conduit for a storm of power she fed directly into the substance of her spell, so it blazed brighter and hotter with each word she spoke, flashing with bursts of prismatic light. And they strove, one mind against another, the power raging like a great storm between racked across Phaedra's consciousness like a blade…she had to hold on! Everything depended on this!

Where Ajah was wreathed in ghoulish shadows and the sickly glow of malfeasance, sheaths of darkness that swept about him like veils in some infinitely terrifying dance of death, Phaedra knew that she burned instead with light, light pure, radiant and terrible, flashing, burning, white and silver. The strain of holding out against him was unbearable, her head and heart pounded with the pain of it, and her power was being drained in a torrent, this spell. It was never meant to be held like this, but she had to hold Ajah here. If she let go, if she gave in for a second, he would have her! Her hands shook desperately, even as between them she grasped in an iron-grip the spell that held everything, her fate itself, in the balance. She glimpsed Ajah for a moment through the blazing haze between them. His face was a rictus of madness, his lips drawn back, teeth clenched. If the same agony that cut through Phaedra was assailing him too, if his power was also burning up as quickly as hers, he showed nothing of it. Instead she felt him assault her spell again, and again, with a rising mounting tide of fury. No…no, she could not let him win! She could not! She would not! Whatever happened, she could not!

Anger was the trigger, once again. Anger, and fear as well. She felt it a moment before it began, as her magic ached, stretched to its utter limits, like an emptiness from which she was still trying to draw the last painful drops. Then there was something there…and something stirring, a spark…a flame that ignited within her suddenly. She knew it for what it was at once, that same release as she had felt that dark hour beneath Highcliff Castle. The power, this power she did not understand, burst into flame, burning, radiant and terrible, a tumult, a firestorm. Ah…she burned, it burned in her, this power…this fury, this blaze of light and heat and all her spirit was burning, spun through the flaming loom of her magic, weft and warp and wheel. The light around her blazed into blinding brilliance, sweeping over the jetty in great steams of burning silver that touched the dark, glassy surface of the water, setting it suddenly afire with radiance. And the ecstasy of it…the sheer thrill of the power, it was like nothing she could have ever imagined, could ever have remembered even though she had in fact experienced it that once before.

Her mind soared on mounting waves of magic, but a part of her, this time, stood back, far more lucid than before. With the precision of one trained by Tarmas, she tried to categorise what was happening within the tides of her power. As before it defied scrutiny, but she struck deeper into its core, thirsting to know. It burned, it seared, with a power that, despite the ecstasy its touch imparted, suddenly seemed at once so ravenous and so uncontrollable that her mind shrank back for a moment, and yet the resonant song of a magic that was so unlimited stilled all doubt. She tried to hold onto cool analysis, study it further in what precious moments she had left, but she found she could not resist the seduction of its burning, and in the next instant, or moment, even her attempted study was drawn into the whirling incandescence that tore through her, so that she was the power, and one could not be separated from the other.

The small part of her that still stood within her body and stared out, saw, through the blaze around her, Ajah still there on the opposite end of the jetty, she had almost forgotten him for an instant. A bright cascade of energy had overwhelmed the shadows around him entirely so he stood now bare of all the fearsome mystique, a frail figure suddenly, desperately holding onto the few inches around him that were free of the sweeping tides of light which now burned, spectral, across the jetty. His staff was held in front of him, desperation in his eyes, his face twisted with shock. She knew she could obliterate him in a second, and so she would. Slowly, almost gently, she raised her arm, as the power, with a strangely comforting intimacy, caressed her softly, whispering its song of pure magic. The spell no longer existed, the words no longer mattered. There was nothing but the raw energy, the flame, burning through her. As she unleashed a rising, rolling surge of energy, Ajah screamed out once, a scream of utmost rage and desperation, then the staff in his hands burst into flame, exploding outwards an incandescent firestorm of arcane power. The wizard flew backwards, the shards of the staff spinning outwards, burning pinpricks of pure flame scattered out against the night sky, as he landed, smoking, upon the jetty on the other side and was at once still. She laughed with exhilaration, her hands clenched at her sides, the power still rising within, unstoppable, unlimited, unexplainable. Its beautiful tumult flared upwards towards the sky. Why stop now, why let it go yet? Why return to a world of fear, and of sorrow, why not burn for ever in this ecstatic flame? There was a small voice, a small awareness that whispered her own name, that still knew her as distinct from the magic that was consuming her, but the rest of her spirit was soaring and left it far behind to drown within the waves of the power. She embraced total union with every part of herself, letting that self go. Anything, everything, was in her power now! Let her now be the one to make others fear, let her be the instrument of fate and doom, not merely its toy!

"Phaedra…!" The shout rang across the jetty, and into the reaches of the mind that had once been her own, but now belonged only to the flames…a voice she knew…Elanee! At once her self rose upwards to reclaim what was its own. She tore through the storm, and with a will honed by years of tutelage, ordered it back to bear. To her shock, it resisted, tugging at the mind it refused to relinquish, but it was weakened, its very manifestation had weakened it, and after a moment's intense struggle it let go, and leapt back towards the depths of her unconscious. No, she could not let this go yet! She needed to understand, she had to know, now more than ever! Just before it was gone her mind caught upon the last thread of its burning light within the darkness, and sensed…that this power had its origin somewhere else…that her own soul was only the gateway, but the magic tore through from elsewhere and to that elsewhere it was now returning. Then, as she froze for a moment, stunned by the revelation, it was gone, leaving behind only more mysteries…

With selfhood came awareness, and pain. Phaedra gasped, her head rang agonisingly with the aftermath of what she had just unleashed. The light and flame around her suddenly gave way, dying down into nothing, into less than nothing…and she fell into Casavir's firm grip, completely and utterly exhausted. She raised her head to gaze into his face, as he held her by the arms, and a wave of wild relief surged forth in her heart, so powerful that tears tricked down her cheeks. They were alright, ah…thank Lathander…

"It's alright, my lady" Casavir said, breathing heavily, his chest rising up and down as he held her, there was blood on his armour, his hammer hung heavy at his side "It is done, it is over"

"Casavir, yes…" she sobbed "I know…" The force of his presence, that calming, intensely protective strength in his gaze and in his gentle hold on her, she felt it bear up her heart and spirit. It gave her a greater hold on herself until she felt strong enough to look away from his clear blue eyes, and to find, with a rush of delight, the three others. Neeshka, gazing at her with awe, smiled, her dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Khelgar grinned even through the obvious wounds he carried, he held a hand to his side, where his armour was rent in two, and a dark stain spread in his tunic, but he seemed scarcely affected, shrugging off the assistance of Elanee. The elf seemed spent, wan and ashen, but she still stood tall nonetheless, and seemed possessed of herself enough to gaze with shock and confusion at Phaedra. She had been the one most concerned about the last time Phaedra's magic had erupted like this, now once again she was confronted with it, and once again neither she nor Phaedra had any answers. This time, the power had been less…obedient. It had been almost…malevolent. Beyond them all, the Luskan warriors were dead and Ajah's menace vanished into the darkness, so that the night suddenly seemed cool and hale, rather than diseased and slick with evil. Casavir was right, it was over. But how had it been accomplished? This was the second time her magic had burst from her so furiously, so violently and still she was no closer to finding an answer.

It shouldn't have been possible, she realised with a shudder running through her, she should not have been able to beat Ajah. He had been too powerful. And yet here she stood. Her magic had saved her once again. She searched within herself once again, for a trace, a hint of that awesome power, but just as last time, there was nothing to even suggest that it had occurred. Now she understood why, but that brought no comfort and even less concrete certainty than before. If she had somehow brought the power here, she could only wonder from where exactly, and how? Her power, down to its last embers, glowed within, giving nothing away. She slowly glanced up at Casavir again, wondering if he knew what he had seen, what he would think of the fury she had wielded, but he was looking down to her with nothing more than his usual deeply touching concern. And she sighed softly, she had no more energy to think through this insoluble mystery. Right now she had to rest but she promised herself she would think this through, find some way to understand her own magic, and its fury tomorrow once she was rested.

"Come" Casavir said, his arm slipped around her shoulders. He held her up as he turned, with careful gentleness, away from the dead and back toward the vast, silent expanse of Neverwinter. Dark against the starlit sky were the great shadows of buildings, the looming shell of Castle Never, even now imposed against the blackness. Light gleamed in a couple of its windows, little pinpricks against the vastness of the night, and the smaller homes and crowded slums of the Docks. She could not deny that there was a strange beauty here, now that the darkness hid the squalor, the constricting claustrophobia of the tiny buildings. "We should get you back to the Flagon" Phaedra sighed, leaning her head against Casavir's shoulder, all her strength spent. She thought abruptly of Tarmas, what would he have thought to see his apprentice take on an adept of the Hostower and win? Would he have any answers for her? Yet he had scried her power on a number of occasions and found nothing unusual… "Neeshka, Khelgar…" Casavir's voice broke apart her reflection "Would you see to it that these…are disposed of?" He meant the bodies; Phaedra shuddered at the idea…

"Wait a moment" She gasped suddenly, struck in an instant by a crucial consideration. Casavir glanced down at her concernedly, as she, leaning heavily on his arm, stumbled to turn back toward the jetty, back towards where Ajah's prone body lay broken against the wood. "I have to see" She whispered hoarsely "Ajah, he might have a clue, something about his masters and why, why this all happened…" Yes, she could not forget that Ajah's words had named her his target, his goal in Neverwinter had been to slay her. She had to know why, had to know who had ordered him to find her.

"My lady" Casavir cautioned gravely "Let the others…"

"No, Casavir, it has to be me…" She answered urgently, laying her hand on the cold metal shielding his arm "Only I can sense magic…" Any number of wards and glamours could disguise what important tokens Ajah might bear, if so only she would have any chance of discovering them. Understanding, Casavir led her with care up towards the dark form of the wizard lay, and the others clustered around them…

Ajah's cold, hard face was no more peaceful in death than it had been in life, his harshly sculpted jaw was drawn back in a grimace of rage, his eyes clamped shut. His dark robes, clinging to his flesh, were singed and burnt by the wild maelstrom of magic which had ended his life, and the flesh beneath, well, the smell was sickening and the sight of what was left even worse. Phaedra gagged, seizing down on her stomach with great difficulty. She closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a prayer for the strength she would need to face this. Then she fixed her gaze on the mage's ashen face which was untouched by the fire, willing herself not to see what her magic had wrought. Carefully, attended by Casavir who stood with guarded protectiveness behind her, she knelt at Ajah's side. Taking a last minute to gaze into the face of the dead wizard, she slowly lifted her hand to take the leather pouch at his belt, his only possession, reaching over his body. Suddenly, in an instant of sheer terror she saw black slits of life suddenly emerge from beneath Ajah's eyelids, she pulled back at once, but even so it was not fast enough. The mage's hand shot upwards, and grasped her own. She screamed, pulling backwards, but his grip was so strong that she could not escape.

"You…" The wet, gurgling hiss escaped from Ajah's lips. Casavir sprang forward, but Ajah was already letting go of her, his hand falling limp to his side. He was so weak, Phaedra realised, that death could not be far away "You bested me…" A rattling gasp emerged from his throat "I…I did not see…"

"Casavir, wait" Phaedra whispered, leaning over Ajah, to catch every word his last breaths bore, here perhaps she could learn what she sought "Listen to me, Ajah, I am here…"

"Yes…" He murmured "Here, how…droll. I am cast down by a young girl who can't even control her own sorcery. I wasn't even killed with any subtlety. But Garius…would not see the joke, lucky…I am dying here, don't you think?" Garius…did he say Garius? Who was that?

"Ajah, why did Luskan send you?" Phaedra murmured. Her tone was soft and gentle, almost maternal, hoping to put the dying man at rest. Perhaps in his confused state he would reveal something.

"Ah…" Ajah breathed, a long wheeze "You still believe my master and Luskan are the same, foolish…"

"Your master…is not of Luskan?" Phaedra gasped, shocked. Brelaina had been so clear…

"He is above and beyond those who scheme in their four towers…" Ajah smiled, the ghost of a triumphant, greedy smile, she could almost imagine him sitting at the feet of his master, thirsting for power. "He has plans…such plans, but you…they will destroy you, yes. Once they hear of this, he will kill you…"

"Ajah, Ajah listen to me…who is he?" Phaedra pressed, hearing the approaching footsteps of death in the mage's faltering voice, seeing the shadow of it in his swiftly clouding eyes "Tell me…"

"I…failed him…" Ajah whispered "My master, better to die now than face that, I failed…" And then, a last hoarse, heaving rasp of air escaped his lips, the last breath of Ajah, adept of the Hostower. Then all the malice seemed to drain from his face, his deep, stormy eyes failing, his mouth falling slack, and he died, killed at the last by Phaedra Blake, novice sorcerer and adventurer.

Phaedra collapsed backwards on her knees, stunned. It was bizarre enough that she should be pursued by Luskan, but this mysterious other enemy, it made even less sense to her, could he be related to the events in the Mere, to these Shadow priests? But how? And why? It was clear from Brelaina's information that Ajah had indeed sailed from Luskan and the power he had engaged against her bore the unmistakable mark of Hostower tutoring, according to what Sand had told her, but if so how could his master not be of Luskan? The Hostower had an iron grip on all magic practiced in their city, and they did not tolerate rivals. How could Ajah's master operate beyond their notice? It seemed impossible...and yet…

"Phaedra" She felt Casavir's hand grip her shoulder, the paladin's voice had a calm insistence "There is nothing more for us here, come…" Phaedra sighed. He was right, she sensed no other magic upon Ajah's body, what secrets he might have born had gone with him to the death. But what they had found here…she felt scarcely ready to consider it, her head still throbbed with agony, shattering her focus. Sighing she let Casavir help her upward, her thoughts heavy, she needed to rest and the Flagon awaited, with warmth and light and a safe bed. Tomorrow, when this darkness and her exhaustion did not press so insistently upon her, when she could think clearly, then she would consider truly what this all meant…

oooo0000oooo

Seven years…seven years as a paladin of the God of Justice, and Casavir thought he knew what evil was. It was easy enough to see, even here, Neverwinter, the stronghold of his God. What drove a man, mad with drunken fury, to beat his family? What snatched children from the streets, unseen, unheard, to be dragged into slavery for a piece of gold, never to see their parents again? What drove at the back of desperate criminals, killing at a whim? What blinded the nobility to all else but their own self-interest, their divinely endowed privilege, their right to take what they willed and trample those who came under foot? Evil, it was a part of every single one of the thousands who even now, as the dawn broke over the skies of Neverwinter, wakened to their burdens and their duties. It was a part of him also. It did not take much, then that evil became all there was and you were the white-masked, white-robed darkness at the heart of Old Owl Well. Only justice stood between each one of them and that darkness, the law of state and the law of conscience, which shielded the innocent and punished the guilty, which judged firmly but with compassion, the voice of Tyr in all who chose to listen, and ultimately the understanding of what was evil, and what was good. Casavir knew what evil was, although that understanding did not come as easily as it had once, the trouble he had was with good…

Dark thoughts for a new dawn, he knew, and one where he sat in comfort, the Sunken Flagon, a place he had never visited all his years in Neverwinter. It was a good place. Duncan was an honest man and his business had the same spirit, it felt strange to find it in an alehouse, yet it was right. Casavir was alone in the empty common room, sitting at one of the Flagon's tables, and waiting for the others, his new comrades in this strangest of fights, to arrive. He was fortunate in them as well, there was a spirit in them which was not common in adventurers, or in Neverwinter's Watchmen. It was a shared spirit, a shared goal, which united them beyond the obvious differences, a spirit he could freely admit he now shared. That spirit…it had its source in Phaedra. Thinking of her, it brought a strange ache to Casavir's heart, for a moment he saw both the blazing sorceress, burning with a light almost as though of heaven as she shattered the body and mind of that Luskan wizard, and the young, pale, terrified girl, her green eyes gleaming with tears of pain and exhaustion, as he guided her, unable to walk by herself, back to light and safety…He wanted to help her, not merely because her cause was just, not merely because she had braved the darkness of Old Owl Well for him, but because he saw in her…he began to see what goodness was again…

"Casavir" He almost thought it was her for a moment, and his spirits leapt in a way that was profoundly unsettling, but then he realised…it was the elf, Elanee. Their voices, doubtless something of the elven blood, were similar in a subtle way, that same purity of tone, and ringing quality. But it was Elanee, the druid, as ever robed in simple clothes, scarcely seemed surprised at all to find him here, and so early…which was welcoming since he had no desire to explain what had so disturbed him last night that he had been driven from his bed "Do you have a moment, there is something we should discuss"

"Of course" Casavir moved over, allowing her a seat. He valued Elanee's consul and company highly, as an elf, the elder race, and a druid who had communed with the land for perhaps a lifetime in human terms, her insight and wisdom were of great worth if they were to confront what evils faced Phaedra in her quest. The two of them had already spoken at length, for they had a shared end, to protect Phaedra no matter what…

"We are no longer safe Casavir" Elanee began abruptly "Ajah knew who Phaedra was, he knew exactly what he was looking for. If the Watch hadn't found him…how long do you think she might have had? We were lucky…very lucky..."

"Yes" Casavir agreed "Ajah was a pawn, the question is who sent him? And how long before they strike again?"

"We can be certain he was not in league with the Astral beings we have fought before" Elanee continued gravely "Nor was his goal the shards. No…I think it best if we look to other foes…"

"The Shadow Priests…" Casavir felt a momentary chill run through his veins "Yet he sailed from Luskan, and he was Hostower-trained…"

"Remember what he said Casavir…My master is above those who scheme in their four towers…" Elanee leant inwards urgently, laying her hands on the table in front of her…

"The Master of the Fifth Tower" Casavir breathed softly, he remembered that note, written in a chilling hand and recovered from Old Owl Well itself. "But the Hostower has only four towers…"

"Exactly…" The elf nodded significantly "Ajah belonged, it would appear, to some kind of rogue faction within Luskan, hence their name. Yet rogue or no, they seem to have allied themselves with, or are a part of, this organisation of Shadow Priests"

"With the war against Ruathym they would be able to advance their agenda in almost total secrecy…" Casavir agreed "Even from within Luskan itself, but to what end?"

"What concerns us now is that we keep Phaedra safe from them" Elanee said "Ajah did not yet know her name, at least, and we can be sure the Flagon is so far unknown, but we will have to remain vigilant at all times…"

"I fear that Phaedra may have drawn too much attention to herself as the Watch's Arcane Torch" Casavir sighed. Even in the short time he had been back in the city, he had already heard already the talk of her deeds, it seemed they were on the mouth of every citizen of the Docks. How long before it became known that she travelled with a paladin of Tyr who had fled from his own justice? How long before his presence here threatened her, and others whom he had left the city to protect?

"Nothing to be done for that now, she has done what she had to" Elanee replied, with an elegant shrug "But, Casavir" She leaned in, and her features became even more grave "We must consider something else. I realise now that that I was mistaken to believe it was a smaller concern than our many other's, but there is a possibility that Phaedra…is in danger from herself…"

"What do you mean?" Casavir glanced to her, suddenly wary. Phaedra had enough peril at her side already, what could the elf mean that she was in danger from within herself?

"You saw what happened last night, Casavir" Elanee said quietly "You saw what she did, what she unleashed…" Casavir had seen, he remembered well, how could he possibly forget? She had…burned, with light and heat so intense that he had been forced to crouch at the side of the jetty along with the others, shielding himself from the waves of silvery radiance that swept over the jetty. Power had singed the very air, crackling with lighting and electricity. Phaedra herself had vanished beneath a blaze of flashing light, a figure traced in burning silver, all magic, a creature, now, of the mysteries of its power. He had lived in Neverwinter, home to the Cloaktower, for most of his life, and never had he seen anything even close to what Phaedra had accomplished there. "I do not know…what we saw" Elanee continued "But she has something, something deeper in her magic. That thing arose last night, it is very likely that it shall do so again. If it does…I fear for Phaedra, I really do…"

"Yet she seemed to be almost able to control it" Casavir noted, remembering how she had swept aside Ajah, almost as an afterthought.

"Yes, until he was dead" Elanee answered "Afterwards…she seemed to lose herself…" Casavir frowned bleakly, he too had seen how, once Ajah had been annihilated, she hadn't seemed able to let go. Indeed, as she had stood there with her enemy dead before her, she had changed. Now he struggled to put words to what he had seen, but it had seemed as though she had become, with each moment she burned there, less the girl he knew and more something else. Something so beautiful she took his breath away, but of a beauty wholly unlike her natural loveliness, a beauty that was at once unspeakably seductive, and utterly devastating. No, he turned aside from the thought before he allowed himself to consider its implications. In truth he wasn't even sure what he had glimpsed in the moment before Elanee had called her back, and the night since then had no doubt clouded his recollections, but it was clear that something momentous had occurred, though what exactly it was remained unclear…. "It went wrong, Casavir" Elanee went on "Whatever it was, whatever she did…we almost lost her." She was visibly distraught. Tyr, she truly loved Phaedra, their connection ran deeper than he had even suspected.

"She returned to you, Elanee" Casavir said softly. It had been Elanee's voice which had called Phaedra's spirit back to herself…

"This time" But the elf would take no such comfort. "But what of the next time, or the next? It was stronger than before …it held her for longer. I dread to think what she will unleash if ever she is in danger like that again"

"You've seen this before, it has happened before" Casavir said, it was not a question. Her agitation was clear, cutting through the stillness of her normally serene features.

"Once, against the necromancer in Highcliff" Elanee nodded "Twice now it has saved her life, it has saved all our lives, but I fear she far risks far more than her life by harnessing it. This power…it feels wrong, Casavir…it is wrong" She shuddered "If it comes again, it will be stronger, and I fear that Phaedra may not be able to overcome it…"

"I think she is stronger than even you suspect, Elanee" Casavir answered, more firmly than he had intended. Elanee glanced up at him instantly, a strange look in her elven green eyes, disconcertingly like Phaedra's own, although deeper and wiser, and less sad.

"You cannot know her better than I do, Casavir" She answered "However much you might wish it otherwise" No, he could not. He could not fathom the depth of their connection. But whether he knew her or not as Elanee did, he would never do anything to harm her and he would never let anything harm her. He had to have some way of showing Elanee, of showing this cold, unpitying universe, of showing his distant God, and of showing himself most of all that…

"I swear I will watch over her Elanee" Casavir vowed, laying his hands upon the table in front of him. Somehow the words seemed to acquire the austere solemnity of a ritualistic judgement, unbreakable as holy writ. And yet it felt not like a burden, as so much of Tyr's rites had become to him, it felt… intensely liberating. And he knew why, because it was right, because he knew at once that it was right. There was no doubt, no conflict within. Of everything that he had known and seen and doubted, he knew completely and utterly within his heart that this vow was right. And amidst the chaos of a dark, dark world where justice often seemed so far away, he would hold fast to this one small spark of rightness, of goodness, he would hold fast to her… "I will always watch over her."

"Casavir…" Elanee whispered, aghast. He had seen this look in other's eyes…in Katriona's eyes…awe and wonder, as though he were something more than a man. But he was simply a man, a flawed, imperfect man…Phaedra herself had always seen that, he knew it as surely as he knew his own heart.

"If there is indeed any danger…one of us will find it" Casavir continued, unwilling to allow this to continue. Back in Old Owl Well, none of his followers had been anything more than that, and he had allowed it, encouraged it, in fact, because he had felt his aloneness was a fitting atonement. Despite that, somehow he had only created a kind of devotion in them that he was even less worthy of. Now, because of Phaedra, he desired neither devotion nor solitude, he wanted no more than comradeship, than friendship. He did not wish Elanee to lay that aside simply because she misunderstood who he was. "And I am certain that she will come to you if ever she needs you. She trusts you, Elanee…she trusts you absolutely…"

"Thank you Casavir" Elanee said slowly, letting out a deep breath that loosened the tension in her shoulders "For putting my mind at rest, momentarily at least. You are right. Whatever happens, I am glad she has you at her side…" It seemed for a moment that she wished to say something more. Then suddenly footsteps sounded on the passageway, and Elanee glanced up to see. By the look of luminous joy that touched her features as much as by the grace, the softness, of each of those steps, he knew at once that it was her…Phaedra. As she entered, Casavir felt a sudden and entirely unexpected thrill run through him. She was…beautiful as always. Beautiful and alive, her hair long and loose over her shoulders, gleaming as though burnished gold against the pallor of her face, shot through with that shining darker redness as it rippled in the uncertain dawn. And her eyes, green, lucent…her lips soft…

"Phaedra…" He stood sharply, scattering that thought instantly. What was this that possessed him each time he saw her? Why could he not even control himself? "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Casavir" She gave him a puzzled look "I slept a little badly, that's all"

"You haven't let yourself rest enough lately" Elanee sighed "All this…trouble straight after we came back from Old Owl Well. It's a wonder we're not falling over ourselves with exhaustion"

"I'll be fine, Elanee" She said, and the smile faded for a moment, replaced by that wistful sadness that so often took her in repose, a sadness that was somehow even more beautiful. "I have to be…" She glanced out into the grey dawn "I was thinking of going to Brelaina as soon as possible today. She should know that the agent is dead"

"I will escort you" Casavir stood at once. Honour, chivalry, propriety, they had been as much a part of his training and of his upbringing, as bladecraft and swordsmanship. And yet, now, a part of him now yearned with a deep and bitter yearning that he should have the right thing to say and not simply the proper thing. Something that would explain all the turmoil, show her that her presence, that being near to her, made him feel such a depth of feeling that he was alive again. That would tell her immediately that he was not simply being merely chivalrous, that her safety mattered to him more than anything. But the words would not come…

"Casavir…" She smiled, and something of her golden radiance blazed forth in that smile "You know very well that I don't need an escort. What I need is a friend to walk with me…"

"Of course, my lady" He cursed the words that instantly, automatically sprang to his tongue because they were the easiest to say. "I will walk with you, then"

"As will I" Elanee stood as well "After what occurred last night, we should stay together as much as we can. And since the remainder of our company seems as yet indisposed, the two of us should suffice"

"Good" She breathed deeply "There's a lot we should talk about, both of you…" Casavir nodded, forcing himself once again under control. There was a reason these things were so hard to say, a reason he could not allow his feelings to be so close once again, why he had to keep distant from her as much as he was able. He had forgotten it, almost, in the reflected radiance of her arrival, but he promised himself anew that, though he would watch over and guide her, he would not allow…this…to happen once again…


	37. Chapter 37

_I've decided that I've been moving a little too slowly lately, so I've decided to speed things up a little bit, which will be a relief to you all, I'm sure. So this chapter had another scene in the Watch which I've cut out, and I've tried to move on quicker now. If you like the idea, a review would be appreciated, or if things are too rushed, likewise._

_Hopefully this means we'll get to exciting bits sooner! And thanks to idiotwhocantthinkofapenname for the review and assorted favourites/alerts. I appreciate the input._

"Ready?" Cormick muttered, he stood close to Phaedra, his thick grey cloak and brown hair streaked with rainfall, his blade in hand, and the glimmering light of the lantern hanging just above him highlighting the stress of anticipation in his features. The choking, thick clouds which hung across the sky, pouring out a stream of heavy rainfall, gave the quiet street, packed with the cloaked forms of the jostling Watchmen the appearance of midnight, total midnight, though in fact dusk had only just begun. Beside him, Phaedra, cradling her bow in the folds of her robe to shield it from the relentless downpour, nodded in silent readiness. She had, through a restful afternoon, nearly recovered from her duel with Ajah, her power, though not at full strength, still glowed comfortingly within her…almost a warmth against the chill rain, which drenched her hair, hanging it slack over her cheeks, and soaked into her robe. Cormick smiled, his teeth glinting, then checked over the band of about twenty men who stood behind them, all Watchmen, who carried their swords with the trained deftness of practiced fighters, and Phaedra's companions.

Casavir stood just behind her, enduring the downpour with that silent stoicism, showing no sign of discomfort, though in front of him Phaedra could not help shivering, Elanee held herself with a similar stillness, out on the Mere she must have faced worse than a city rainfall. Neeshka was less lucky, dancing on two feet, and clutching her arms against her chest, while muttering under her breath about the situation. This close to the action Khelgar had finally stopped complaining, with his axe clasped close, all that was on his mind was the coming battle. And what a battle it would be. From the moment that Phaedra had stood before Brelaina to hear that a hive of strangers had slipped beneath the Watch's eye to secret themselves within this very warehouse, and that all that had given them away was their relentless search after her, she had known all too well what would be waiting…her Astral pursuers had revealed themselves at last. And when Cormick, who would be leading the assault, had requested her help, she knew she could hardly refuse. These creatures had magical abilities, she might be crucial to any attempt to drive them away, and besides here was a chance to avenge those lost to the creatures in West Harbour, Amie chiefly of all, as well as perhaps finding some way to unlock the mystery of these Astral beings.

Along with the Watchmen, they stood in a silent alleyway, up near the north wall, a place Phaedra had never before visited, a part of the Merchant Quarter, but recessed deep amidst faceless shadows, so that it almost appeared as unwelcoming and dangerous as the Docks. The buildings, warehouses for merchant's goods stood imposing above them on either side, rearing up into the cloak-wreathed sky, shadows against the storm. She, Cormick, her four companions, and the twenty Watchmen had gathered at the assembly point nearby, but now they stood just outside the very warehouse where the creatures were lurking, a vast construction with little to distinguish it from those across the street and next to it. Try as she might, Phaedra could sense nothing untoward in this particular, looming façade, yet, her heart still pounded faster in her chest, her breaths shallow. She knew what they were about to face, her mind made play with her memories of Amie's murderer, that awful creature, and what minions he had commanded, giving each picture a new terror, as she imagined them multiplied a hundredfold, herself facing them in a shadowed warehouse. "Then…" Cormick's voice abruptly broke into the clouded midst of her swarming terrors "For Neverwinter!" With that roar of defiance, abandoning all the stealth they had carefully maintained to reach this far hopefully undetected, he slammed his sword at the hilt into the warehouse's small side door, wood splintered, and the door swung open. Everyone poured in, Phaedra scarcely had to step forth herself. She was borne on the tide of advancing soldiers, although Casavir stayed behind her, she knew, with some effort, and suddenly they were within, and there were shouts, and cries, and the clash of swords.

It was dark, darker even than outside, there was some kind of haze that clung like a stubborn fog to everything, the small room, little more than an entrance hall, was filled with a cluttered mass of strange items, piled haphazardly against the walls. Phaedra struggled, it was like a nightmare, she was hemmed in by the other Watchmen, hearing the sounds of battle, but she could not see the fighting. The strange mist everywhere, a thick, billowing miasma, which smelt like the aftermath of a thunderstorm, and swirled furiously with every movement others around her made. It was dark purple, glimmering with sparkles of silver, she breathed heavily, coughing…

"Phaedra!" Casavir's voice from behind her startled her, and she suddenly glanced upwards. By Lathander, a figure reared up in front of her, emerging from the mist like a spectral shadow. It was one of…them…mottled greenish skin, pointed teeth emerging from its sinister mouth, gleaming yellow eyes, of human shape, though taller than ever a human could be, with a hungry gauntness in its face and scrawny body. It was garbed in armour of an exotic design, spined, the light rippled upon its sword in a way which told her that this was no ordinary metal it bore. In the next split second, she realised suddenly, with the aching intuition born of her power, that this creature, stepping toward her, blade raised, had no magic. It was without power, by the heavens, not all of them were mages and this was not the same as had stood over Amie and laughed. She cried out a spell, heat seared outwards, a burst of flame, crashing into the creature, which flew backwards across the room and landed, with a crash against the wall, smoking, still. By the Gods, there were indeed more of these creatures here...but what were they? She had never seen their like, heard them described, even in Tarmas' tales of planes and worlds beyond this, and Merring's sermons on the Hells and the Heavens…

Then there was something moving behind her. She gasped, swinging round, her bow springing into her hands, and firing an arrow to strike, at point blank range, another of the creatures in the skull, it fell backward, dead in an instant. Around her, the Watchmen duelled fiercely with the creatures, some kind of guard of this entryway, though more, no doubt summoned by the sounds of battle, burst into the room as she watched. These creatures were master swordsmen, their blades swung, cutting through the air they made a strange ringing sound, a song of death and a Watchman went down in a spray of red. Phaedra cried out, casting her hand forth, a lightning bolt slammed into his foe, who was raising the blade for the killing blow. Elanee darted over to the stricken man, whispering words, drawing healing magic from nature, her hands tracing signs in the air to mend his wound. And Khelgar, she had yet to truly witness the power of the Gauntlets of Ironfist, until now…he was a force of nature, each pound of his fists sent a creature slamming into the walls, its body broken under the sheer force behind the gauntlets' magic. Two more watchmen engaged another just by Elanee, the creature howled out an ululating battle cry, its blade swinging so fast that Phaedra could scarcely see it. She pulled back her bow, letting fly, but somehow, the creature's blade swung to catch the arrow in its flight, sending it scattering into the darkness. The creature glanced upwards, its yellow eyes narrowed as it saw her, as though in an instant of recognition, then, in that moment of its distraction, a blade split across its chest, and Cormick appeared behind it, pushing the limp corpse from him, and drawing his blade, gleaming from its body.

"Slippery aren't they?" he grinned, Phaedra gasped, nodding, her spirits shaken by that moment of connection, the creature had known her, known her as the Kalach-cha, or by her name? Lathander, the thought was enough to chill her to the bone "Hey…" He pushed over to her and, despite the furious, raging storm of battle all around them, lowered his sword "Phaedra, are you…?"

"Watch out!" Phaedra cried out suddenly, she fired an arrow over his shoulder, catching the creature rearing up behind him, its sword pulled upward, shining fiercely, it fell backward, howling in agony and Cormick swung round, swearing, to cut right across its chest, its blood sprayed outward in a red mist

"By Tyr!" Cormick snapped "They are persistent"

"We have this covered" Casavir appeared next to Phaedra, the mist moving about him, his form, in his armour, seemed colossal, his eyes glinting "Your men need you Marshal"

"Phaedra…the Lieutenant, is under my command as well, and my protection" Cormick answered, eyeing Casavir dangerously. Beside the paladin, he was slightly shorter, and slimmer, but he looked just as deadly. "And that is nothing…"

"Gods! That is…!" Phaedra began, then two of the creatures poured out of the mass of mist and battling forms. She leapt upwards to confront them, throwing her hands out so that energy leapt from her hands, strands of white light scattering into them both, a potent stunning spell. They both froze, muscles suddenly stilled, but their yellow eyes still gleamed with hatred and focused on Phaedra with the fury that came just before death. "Enough!" Snapping to the two men, she pulled back her bow, her fingers danced back to her quiver, drawing two arrows, she fired once, twice, both of the creatures fell, crashing into the floor, one screamed out a curse, the other collapsed silently. "The others need you! We don't have time for this!" Phaedra cried, as Cormick and Casavir both glanced at her with the same fleeting shock. Whatever this…disagreement was about, and there was an undercurrent of something highly alarming in the two men's words, they really, really did not have time for such things now!

Within moments, abruptly, as though a storm had passed, the room fell into stillness, the creatures, their foes, were dead, trampled into the dust and blood of the entry hallway. Their eyes, so bright and fearsome in life, were clouded, their exotic armour shredded to pieces. Nor were they alone in death…five of the Watchmen, silver and grey broken forms lying amidst the dead creatures, were gone to the Gods. Elanee knelt by one of these dead, the elf's eyes were luminous with grief as she gazed down at the man she had tried so hard to save, an open expression of emotion Phaedra had never before seen from the elf. And seeing it, she felt a lump come to her own throat, these men had given their lives "Gods" she whispered "Please take them home" Khelgar and Neeshka seemed alright, she saw with relief, they both had blood on their blades, how strange that these alien creatures had the same blood as humans…

"Victory, though this accursed warren has a few more rats in it, I warrant" Cormick hissed, glancing over the scene. He had known the dead, trained them perhaps, but what grief he felt was given entirely to anger, a bitter, sullen anger, but one which almost made Phaedra pity any of the creatures left in the warehouse who crossed blades with him. "We'll fan out, cover the perimeter, anything we find goes straight to the Cloaktower for study. With luck, the finest minds in Neverwinter will be able to tell us something about what these creatures are, and what they wanted" He glanced at Phaedra, who nodded her agreement, things were very quickly growing more and more complex. She needed information, and soon, on the nature of these creatures and why they were so desperate for the shards. In a moment of uncertainty she found herself lightly touching the two silver pieces she bore, as always around her waist. She was close now…close to the knowledge she had searched for so long, but where would her path lead next?

oooo000000oooo

The search of the warehouse, though scouring its every corner and intensely overseen by Marshal Cormick, nonetheless revealed very little that was immediately obvious, though a few more questions were raised. Any effort to take one of the creatures into custody were fruitless, met by fanatical resistance. They were more prepared to split themselves open on the Watchmen's blades than be captured. Phaedra had even witnessed one cut its' own throat rather than face capture, a sight which still haunted her. They were driven by something…ardent, some frenzy, some fanaticism, and they were quite prepared to give their lives for whatever their cause was, a frightening prospect. A number of magical artefacts were discovered, but Phaedra, whose expertise was not in such items, was clueless as to their purpose or origin. For only one, the vast metal frame that Cormick had discovered in a hidden back room, did she have any answers for the Marshal's questions. It was a frightening, eerie looking thing, with three great metal prongs rearing upwards, like spines of some draconic creature, each one marked with arcane sigils in a martial style, sweeping, vicious signs which somehow entrapped the eye. Even dormant as it was Phaedra had sensed the sheer power which lay trapped in it. It had been a portal, a portal between two places, perhaps between two worlds. This was the solution to the mystery of the creatures' invisible entrance into the city, how they had transported their forces into the security of the Merchant Quarter undetected. Though the thing was damaged, sabotaged intentionally, it still revealed a haunting glimpse of the power of these pursuers, and their alien origins. With luck the Cloaktower's analysis of the creatures' bodies, and their artefacts would tell Phaedra something, but that would wait till tomorrow, when she met with Captain Brelaina again. For now, she returned, exhausted once again, to the warmth of the Sunken Flagon.

Settling into one of the chairs, gently, the strain on her mind from the near constant apprehension of the last few days was if anything more oppressive than the physical strain of the battles she had undergone, first Ajah, then that tight, close-quarters melee with the astral creatures…it was enough to set her entirely off kilter. Elanee and Khelgar were in similar states, Khelgar collapsed at the table next to hers setting aside his axe and armour, absently fiddling with his gauntlets, and wondering aloud if Duncan had left the ale out tonight. Elanee vanished almost instantly, off to recover in her room, the elf had been under even more strain than Phaedra, perhaps, her healing gifts had been in great demand during the attack. She had been pushed, desperately trying to save as many of the Watchmen as possible, and had seen some of them die despite it. Phaedra sighed deeply, no wonder the elf had seemed to tense. She hoped desperately that Elanee would be alright Neeshka, by contrast, was still very much alive, she really was a creature of the night, and her enthusiasm at the evening's work spilled over into her gabbling speech and fervent gestures as she avidly described her battle with various astral foes to Khelgar, who was only half-listening if at all.

"That'll teach those creeps what lurks in Neverwinter's shadows" she proclaimed with satisfaction "They'll think twice before they stray here again!" Though she had come to serve the city loosely and by a very different route, Neeshka's loyalty to Neverwinter was as fervent as any Watchmen's. It truly was her home, and she would do anything to defend it. Casavir stood near where Phaedra sat, with his usual solemn stillness. If he was as exhausted as Phaedra and Elanee, he showed no sign of it, his endurance really was striking…

The fire in the Flagon's great hearth had gone out, it was quite late now, and Phaedra, sighing reached for one of the lanterns by the bar, then hesitated, before carefully conjuring a flame within the glass heart of the object, lighting its candle. She sighed, collapsing after even that small use of power, but still, after what she'd already unleashed today, she shouldn't have been able to summon the flame at all. It had been an experiment, and experiment she had expected would fail, but it seemed the magic within her had other plans. The strain she had placed on her powers over the last few days, though temporarily draining her, had actually made her stronger. She felt the glow of her power, a well that was suddenly deepening, as though a light had been cast within her, revealing new hidden depths to what she had once thought most familiar, and wondered briefly if the awakening power she had felt against Ajah was responsible. She had not yet had time to test her power at all, but something told her that the potential for that ardent flame still lay, dormant within her. She had read Tarmas' book cover to cover, but suddenly her magic hungered for more, she knew that more complex spells, greater spells now awaited her and she wanted to learn them with an intensity that was almost frightening…

"Hey, what is…?" Duncan entered suddenly. The common room, beside them, was entirely empty, and Duncan, she had thought, had retired before they'd got here. Evidently not, for the half-elf was still garbed in his work outfit, something in his face and posture told her instantly that all this time he had been waiting for her to return safely, and she felt a pang of guilt, and a surge of love on her uncle's behalf "Good grief, you all look like you're about to collapse on your feet" He glanced over each of them, gaze lingering longest on Phaedra… "Phaedra, lass, you look like you could do with a long rest. Go on…you should get to bed"

"Ah, Duncan, if you could get me just a tankard to warm my blood up eh?" Khelgar asked hopefully

"At this hour, you're impossible dwarf" Duncan scowled "And you haven't paid for a single drink since you got here…" But he made his way, grumbling fiercely at Khelgar to the bar to draw up one of the flagons for the dwarf.

"I am sorry" Casavir suddenly spoke, and Phaedra looked up to see he was standing right next to her… "But could we talk a moment?" She blinked, surprised, but then shifted over for him.

"Of course" she murmured "What about?" He sat and breathed deeply, then turned to look at her…

"I want to apologise…" he began "For what happened…with the Watch Marshal" Phaedra blinked again. She remembered suddenly the confrontation, the momentary hostility between Casavir and Cormick, the tension she had felt palpably in the air, even as the battle raged about them. It had been a confrontation that ran deeper than what words had been spoken, but in her exhaustion she hadn't quite considered yet what it had actually meant. Still it had left her with a sense of unease, knowing instinctively she was the cause… "I acted…rashly…" Casavir continued "I let my emotion get the better of me, and this is not the first time…"

"What do you mean?" Phaedra asked

"I threatened Ajah's bodyguard, I said I would rip his tongue from his throat…" Casavir continued gravely, and Phaedra shuddered again, remembering that awful night so clearly "That is not the way of justice, letting my anger get the best of me and nor is it the best way to help you, especially when I know how much the Marshal has aided you in the past. I do not want to…make things any more difficult for you" Duncan, passing Khelgar a drink, saw the both of them, and raised an eyebrow, glancing between her and Casavir as though he could sense a dynamic moving between the two of them, yet Phaedra scarcely noticed. Casavir's intensity was like nothing she had ever felt, simultaneously comforting and warding off… "So I apologise…" The paladin continued "I will keep quiet from now on…I will keep in control"

"Casavir, listen" Phaedra offered him a gentle smile. All was forgiven, of course, why should he blame himself? "I understand things are difficult, but I can look after myself as well. I don't need you or Cormick to do all the work for me"

"Oh, I know that" he answered, and he smiled, a rare, fleeting but unexpectedly touching smile. "But my instinct, I suppose I let it get the best of me…"

"But I do need your help, and your insight" Phaedra continued softly "I need to know you will be helping me"

"Of course my lady" he nodded "I will always be here…" He stood suddenly, as though startled by what he had just promised, though he showed no sign of that… "Duncan is right, I should not have delayed you"

"No Casavir, thank you for speaking to me" Phaedra said, gently standing herself, and brushing the dust of the warehouse carefully from her robes "I would like to rest now though…" She smiled in farewell, though within her she was just beginning to realise the implications of what Casavir was saying…and they troubled her…

"May Tyr guard your sleep my lady" Casavir answered, and he moved away. Having bid goodnight to Duncan and the others as well, Phaedra made her way back to her own room slowly and deep in thought. Casavir's words had expressed something deeper than what he had said on the surface, she had felt it, but her thoughts were confused. His words, and whatever lay beneath them, had moved her deeply…she felt safe around Casavir, safer than she had done since this had all begun. And yet…what had he truly meant? However much she might not wish to, she thought abruptly of her brief and decidedly unpleasant encounter with Bishop only a few nights ago, it had…opened her eyes a little, and something told her there was a link here. Abruptly she shook her head, no, now was not the time for such…considerations, whatever well they sprang from. She was so close to the information she had searched so far, she needed to concentrate on that now, that, and saving West Harbour, and unravelling the mystery of her pursuers. That was what mattered, what had to matter to her. She needed to stay focused… as always.

oooo0000oooo

Morning dawned, clear and bright. The rain of yesterday had cleansed the city of urban grime and Neverwinter sparkled momentarily under the gleaming light of the new day. Phaedra, making her way to the Merchant Quarter for what she knew might well be her final meeting with Captain Brelaina and Cormick in the Headquarters of the Watch, could not quite put a name to the feelings which she was experiencing. On the one hand, things were looking up, she was on her way to finding what she had searched for so long, what had brought her to the Watch in the first place, more information on the shards and at last contact with this mysterious sage Aldanon. But, she knew it wasn't going to be that simple, whatever Aldanon could tell her, and she had absolutely no idea what he could, she could not have seen the last of the Astral creatures, certainly not them, and probably not Ajah's masters and their cabal of Shadow Priests. She still had to be cautious, think out her next steps carefully, would she leave the Watch for example? Or had the life she had begun here become too much a part of her? She had also to be prepared for disappointment. If Sand had been mistaken, if Aldanon could not tell her what she needed to know it would be a crushing blow but she'd be able to carry on as she had done so far, keeping well away from West Harbour by continuing in Neverwinter seemed a good bet. And she had her friends with her, all of whom had elected to accompany her on this most important journey, Khelgar, Neeshka, Elanee and Casavir. Whatever else occurred, it was a good omen for anything which happened ahead that she had them alongside her, could count on their support.

The Merchant Quarter, heaving as usual, was abuzz with rumours about the latest Watch operation. Some even suggested that the Watch had attacked a coven of yuan-ti or some other mysterious race, though none had quite glimpsed the whole truth, whatever it was. But the rumours, no matter how wild, did not stay the tide of business here in the slightest. Amidst the sea of colour and fervent conversation, the Watch Headquarters was tall and austere, silently commemorating those losses the Watch had suffered in the cause of the furious battle against the astral creatures. Phaedra sighed, painfully aware that had she have never brought the shards to the city, those cursed Astral fiends would never have followed and these men would still be alive. It seemed always that her journey had caused enough death, enough destruction, but then there would come another attack, and more deaths to count. She would add them to her prayers, and their families, hopefully that would be enough.

Leaving the others to wait it out in the entrance hall, she made her way alone once again to Brelaina's office with a certain sense of regret. This was all such a part of her now, she had spent over a month in Neverwinter's service and what she'd done had made a great impression. The Watch had taken her in and shielded her, she owed her life to them. It would be strange to leave, to go on without the set purpose and guidance of Brelaina and Cormick to direct her.

"Lieutenant" Brelaina gave a warm smile as Phaedra entered "I had a feeling you would be arriving shortly" The Captain, in her full rank insignia as always, her cloak and surcoat freshly pressed, was bent over a sea of paperwork spread across her desk, but she stood straight when Phaedra stepped over the threshold of her domain, nonetheless her demeanour was less than formal as she beamed at her Lieutenant with thankful appreciation. "I have some really quite good news for you" Cormick, sitting at ease in one of her chairs had been toying with his sword and glaring sullenly out of the windows, but he too stood as Phaedra made her way over to Brelaina and moved over, the bitterness in his posture melted away, though deep in his eyes was something harshly grieving, he was thinking of his men… "Your dispensation it's here, and its yours to take…" She lifted up one of the papers from her desk, scanned it for a moment than handed it over to Phaedra who took it with a surge of joy and gratitude. It was an official looking parchment coached in cramped prose detailing the exact circumstances and requirements of the dispensation for aforesaid Lieutenant Blake to bypass the conditions of the Neverwinter Nine's blockade. Affixed to it was the rather grand red wax seal which gave it its authority, Lord Nasher's own crest, and Captain Brelaina's own seal and signature in her graceful flowing hand. Holding it at last, Phaedra felt a surge of hope, it was hers'…at long last!

"Thank you so much" she gasped, glancing up again at Brelaina.

"No Lieutenant…" Brelaina laughed suddenly "How could I do anything but? In little over four weeks you have single-handedly eradicated the major operations of the thieves in the Docks, breaking their backs by little more than the terror of your reputation, and raising the standing of the Watch across Neverwinter. Council funding is up, and new recruits are queuing up to be the next Lieutenant Blake, oh…and corruption is really nothing more than a small problem now by the way. On top of that, you saved the Greycloak operation in Old Owl Well, rescued Issani, averted a major orc incursion, and annihilated a Hostower Adept! If it had been solely up to me, this would have been your's long before now"

"Careful Captain, making her blush like that" Cormick chuckled, as Phaedra looked away, flushing furiously at the thought of young recruits queuing up to be the next 'Lieutenant Blake/…

"Indeed, enough, there are more serious matters" Brelaina quickly sobered "We have had a dispatch from the Cloaktower as regards those creatures you fought in the warehouse." Phaedra nodded, the news was instantly sobering, as the thought of those creatures always was… "They are Githyanki, an astral people, familiar to you at all?"

"No…" Phaedra shook her head. The many, many planes beyond this one were not something a lifetime of study could fully hope to comprehend, nor their myriad inhabitants…these Githyanki, Phaedra had not even heard of them…

"Nor to me, but what the Cloaktower has revealed is disturbing to say the least" Brelaina continued "They are a race of zealots, entirely devoted to their singular purposes and goals, and entirely without mercy. The Astral links to many other worlds and these Githyanki are expert travellers of the Planes. They have even come here on occasion but never in these sort of numbers, nor in a way overtly threatening to Neverwinter. We, on this world, are apparently beneath their notice, rather like the thralls you've encountered before, so why they have such an interest in you is quite a puzzle"

"It's what I carry, the…shards which first drew them to West Harbour…" Phaedra explained, nodding "But why, and to what end, I was relying on Aldanon for that"

"Well, I am afraid they will never stop hunting you until whatever it is they want is in their hands" Brelaina answered grimly "Such the Cloaktower has agreed anyway, but even they are clueless to the intentions of the Githyanki. They are following some kind of age-old feud, a war, but with whom and why…" She shrugged "Right now, better to seek more information I suspect, so this dispensation is doubly valuable to you and Neverwinter now…" She sighed "Despite the fact that there has been a third murder in the Blacklake"

"No…" Phaedra gasped, how could this be? They'd driven the Githyanki away, hadn't they? "Who, how?"

"Yes, last night, while you were fighting these Githyanki. Another nobleman, an associate of Dalren and Gentry, Lord Hawke, found dead in much the same way as them" Though Brelaina's tone was measured, in her gaze Phaedra could see both helpless confusion and frustration that the murderer, after all the Neverwinter Nine and City Watch had attempted, was still at large "But that does not affect anything, in fact I believe it highlights the urgency of your task. All of this is linked, I feel it, and if only I'd known from the beginning I'd have forced your entry into the Blacklake myself then and there"

"But the Githyanki, they're gone?" Phaedra protested

"Perhaps, or perhaps not" Brelaina sighed, the stress of recent events momentarily interposing onto her flawless professionalism "Or we are dealing with some other agent, but leave that to me and the Neverwinter Nine, you must concentrate on your own duty" She leant backwards, the formal dignity of ceremony suddenly slipping over her "It is time, therefore, that I release you from active duty in the City Watch, Lieutenant Blake. Though the privileges of that rank are still available, and of your service may still be called upon, you are no longer under my command and you may travel where you wish under your own purpose…"

"But the Watch will still always be open to you, Phaedra" Cormick promised "For aid, for shelter, anything"

"Indeed, I have not removed you from our rolls of duty yet, Lieutenant" Brelaina added "So, if ever you find yourself in need, we will always be ready"

"Thank you, for everything Captain" Phaedra bowed her head "You've helped me, so much" Brelaina had been a great aid, to her, and to her task. It had been an honour, she felt, to have aided her in her work "I hope I can do more for you, not leave the Watch behind for ever"

"You will not" the Captain smiled… "You're destined for something great, Phaedra." She reached forward, took Phaedra's hands in her own "Fair Fortune, Lieutenant, wherever you go, and may Tyr watch over you"

"And you" Phaedra answered, and Brelaina released her, nodding her approval, a slight smile on her face. In fact, Phaedra thought, she might well consider the Captain a friend…

"I'll escort the Lieutenant, Phaedra, out" Cormick offered, Brelaina nodded

"For now then, Phaedra…" She bowed formally, and Phaedra tipped into her most graceful curtsey. Then she left, following Cormick from the office, as she did she knew the Captain's eyes were on her the whole way. She was wondering perhaps, just as Phaedra did, what next lay in store for her.

"She pulled in every favour she had for that" Cormick nodded to the dispensation in Phaedra's hands, speaking only once they were out of earshot "Even after all you've done, it was an uphill battle to convince the Nine. Amongst Neverwinter's noblest circles, there's a lot of suspicion of adventuring types, especially those from places like West Harbour" He snorted, his opinion on that clear "I hope you find what you need in the Blacklake. If anyone could tell you about this, though, it would be Aldanon"

"Cormick, thank you…" Phaedra said quietly, turning to him "I know most of this was up to you as well…"

"We're both Harbourmen, it was the least I could do" Cormick nodded, but then that grim, bitter sadness came to his features once again and he stopped suddenly in the corridor. Phaedra paused alongside him, knowing instantly that he was about to speak of something serious and close to his heart, and suddenly longing to hear something of West Harbour and, of the past, herself. "It's been…so long, hasn't it? I know we both feel it…" He suddenly reached forward, and roughly took her hand in his, grasping her fingers so fiercely it almost hurt, though he scarcely seemed to notice that. There was something deep, and passionate suddenly in his features, so intense that Phaedra almost found herself drawing back, shocked to see it. "Seeing you, I know that it's been too long since I felt the Mere's wind on my face. I…I still remember watching you, Bevil Starling, and the Fern girl, playing out on the Mere, but now look at you, Lieutenant of the Watch, Heroine of Old Owl Well"

"I miss West Harbour too, Cormick" Phaedra answered gently, letting her own fingers run comfortingly over his calloused palm, but touching him as little as possible, what was this? What had she missed, what was Cormick really saying? "But it is fate that has brought us so far, and fate is the will of the Gods, we cannot deny it…"

"Fate?" Cormick growled, suddenly bitterly angry "What God ordained that I should not be there for my own people when these monsters, these Githyanki attacked…what God said you, Daeghun's daughter, should bear this burden, and I unable to help you because of my task, being stuck here with paperwork and petty crime!" He glanced into her face, fierce and wild with feeling so that she almost flinched away...by the Gods, so it was as she had thought.

"Cormick, no one blames you" She began softly. She cursed herself for not realising what this actually was sooner. Cormick's attraction, if not more, to her, was suddenly so painfully obvious across his features, it made her heart ache with pain. She knew him, and respected him greatly, as a friend, but this fierce adoration, it almost frightened her, made her want to draw back away from him. She knew almost right away that she felt nothing like this for him. How to speak that, without hurting him, without adding anything to that dark, bitter anguish which already ate at his spirit? "And I know you want to protect me, to be there for me. but you have a duty, a duty to see through that will see you guarding my duty, and the lives of so many others, so many innocents. I…began this alone…I must go on as the Gods will…"

"Duty…" Cormick whispered the word hoarsely "I…cannot go along with only duty, I need…I need…" He paused, swallowing the next words, as though they were too heavy to speak.

"Cormick …" Phaedra murmured, leaning forwards to him, weaving comfort with her voice, her gaze on his face, soft and gentle as a whisper "I know that these deaths on my behalf have hurt you, that you are tired of death now, of pain and unhappiness" She spoke the truth as she read it in him, her empathy and intuition drawing on his feelings, giving them voice within her. "You want it to end, and you look for an end to it in me, in your memory of West Harbour that I share, but I am sorry…it…can't be…"

"Phaedra…I…" He reached forward, momentarily catching a golden strand of her hair in his fingers, then letting it fall back to her, as though it were too precious for him to hold onto "But I still…" He paused suddenly, and Phaedra gasped at the pain on his face…no, she hadn't meant this. "It's not me is it? I…I'm not the man…for you"

"Cormick, I…didn't want to hurt you…you have been a great friend, always, and we have a bond, a bond of our shared history, and our home" Phaedra whispered, her words hesitant, how could she speak again when her words could cause this pain? How could she do anything? And yet she had to... "But, what you want I cannot give…"

"I thought, if…" Cormick murmured, shrinking back visibly, as Phaedra felt the bitter stab of knowing she had caused this… "No, I was a fool…" He corrected himself "Phaedra, you are above me, greater than I could ever hope to be. It was…a dream…a foolish dream…"

"Cormick…" Phaedra gasped…by the Gods, his heart was breaking in front of her. Had she done this? Had she led him on, only to crush him at the last? She had not done so consciously, but in her innocence, had she committed some grievous fault?

"I know now, it's better knowing" The pained look on his face spoke bitterly otherwise "Phaedra, thank you for everything, but it's time we left each other behind now…"

"I'm sorry Cormick…" The words were utterly inadequate to express the guilt stabbing at Phaedra's chest. If she had indeed unknowingly caused this, how could he forgive her? How could she forgive herself? "I didn't mean…this…"

"I know" He answered, his voice rough "Farewell, Phaedra, and be careful. You carry all our hopes now, I think" He withdrew, suddenly, and stumbled backwards away into the heart of the Headquarters, apparently unable to bear her presence any more. Phaedra felt herself sink backwards, clutched at the wall for support. What had transpired, what she had done here? Cormick was a friend and she'd hurt him badly…but how could she have done otherwise? Her feelings were not like his, they would not shape to anything more than friendship. She would only have hurt him more had she lied to him. But that couldn't make her feel better, and it had all been so sudden, she was shocked to the core. She had seen herself in the mirror. To her own eyes, she looked little different from the girl who'd left West Harbour, and she could not perceive anything about her which was capable of rousing such fierce, painful adoration…so what had? She felt a surge of aching despair. Everything she touched seemed to change, go wrong, and people died, and got hurt, everywhere she went. But no, she had a duty, like she had said, if she failed, it was all for nothing. She had to go on. Rubbing her eyes, and scattering the warmth of tears which clung stubbornly to her lashes, she took a long, long moment to compose herself. She did not want to speak of this to the others, nor look so affected in front of the others, of Casavir, why did she think of him? Her thoughts were so confused, she could scarce articulate them to herself, but nonetheless she found herself able to walk, steadily, slowly over to the doorway and out through it to the hallway, where the others were waiting.

"So what happened?" Neeshka asked instantly, standing up and beaming brightly "Did you get it?"

"Yes, we did, at last" Phaedra attempted a smile back, with little success but Neeshka scarcely seemed to notice her hesitation, diving in to scan the dispensation from Brelaina which Phaedra held up to her keen gaze.

"What's wrong?" Elanee murmured softly at her side. Phaedra flushed, knowing she could never deceive Elanee but very conscious of Casavir standing just by her, his concern mirroring hers. She did not want to, for some reason, speak of the altercation with Cormick in front of him

"Nothing…" She smiled again, more successfully "We've got this, haven't we? Nothing's wrong" Elanee frowned, but allowed the deflection, for now. Phaedra inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, drawing up the dispensation.

"That is impressive, for a piece of paper" Neeshka grinned "The Watch has finally delivered then, here I was thinking we'd be stuck here for ever"

"We have permission to get to the Blacklake right away" Phaedra explained "So I think we ought to take it" She pressed down on the storm of feeling within her. She had to concentrate solely on what was coming, on the impending talk with Aldanon, and what revelations might be brought to light by it…so why wouldn't her thoughts focus, why wouldn't the agony clutched around her throat abate? All she knew, was that no matter what, she could never let what happened with Cormick ever happen again, she would not ruin another friendship like she had his, or hurt another so gravely. Let her journey lead her onward, but it was not for her to cause more pain than that which had already followed her so closely…


	38. Chapter 38

_Hi, sorry for updating quicker than usual, but everyone should have time to catch up because, here in England, I've got the exams which decide what college I go to coming up next week and they go on until summer and I've really got to knuckle down and get working. _

_There probably won't be an update for a while, I'll see what I can do but I'm afraid there aren't any guarantees. Wish me luck anyway!_

_Any reviews might cheer me up during the dark days that are to come, I'll reply as usual as soon as I can._

"Do pardon me, I would never bar my door to the noble members of our famed City Watch" The man standing before Phaedra, robed carelessly in dirty white, gushed with an apologetic tone. He was tall, and thin, the robe he wore was some sizes too big, and he gave the distinct impression not of strength but of a gangly awkwardness. He was elderly, approaching fifty if Phaedra was any judge, with barely tamed nest of straggly grey hair and watery blue eyes, but he did not give the impression of world-weary experience either. Instead there was a strange innocence about him, a spark of child-like fascination with everything in the world, coupled with a distinct sense of absent-minded muddle, which was only accentuated by his slapdash appearance. Aldanon, sage of Neverwinter, he was not what Phaedra had expected.

"That is alright, we're here on important business" Phaedra answered. She could not help speaking gently and quietly to the old man, so child-like was his manner, but it seemed to put him at ease anyway. He had already apologised, and so profusely that Phaedra could not put in a word edge-ways until now. Having almost barred their entry and allowed the magical wards at his gateway to obliterate them until Phaedra had finally invoked her authority as a Watch Lieutenant to get him to let them in, Aldanon now seemed sincerely regretful for the mix-up…

"Of course" Aldanon blinked, seeming to remember suddenly what he was doing "Please do sit down, I will get the servants to bring up some tea, always helps keep the discussion flowing…" He nodded, as though confirming that statement to himself, and drew them all over to a cleanly hewn, but not ostentatious table and chairs, enough to accommodate them all. The whole hall in which they stood gave that same impression, of good workmanship, clean and well-looked after, but without unnecessary elaboration. Judging by Aldanon's appearance the work was not down to him. She assumed he had a team of competent servants at his call. As she sat, this statement was confirmed by the swift arrival of a youngish man with sandy hair, uniformed, who carried a tray bearing delicately shaped china cups which held a steaming liquid within them, Aldanon hadn't even ordered it yet, so she assumed it must have been standard procedure in the household. Having only spoken to Aldanon for a few moments, Phaedra already appreciated that looking after the absent-minded sage's business must be a full-time occupation.

"Visitors Master?" the servant bowed as he spoke

"Watchmen, and they are here on some kind of business" Aldanon answered "Except this charming young lady is a Watchwoman, Watchperson perhaps. No matter, tea, then let us get on with this discussion" The servant laid his burden down, eyeing each of them with interest, then departed just as quickly. Phaedra sipped the piping hot liquid, and found it pleasant, though a little bitter, tea was a fantastic luxury in the North, but Aldanon seemed accustomed to it. The lack of grandeur in his home was a false indicator, he must be really very wealthy. "And here I thought you might be one of those young nobles who sneak around my house every now and then" Aldanon seemed to begin the conversation partway through, at least to himself, as he drank his own tea "That's why I gave you such a rude welcome, do you understand?"

"Young nobles?" Phaedra asked, that sneaking around, could be a clue

"Yes, lately I've noticed them, though they only come at night usually" the sage nodded "It's a real nuisance, shadowy figures outside are hardly helpful when one is trying to concoct new uses for basilisk venom…"

"What do they want?" This definitely sounded suspicious, despite Aldanon's apparent lack of concern. Could these figures be the Githyanki, or something worse?

"Why my house of course, ever since the Blacklake was rebuilt here after the war, well every noble family wants a piece of it" Aldanon replied matter-of-factly "First they tried to offer me ridiculous amounts of gold for it, but what could I use more gold for?"

"There's a question I wish more people would consider more carefully" Neeshka murmured

"Now they're trying to scare me out of here by pulling these silly stunts" Aldanon continued "But it doesn't really concern me in the slightest. This house is a fine find. Why I'd sooner part with my left eye, of course my right gives me more trouble so it would be an easier sell"

"Right…" Phaedra decided it was prudent not to explore that avenue any further. Aldanon was obviously unconcerned, but to her it sounded exceedingly unlikely that these shadowy figures were young nobles…

"So, what was it you wanted anyway?" the old sage asked with a friendly smile

"We need your help" Phaedra answered "I've been looking for this, for a very long time, ever since my village was attacked…" So she began, and she told the sage everything: the attack on West Harbour, the shards, her journey, and her service to the Watch. She held nothing back. If Aldanon could truly help them, he would need all the information she could tell. As it was, he listened enraptured, fascinated by every turn of the tale. When she at last finished, speaking of her discovery that her pursuers were Githyanki, Aldanon leant back, the amazement on his face giving way quickly to a broad smile of satisfaction.

"By Tyr, what a remarkable tale…" he said "And, as it happens, I may be able to help you after all" His eyes twinkled as she sighed with relief and a sheer tide of joy whirled up within her. Thank the Gods… "If I might see these shards then, Miss Blake"

"Here…" she removed the shards from their protective pouch at her belt. The two pieces gleamed with that strange inner light as she placed them, side by side, on the table in front of her. Aldanon leant in closer, his wrinkled hands touched each one, did he feel the strange spark within them as she did?

"You were indeed right to seek me out, and I think it is fortuitous for the both of us that you did" He said, at last "You see Miss Phaedra, as it happens I too have one of these shards" He pulled from his own belt a third silver piece, this one little more than a sliver of silver metal, but it gleamed with a sheen all its own, a light which increased in intensity as he laid it down next to the others. Phaedra was absolutely astounded to see it, how little she'd expected that another shard lay within the city, and where she was coming to find out about them. As it was turning out, seeing Aldanon could be more useful than she'd ever anticipated. "A scientist such as myself keeps his eyes open for real treasures…" the sage continued "I found this in one of the many black-market arcane traders in the city, but none recognised its real value, except myself and you, now, of course. My experiments on it thus far have been inconclusive, but with other shards to use as a comparison, why, the possibilities are endless…"

"You can do this right now…?" Phaedra asked, the sage's excitement was infectious, and she felt her own surge of anticipation to finally reveal the purpose and the power of these shards.

"Indeed, if that's what you want" Aldanon nodded "It would only, by my estimation, take a couple of minutes to determine the substance of these pieces…and from that, a thorough evaluation of their purpose will be easy." There was something subtly different about Aldanon as he described his work, more focused, more precise in a way.

"You have to do it then" Phaedra entreated "Now, as soon as you can. We do not have much time"

"Yes, yes…best to get started right away" the sage stood suddenly "If you mind, may I take your shards as well" Phaedra nodded her consent, and he gathered up all three of the shards. "My laboratory is out the back. If you stay here, Miss Blake, and your friends, I should have this done within the next half hour" She felt an obscure pang as he departed deeper into the mansion, along one of the passages which led off from the hall, carrying the shards with him. It was just, she'd become so used to having them close, it felt almost wrong…

"So, what do you think of this, I mean?" Phaedra asked the others "Could he really have some answers?"

"Provided he remembers what he's trying to tell us" Neeshka muttered.

"And he did also have a third shard of course" Phaedra noted, nodding.

"That is what troubles me" Elanee said slowly "How many of these shards are there? And who know who else possesses one?"

"It must be the reason that the gith are stalking him" Khelgar shrugged "I'm not the only one who didn't buy his talk of nobles and houses, seems to me like he's being watched"

"Lucky he has so many wards around his house or he might be dead as well" Phaedra nodded, the Githyanki were the first culprits who'd come to her mind as well… "If anyone else has a shard, I hate to think what might have happened to them" She gasped "Do you think…the murdered noblemen might have had one?"

"Perhaps" Casavir answered "But we cannot be sure, remember there is more than one force at work here. Ajah's cohorts and the Shadow Priests might well be behind the murders as much as the Githyanki…"

"Yes…that is possible" Phaedra whispered, and shuddered involuntarily. Never had she seen the Githyanki using demonic servants, such as those the Cloaktower had found traces of, but if the Shadow Priests served the King of Shadows, might not they use demons as their master had? Yet they too had never wielded any trace of infernal power in her encounters with them.

"It's not our problem, as I keep trying to remind you" Neeshka answered waspishly "We find what these shards are, we track down the Githyanki and we stop them. These murders shouldn't concern us unless we find out that it's the Gith. Let the Cloaktower deal with it"

"I don't know, these killings still concern me" Phaedra said, glancing away out into the cold, clear morning. "It is too much of a coincidence that they have begun only since I have been here"

"Neeshka's right, though" Khelgar said unexpectedly, to Phaedra's surprise and no less to Neeshka's. Normally he disagreed with her, seemingly on principle. "One enemy at a time, and these Gith are getting too bold for my liking, I think its time we cut them down to size, if that sage really can help us do that"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded "You're right, if the Githyanki are behind the killings, stopping them will stop the murders once and for all. If not, we can be concerned with that when the time comes" With that decided, an uneasy silence fell over them all. It was almost painful, having to sit here, waiting, while within his laboratory Aldanon made the tests that would either give Phaedra a path, or set her adrift without one once again. It was like…standing upon a high cliff knowing she must fling herself, within the next seconds, into the pitiless tide of destiny and where they would carry her lay entirely outside of her hands. She had been secure in her purpose in the weeks before this, knowing that her goal was to reach this moment, but now, that it had come, who could tell what would be next? As minutes went by one after the other, she found herself becoming more and more tightly strung, anxious. Every small sound within or without the house made her jump, startled, before she settled into silence again…

At last, when they had waited in that purgatory for what seemed like hours but was actually less than half an hour, there were footsteps, the patter of boots on the wooden floor, from deeper within the house. Phaedra stirred, shifting her legs which ached with stiffness from the long, uneasy wait. Beside her the others did alike, Neeshka raising her head from within her hands to stare, with a flicker of interest and apprehension to the doorway where Aldanon had left. Casavir and Elanee glanced at one another significantly, and Khelgar straightened with a guarded sense of caution in his posture. Each knew, as Phaedra did, that what Aldanon was about to bring was vital to whatever she chose to do next. Those last few seconds passed slower than the whole long wait for the sage, it seemed, then Aldanon emerged from the passageway, in a state of heightened excitement, bearing the three shards reverently in both hands. At his expression of rapturous delight, Phaedra felt her heart leap…he'd found something!

"Well, the tests operated exactly as expected and I discovered quite a bit, quite a lot actually" the sage beamed "Why, who could have known that these unassuming little pieces were quite so important, even I didn't suspect for the slightest that…"

"What exactly did you find?" Phaedra asked as the sage paused for breath in the midst of his enthusiastic outpouring.

"It turns out that these silver shards are nothing less than pieces of a Githyanki Silver Sword" Aldanon explained "Though how and why it has shattered is quite beyond me. Why, the strongest magic in the Astral goes into the forging of such blades. It would take a power…beyond well anything I have here to break it"

"But what exactly is a Silver Sword?" Phaedra enquired, quite insistently. She needed everything the sage knew, and at once…

"Why, my dear…a Silver Sword is exactly what it says it is, a blade forged of silver and imbued with some very great magic" Aldanon continued effervescently "One of the most precious of all Githyanki artefacts, I'm told, with several unique properties, including the ability to sever the cord that links any non-native of the astral plane to a more stable plane, thus killing him instantly. In battle they turn into a pillar of silver fire, burning up everything in their path"

"Wait, none of the gith we've fought so far had weapons anything like that" Khelgar frowned

"Well of course not, only the greatest champions of the Githyanki people are allowed to wield one. It is personally bestowed upon them by the Lich Queen, ruler of the Githyanki herself" Aldanon answered "If one were to be lost, the Githyanki would go to any lengths to recover it"

"That's it then" Phaedra gasped, understanding dawning at last upon the cold wasteland of this whole journey, and its purpose. "Everything, the Githyanki have been looking for this artefact. They destroyed West Harbour for it, they've killed for it…"

"Indeed, among the Githyanki a special band of warriors, the Sword Stalkers are charged with the recovery of lost Silver Swords" Aldanon nodded "Since they are so powerful, the blades are widely coveted and Sword Stalkers have been known to travel even to our world to take them back, and punish those responsible for their loss. It is easy to surmise that those who have hunted you thus far are indeed Sword Stalkers, and these shards are their goal"

"Could the blade truly be reforged?" Phaedra, glancing down at the three shards, could not see any semblance of a powerful, magical blade in them, save for that glimmer of light which they themselves gave out, a blaze of power in each one.

"I couldn't say" Aldanon replied "But certainly not with what we have here, it's barely enough to make a hairpin. The Githyanki, though, will do anything to have the Sword back and whole once again"

"Well, then, what can we do now?" Phaedra asked. This was interesting, exceptionally interesting, and the chance to see at last the motives of these Astral creatures robbed them of some of their fearsome enigma, and yet it still wasn't enough to give her any way to counter them.

"With things as they are, your best bet is to find out a little more about what the Githyanki are planning" Aldanon suggested "Whether a silver sword such as this can be reforged, and how…"

"There's always the possibility of giving up the shards, you know, giving them back to the Githyanki" Neeshka ventured cautiously "Now we know that all they want is the shards, then they'll leave us, right?"

"Unfortunately not" Aldanon shook his head gravely "The purpose of the Sword Stalkers is twofold, as I have said, to recover the sword and to enact retribution for their loss. By bearing the shards, by killing Githyanki and the thralls they sent to find them, you will all be marked for death, and there is nothing you have in your power to convince them otherwise, I am afraid. Even if they take up every single shard, they will still hunt you, for your crime is more than a dishonour to their people. It is a sacrilege. No, you must discover their plans, and for that you need to know more about Silver Swords" He laid the shards ceremoniously on the table, one after the other "Once I knew a man, Ammon Jerro…" He said softly "Who owned a Silver Sword"

"What?" Phaedra asked with utter astonishment, after everything Aldanon had told them, this news was a total shock "How?"

"I don't know, he never spoke of it, never showed it to anyone, except once" Aldanon continued, misty-eyed with memory "He was one of the court magicians, nearly two decades ago, but he's dead, dead sixteen years ago, in the War against the King of Shadows"

"The war?" Phaedra shook her head, yet another connection with that awful conflict, and a reminder that, though some answers had at last emerged, there were many mysteries remaining. "He was killed by the warlock, by the King of Shadows?"

"No one really knows" Aldanon murmured "He just vanished, dead of course, he was a good friend, a great wizard. His Silver Sword, though, it never resurfaced after his death, I looked for it for some time, but nothing…"

"If this Ammon Jerro is dead, how can he help us?" Phaedra asked. Aldanon's information was startling. With Silver Swords as rare as the sage suggested and as highly prized by their makers the Githyanki it was highly unlikely that two of the artefacts would emerge so soon after each other, which meant Ammon Jerro's Silver Sword might just be the same one whose pieces she now saw before her…

"It is just a guess, but Ammon always kept records of his research, the trouble with that, of course, is that he likely kept them in his Haven and no one quite knows where that is either" Aldanon shrugged

"Wait…he had a Haven?" Phaedra gasped, and Aldanon nodded

"Wait, Phaedra, what is a Haven?" Elanee murmured, confused, as the others all were as well.

"It's a mage's…retreat" Phaedra brushed stray golden strands of her hair back behind her ears thoughtfully "A magical place, animated, guarded by magic…" She glanced at Aldanon, only a truly great wizard or sorcerer could maintain such a place, keep it, guard it. It would require a vast reserve of power, huge, yet here Aldanon was telling here that a court wizard had held one. Ammon Jerro, it seemed, had been something far more.

"I never saw it, but I assure you it existed…" Aldanon nodded "And likely does to this day. He was a great man, Ammon Jerro, great, but his Haven is still lost"

"What can we do then?" Phaedra asked

"He had a wife, and children, his descendents live on to this day" Aldanon said "It's just a hunch, though my hunches usually are fairly accurate, but seeking them out would be a fair bet. They might know something about the Silver Sword, or if not, they could direct you to his Haven, and help you enter it"

"This is getting more and more complicated every time you speak sage" Khelgar grunted "Surely there's another way?"

"Well, if you can think of one, please do enlighten us both" Aldanon shook his head "And it really is quite simple, you need information on the Githyanki, so you need to find Ammon Jerro's Haven, so you need to find his descendents, so you need to look in the Archives, isn't that easy?"

"Wait, the Archives?" Phaedra frowned…he hadn't mentioned them before, right?

"Oh, yes, well you didn't expect the descendents of Ammon Jerro to just appear did you?" Aldanon muttered "Well, anyway, they left the city after the war, as far as I remember. You have to find out who they are, and where they are, and for that you must go to the Neverwinter Archives. They keep a record of every family in service to the Crown, including Ammon's"

"I know the Archives, and what he says is true" Casavir nodded slowly "They are here in the Blacklake"

"But, we're not supposed to, the dispensation…" Phaedra protested automatically

"Do you always have to be the good little Lieutenant?" Neeshka rolled her eyes "After everything we've done for them, we deserve twice over what they've given us. Besides no one will know if we take a little detour on the way back to the Gate"

"True, true enough" Aldanon nodded, though it was somewhat unlikely he had any idea what they were actually talking about "No need to cause trouble, just go to the Archives, find what you need, and then you leave…"

"I suppose it's the only lead we have" Phaedra sighed "We'd best take it" Well, finding anything more about these Githyanki plots could help her and Ammon Jerro, something told her he'd be important. Seeing as he died in battle against the King of Shadows perhaps he'd had some information on that mysterious warlock, who concerned her now almost as much as the Githyanki did.

"Excellent, as soon as you walked through that door, I knew we'd learn so much from each other and I was quite right, as usual" Aldanon grinned, satisfied "Here, your shards, Miss Blake" He pushed all of the three shards across the table to her "You have a greater claim to this one than I" he said, brushing aside the automatic protest which sprang to Phaedra's lips even before she spoke "You'd better take it, keep it safe for the both of us, and out of the hands of the Githyanki. Even I know little of what that people want, and what they plan, but I assure you it will be no good for any of us"

ooo000ooo

The Archives…the repository for Neverwinter's knowledge, a temple to the past and to the written word, it was a vast warren, burrowing deeper and deeper into a labyrinth of closely knit passages, lined with books and heavy with the scent of age. When first Aldanon had spoken of this place, Phaedra had almost imagined a larger version of Tarmas' modest but extensive collection of lore, multiplied perhaps a hundredfold. But what faced her now was something much, much larger. It was the greatest single space into which she had ever entered, her mind could scarcely take in its scope, and it was lined with row after row of books, some bound in leather or vellum, others simply scrolls which lay free, thousands and thousands of them, uncountable…a collection of knowledge of which a lifetime of study could not hope to scratch the surface. But it was no longer empty, not in the least, for amidst the aisles stalked the Githyanki, scouts, sentinels, all ready and able to kill or die in service to their dark ends. Their move towards the Jerro family, it seemed, had not only been anticipated, it had been appropriated by their fiercest enemies, who had to likewise be searching for traces of the Jerro bloodline, the only explanation for their presence here. Now the Archives were a nest of the creatures, each shadowed corners held lurking bands of the fanatical killers, and the scent of leather, paper and time was overcome by the crisp, ozone stench that the Githyanki always brought with them, it seemed. But, side by side, Phaedra and her friends fought on, moving down to where the genealogical section of the library lay, as they had been informed by one of its terrified keepers, one of few who remained alive in this haunted place. Their path cut deep into the heart of the Archives, a winding stairway sweeping downwards toward the cold core of this place, lit only by flickering torches that were still, despite the attack, burning, the soot and smoke in the air enough to mask what small sign they might have had for an ambush. And yet…down here, there did not seem to be any more of the Githyanki, so that Phaedra began to hope that perhaps they had found this place before her enemies had. But they moved on in watchful silence nonetheless…

"What do you mean they vanished?" The voice, cruel, harsh and resonant with the ache of something dreadfully familiar cut suddenly across Phaedra's thoughts, and the silent gloom of the spiral staircase down which she had been treading. She quickly motioned to the others to stop, flattening herself against the wooden panelled wall to hear more clearly. So the Githyanki were here obviously…had they reached their goal yet? Would Phaedra and the others have to fight to get to the information that was so crucial to her cause?

"They should have reported back by now, Sword Stalker" Another Githyanki voice, she knew the strange accent, though this one was fawning and servile, unlike the cruel command so cold and heavy in the first. "There is something moving in the main Archives, perhaps we should leave"

"Cowardly wretch!" The cruel crack of blow followed the admonition given by the first voice, by the Heavens of course she did know that voice. It had haunted her dreams so long. It was…Amie's killer, oh, she felt a heat rise within her, seeing for an instant Amie fall in her arms once again, dead, killed by some cursed sorcery of that monster who must now be standing inches from her, separated only by the door that stood slightly ajar along the staircase. Oh…she had felt the inevitability of this moment in her for so long, known it would come, but so soon…she froze against the wall, her breaths laboured, her heart suddenly in the tight grasp of intense feeling, rage, yes, a rage so powerful that it ached within her, but fear as well, and all the horror of Amie's death rising within her once again.. "You truly fear what these human whelps can conjure up?" The monster continued "It may be some of their famed warriors, but they will be split on our blades as easily as these fool Archivists"

"But master, after what happened in the warehouse…" the second voice, that servile tone, continued pathetically "Zeeaire will not want us dead as well"

"Those in the warehouse were obviously fools, and weak" The murderer spat, his voice rough and raw. "To be killed by these pathetic humans, but the shame of such a fate will not be mine. You, though, will die when and where I choose it, and Zeeaire will praise me for it. If sacrifice is needed, and come it will, you should be glad to fall for the Lich Queen and her most gracious servant"

"Master, Sword Stalker" A third of the creatures suddenly interjected upon the fervent conversation, a babble of titles Phaedra couldn't decipher, even had she been in a suitable state of mind to contemplate what her foremost enemy, her darkest nightmare, was saying. "We have it, we have the location of Haven"

"Ah, excellent…" The rustle of paper sounded as the killer, this Sword Stalker, took up some scroll or book that was handed to him, oh no…not this, had they truly found it, what they were both looking for? She needed to do something, had to, but her thoughts, wildly running in circles in her head, could not seem to reach her helpless limbs, frozen in place by fear and shock. "Interesting" The creature murmured hoarsely "There is another Jerro, Zeeaire will want her" Pages rustled once again, as he no doubt grasped the precious work closely. "Burn it…" He hissed "Burn all mention of the thief and his cursed progeny"

"No!" Phaedra, suddenly finding her voice and her muscles, leapt forward. She could not let this happen! This was her only chance, everything rested on this! On instinct entirely, she stumbled into the doorway, meeting in her stride the shocked, gleaming eyes of four of the Githyanki. And, oh Gods, one of them was the grandly dressed, sinewy creature which had led the attack on West Harbour, as cruel and terrible as he had appeared standing over Amie's body, swathed in the darkness and the werelight of his magic. He held in his hands an old, leather bound tome, dog-eared at the edges, which he clasped carelessly against his chest, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they focused on Phaedra. At the touch of his gleaming, cruel gaze, Phaedra was simultaneously enveloped in the chill, icy blizzard of mindless terror, and the white-hot firestorm of anger and anguish, a tempest beyond what she could hope to suppress. But one thing rose above all of it, above the roar of rage, the icy touch of fear, one thought…whatever happened here she could not let him escape!

"Master, it is the Kalach-cha!" one of his Githyanki servants wailed pitifully; in answer to that the Sword Stalker stepped back away from Phaedra, and the others who formed up about her, cautiously, slowly raising the book above his head, in his lean, mottled arms.

"Ah, Kalach-cha" He hissed angrily, and his yellow eyes burned with a hatred that almost matched Phaedra's own, and the tide within her shifted towards the paralysis of fear as she was caught within it. "So good of you to join us, at last." He continued softly, hatefully "Regrettably my duties are far too important to waste the time it would take to kill you now, but next time we meet, my blade will taste your flesh at last!" And he flung the book to the floor, and his magic moved within him, that taste of the same acrid power as had slain Amie, a fierce fire bursting into life around the precious tome at his command. As Phaedra cried out a hoarse scream of frustration, the fire, lambent bright, hot and ferocious within a second, and so fast it seemed to reach up to wreath the Githyanki Sword Stalker in its magic. Although it did not touch him, it poured out a cloud of thick, black smoke that filled the room, choking Phaedra and blurring her vision. It clouded everything for a precious few seconds, so that when she finally found some control, and fought through the smoke, the Githyanki Sword Stalker was gone, utterly vanished, and the book which he had borne lay where he had thrown it. It was a scorched, blackened mess, the fire had gone out in seconds, but it had been enough already to irrevocably damage the precious pages of that book they had needed so much…oh no…

"Kill her!" one of the other Githyanki screamed, and all three of them rushed forward fanatically. As Phaedra staggered backwards from the stinging smoke that still billowed through the room and from the assault, Casavir, Khelgar and Neeshka came forth to meet their foes, and attacked swiftly and uncompromisingly. The battle was swift and merciless, these Githyanki were much less skilled with their blades than those they had faced in the upper levels, their daggers and their armour were more ceremonial than functional. So, one by one they fell, hissing their defiance and cutting back to the bitter end.

When it was all over, the Githyanki dead, though the awful smoke still clung persistently to the air in the small, stuffy and windowless room, Phaedra staggered forward, brushing the thick heavy smoke from the air around her face as she leant to pick up the blackened book which lay on the floor before her. It was still warm, hot where the sparks of orange flame still clung to the edges of the curling, ashen paper. It had once been a fine volume, now most of the pages were damaged beyond repair, the flames consuming what knowledge they had held for ever. She opened it gingerly to the page by which the Githyanki had held it, some of the paper dissolved into a stream of fine, grey ash as she touched it, but thankfully, against all hope, a small part of the page still seemed to be relatively intact. She leant in close, the smoke stinging her eyes, as she tried to decipher the flowing, elegant script despite the damage to the page…

"Ammon…Jerro" she murmured, much of the name had been burnt off the paper, but enough of it remained to make out, and her heart pounded with the realisation that here, perhaps, would be the answer she sought. That of the man's wife and children were all obliterated, consumed in the fire, but a single line from where they would have been led down to a scrap of undamaged paper, and another name, Ammon Jerro's only grandchild and living descendent, a name…Shandra Jerro… "Oh Gods" Phaedra gasped, dropping the ashen book with shock, and shaking with the sudden realisation, how could she not have known? How could she not have guessed? She glanced up, the others were looking to her with confusion "It's her…it's that young woman we met near Highcliff, Shandra…it was her all along. She is the direct descendent of Ammon Jerro" She cursed herself for not making the connection the moment she had heard Ammon Jerro's name, now the Githyanki knew too, how could she have been so careless? Shandra was in grave danger now. The page's otherwise singed surface had also revealed the beginnings of a description of the family's history, including no doubt that they had settled in Highcliff, all that the Githyanki would need to know to get to Shandra. The cursed Astral beings would be on the trail right now, she doubted anything could stop their hunters from getting to Shandra, which was why she had to get there first!

"Then we must leave, get to her, and quickly" Elanee started forward, alarmed "The Githyanki must be on their way to her farm right now!"

"Wait just a minute…" Neeshka gasped, frustrated "How in the Hells are we supposed to get to Highcliff and back in time…?"

"Gods, we have to find a way" Phaedra answered desperately, then at once her mind seized upon the only way, the only chance they would have… "We have to ride, it's the only way!"

ooo0000ooo

"Phaedra, wait just one second" Marshal Cormick grasped at the reigns of Phaedra's speckled grey palfrey, Mistletoe, the same mare she had ridden to Old Owl Well, which now she had to borrow from the Watch one more time. Shandra's life, and the success of her quest to find Ammon Jerro and the knowledge of Silver Swords he had once possessed depended on it! "What in the Hells are you doing out there?" Cormick asked, his voice cracking for a moment with the strain of all that Phaedra had sprung upon him so quickly. "Brelaina's going to want to know…"

"Cormick you have to tell her it's important, you must!" Phaedra reached down to grasp at his hand insistently, scarcely aware of what she was doing, but desperate that Cormick should know just how important this was "I have to do this now, but…I can't explain it. There's just no time!" They had raced back from the Archives to find the Marshal in the Watch Headquarters, Phaedra had been forced to ignore the look of luminous hope he had at first given her when she appeared outside his quarters, and explained, snatching time through her exhausted gasps for breath, the urgency of her situation and the need to ride, and fast from Neverwinter. Right now Khelgar and Neeshka were sharing the same large brown gelding, and Elanee gracefully mounted her slender chestnut mare while Phaedra and Cormick spoke. Casavir had left them at the entrance to the Docks, where he had run with great haste back to warn Duncan and to pick up his own mount, Halueth at the Flagon, ready to meet them again at Neverwinter's South Gate, and on the road down toward Highcliff and Shandra's farm. It would be a hard gallop, Phaedra knew that well. She clasped closely at Mistletoe's mane, while the horse chomped eagerly at her bit, and she tried to ready herself for the ride, her rudimentary skill in the saddle would have to suffice. As long as she hung on for dear life she might just do alright.

"Look I'll do what I can…" Cormick answered, clasping her hand for a moment, before letting it fall. His apprehension, mirroring her own desperation, was clear "But you've got some explaining to do, so make sure you bloody well get back here in one piece to do it"

"I will" Phaedra pulled at her reigns, and Mistletoe gave an insistent whinny, the horse was eager to be off once again. "Cormick" Phaedra murmured "Thank you"

"Good luck Phaedra, whatever it is you're doing out there" Cormick sighed, stepping back slowly and reluctantly from her "Gods…I wish I could go with you" With that he pushed open the great doors, letting the cool wind flood the strong-smelling stuffy air of the place, and setting the horses to paw insistently at the ground, gazing out into the clear, open air, well…it was time…

"Farewell Cormick…" Phaedra said softly to her good friend, who met her gaze suddenly with a look of clear pain that sent a spike of anguish through her heart. "I will be back soon, and I mean to see something of this mystery resolved" And there was nothing more to say, however much she knew what words he longed to hear she could not offer them, now or ever. So she forced herself to glance away, drawing the reins back tight in her hands and looking to her friends once again. "Come on..." She nodded to Elanee, and to Neeshka, who held the reigns to the horse she shared with Khelgar once again "It's time"

And she kicked into Misletoe's flanks and the horse instantly trotted forward, hooves pounding first against the wood of the stable, and then the stone of the cobbled street as they burst out into the crisp afternoon, moving fast, so that in an instant they were away from the stable, yet she still felt an echo of the heavy touch of Cormick's gaze upon her back, knowing that he watched her until she rounded the corner and was away. Through the streets the many passers-by scattered with shock, as Phaedra, and her friends, rode with as much speed as they could manage in the narrow streets of the Merchant Quarter down toward the South Gate. They'd lost precious time already, but with luck and by the grace of the Gods, these horses might be enough to replace the lead the Githyanki had on them and more. Shandra's life, and indeed everything Phaedra had accomplished so far, depended on that


	39. Chapter 39

_Hi, I'm back (momentarily). I've snatched some time to cobble this chapter together in my spare time. Thankfully from now on, I have about two weeks break before my next exam, so hopefully I'll be able to get some stuff done then. Things still won't move quite so quickly as I'll need to be working but things are going well I think so we'll see what happens._

_I quite like this chapter, we're getting somewhere (at last). Keep reading though, because the next chapter after this one is knock-out (Bishop...!) Leave a review if you like._

They rode for hours at a time, hour after hour of relentless riding. The steady movement of Mistletoe's body beneath Phaedra was continuous, the only consistent measure, it seemed, of just how long she had spent in the saddle so far, since the surrounding landscape faded after so long streaming past her, and her concentration on the sun, and later the moon above her, strayed unnervingly. She couldn't stop thinking about Shandra Jerro, the impression she'd had of a woman far too worldly to be a simple farmer, yet unburdened by the trials of adventuring, the fact she'd suggested that she made her own runs to Ember and beyond was an indication of a courageous and a restless spirit uncommon in those who tilled the land. All very unusual, why hadn't she thought so before? And that name, Shandra Jerro, it had been in the back of her mind for weeks, why couldn't she have recalled it the instant Aldanon had spoken of Ammon Jerro? She couldn't stop herself thinking about what might happen to her if they were too late. Obviously the Githyanki wanted information on the Silver Sword, but what happened if she couldn't give it? Would they torture her, kill her…Phaedra had no comprehension of the breadth of the creatures' cruelty and fervour…But after night fell over them, dark and deep, even those thoughts faded and her mind, numbed by exhaustion after the long day, and the relentless ride, as well as the pain in her aching legs, could think of nothing…She could only focus on Casavir in front of her, the powerful stride forth of Halueth, who seemed scarcely affected by the long ride, though Mistletoe was becoming more and more erratic as she was pushed further. They rested briefly at midnight, snatching a few hour's sleep, but by dawn they were on their way again, and it was for another day of hard riding that they drove onward and onward, and pain and exhaustion were a constant companion, clinging to Phaedra's back, like some dark shadow.

Evening, the second day of their long ride, and the landscape around fell from the high clouded mountains to the coastal hills and cliffs of Highcliff. A few hours after noon they had turned off the main highway, led by Casavir's unerring directions, onto smaller paths which split from the Neverwinter highway like smaller tributaries from a great river. These later diluted down toward the Highcliff pathway, a dirt road worn by the passage of horse, cart and footsteps over generations, but which was both smaller and less well maintained than the highway. The boundaries of the road were clear, giving way instantly to the wild, thick undergrowth and trees of the area. Their horses thundered along the forward path, raising great clouds of dust, blood-red as the light of the sinking sun shone through the swirling flecks of floating powder. They were approaching the village of Highcliff from the north, the path here would take them easily into Shandra's property. Already they had passed Highcliff Castle, the great dark ruin still looming over the surrounding country side with an air so threatening that Phaedra could not but shudder, despite the aching exhaustion in her every muscle, but the castle did give one hopeful sign…they were close…

"Here!" Neeshka suddenly yelled, drawing in the reigns of the horse she and Khelgar rode so sharply that the poor animal skidded to a halt along the rough ground, spluttering indignantly. "I see it…" Neeshka pointed outwards "That farmgirl's place…!" Phaedra gasped, drawing Mistletoe to a stop, and curving round wide to halt by the two of them and the brown animal they rode. She glanced round feverishly, breathing heavily from the effort of the day-long ride, there; Neeshka's gesture drew her gaze to the very tip of a farmhouse building protruding from the heights of an overbearing copse of trees. There was no smoke to show their path this time, but it was certainly Shandra's home they saw. Without Neeshka they might have missed it entirely, oh Gods…she prayed Shandra was still alright…

"Let's go" Phaedra nodded, setting her resolve, whatever they found there she would not allow her exhaustion to let herself, Shandra and her friends down. She kicked lightly into Mistletoe's flanks, guiding the palfrey into the front, even Casavir and Halueth fell into place behind her. Together, with the paladin and Elanee to her left, and Khelgar and Neeshka on their shared steed to the right, she pulled into the same pathway that they had travelled all those weeks ago, through the overhanging arch of trees at the front of the property, and into the modest expanse of cleared land where Shandra's farm stood. Little, it seemed, had changed. The large farmhouse still stood sturdy in the centre of the land, its lovingly crafted surface untouched by any sign of violence. The fields were entirely empty, and there was no sign of Shandra anywhere in the windswept farmland. Phaedra slowly dismounted onto the cracked, dry ground, stepping forward, her senses straining for any sign, any whisper of a living presence, surely they could not have come too late?

"The Kalach-cha…!" Suddenly, shockingly, the repulsive alien voice rang out across the fields, the name which made her heart quaver in her chest shattering the silence of the evening, breaking in those accursed syllables all Phaedra's hopes that they had arrived unnoticed. "She is here! Be warned!" As the harsh shout burst outward Phaedra turned, gasping, to see a squad of the loathsome Githyanki, speckled skin and gaunt features aflame in the fading sunlight, emerging from the shadows beneath the copse of trees to the north, just beyond the barn…five, no six of them, warriors all, but, no sign of the Sword Stalker. She had feared that he would come, but as it was this was going to be so much easier. The Githyanki had sorely underestimated her and her friends if they thought this would stop her, she would fight, for Shandra, for her quest, for herself. She pulled her hand against her chest, clenching her fist, as a spark of light gathered around her palm, magic rising within her, about her, sending her hair fluttering with static, a glow of white light touching her milky flesh…she would fight, and kill…for, after everything, she could have no mercy here.

ooo0000ooo

Shandra Jerro, farmer, occasional adventurer, and the last known descendent of the famed court wizard Ammon Jerro, was flattened against the wall of her panelled living room, clasping a battered short sword with such panic in her right hand that her fingers on the hilt were white with strain. She was breathing heavily, her pale cheeks utterly bloodless with terror as she glanced with horror over the five dead Githyanki which now lay in their bloody tangle in the centre of her home, her blue eyes glistened with tears. She was frozen in complete shock, by the attack of the Githyanki and also by their fevered search for her in these rooms. The violence and thoroughness of their search was attested to by the devastation they had left behind, the chest by the window cleaved in two, the fireplace that was mounted with some kind of arcane symbol that caught Phaedra's attention, the crest of the family, perhaps that of Ammon Jerro himself, gutted, its ashes spread haphazardly over the floor and trampled by the heavy tread of many feet. But the farmgirl was in no less a state of utter astonishment by the timely arrival of Phaedra and her companions, and their slaughter of the Githyanki, she gazed with unfocused eyes upon each of them, seeming unable to take them in, or even comprehend their presence here, in her house.

"Shandra" Phaedra whispered gently, moving closer to the older girl, who was wearing a simple white dress and soft fur mantle, as though she had been interrupted in the middle of preparing for an early rest. Whimpering Shandra gazed over at her…. "Shandra…" Phaedra continued softly, reaching forward towards her "It's alright, you're safe now…"

"Oh, Gods…" Shandra gasped, and dropped her sword, which cluttered to the floor, raising her hands instead to touch her flushed, tear-stained cheeks "Gods, what are they, why are they here? How…?"

"Listen to me Shandra, you're still in danger, we need to leave now" Phaedra continued urgently. They'd killed only another five Githyanki aside from those outside, more could be within the house, or outside, preparing traps, ambushes, awaiting further reinforcement… "There's no time…"

"You…what?" Shandra's eyes abruptly seemed to focus, her gaze sweeping to Phaedra with a sudden lucidity. Phaedra could almost see her straining to force down the tide of panic, to reassert control of herself. She too had been an adventurer of sorts, and encountered situations where danger was terrifyingly close, nothing like the Githyanki of course, but Phaedra saw the fortitude these encounters had brought Shandra now allowing her to fight back the rolling sea of terror. "Wait…" Her voice was harder, clearer, as were her eyes which held Phaedra's with no little strength and suspicion "What, who are you? And what in the Hells are you doing here?"

"What does it look like farmgirl, we're saving your life!" Neeshka snapped, before Phaedra could respond "And you'd better let us get to it quick because the Gith aren't going to let up!"

"What…?" Shandra hissed, swinging to Neeshka, then she stopped as she saw the tiefling clearly. Her gaze clouded with confusion, then suddenly lit up with recognition "Wait I know you don't I? You came to my farm, weeks ago" She gazed back at Phaedra "All of you did. You're the one, the one who dealt with the lizardfolk, aren't you?" She shook her head with disbelief "I can't believe you're mixed up in this kind of thing again, and this time you're dragging me into it as well!"

"We have nothing to do with the Githyanki being here, we're only trying to save you" Phaedra continued urgently. She glanced around the silent room warily. Something wasn't right, she felt a niggling sense, an itch of arcane intuition, what could it be? "Shandra, we have to leave now, together" By Lathander, the feeling was getting stronger, she reached up to touch her forehead, the undercurrent of magical energy was emanating from, where? Oh Gods…

"No…!" Elanee suddenly screamed, starting forward towards them "Phaedra!" Phaedra turned, horrified as time seemed to slow around her, toward the wall just behind where she and Shandra were. As her sense of the arcane suddenly burst into a full warning screech in her mind, the wall exploded outward, wood cracking, glass shattering, bending into itself, slamming outward, right towards her and Shandra. Flames scorched upwards, she watched them unfurl with an aching slowness, and yet she could not move at the speed she needed to escape. Her thoughts were at a fever pitch, but everything else was achingly slow, including her desperate response, throwing up her arms across her face in sheer instinctual panic. Suddenly something cannoned into her, and she, and the sheer mass which had slammed into her were sent flying right across the room, she skidded into the floor, driving backwards against the other wall. She gasped, unable to see, unable to hear in the ringing aftermath of the great explosion, she was utterly disorientated, totally helpless. Something pressed in above her, shielding her body. She felt the cold, hard edge of heavy armour crushing into her chest, it was…Casavir?

Then abruptly it was over, the aching sense of the arcane, the ringing in her head from the sheer impact of the explosion died down, and she could think, and see and breath again. She was lying on her side, her arms pressed down into the wooden floor of the farmhouse, aching, her side was stinging, she felt warm blood trickling down into her dress from some kind of cut, clearly though it was not serious. She opened her eyes slowly, Casavir was leaning right over her, the bulk of his armoured body shielding her, protecting her from the impact. He was breathing heavily, and she thought she could feel his pounding heart even through his armour, as he dealt with the aftermath of that single charged moment, a life or death decision. Even his normally cool eyes were wild, as she gazed into his face it seemed he could scarcely see her. Then suddenly he tensed, and his gaze met hers, she could see nothing but his icy blue eyes, they drew her in inexorably, deeper and deeper, then in an instant she glimpsed something of the spirit within them. But in that instant Casavir abruptly pulled away, kneeling backwards to extract himself from her…

"Are you alright my lady?" he asked hoarsely

"Yes..." She answered, pushing her aching body upwards on her arms, wincing as the sting of the cut in her side flared up anew. She gingerly touched it, knowing with aching certainty that without Casavir's aid she would have been killed… "Shandra…?" she gasped, standing suddenly ignoring the flare of pain through her whole body, glancing around the room. Shandra had been right next to her, right in the blast. What she saw made her pause in horror, the whole northern wall of the room had been ripped open, a vast ragged hole, wood broken and crushed by the explosion, opened out onto Shandra's land. Small tongues of fire emerged from the piles of shattered wood and glass at floor level, the living room itself was ripped apart, the lovingly crafted furniture shattered. It had been a Githyanki trick, she had sensed the magic in the great explosion, but such power, what spell, what device, could they have used to create such destruction?

"Oh, no…" the voice, Shandra's voice, though wracked with shock and horror, brought with it a glowing surge of relief in Phaedra's heart. She turned, Shandra was standing, flattened against the wall just next to the great blast's epicentre. Her blond hair was streaked with ashes, her eyes fixed on the devastation of her home, gleaming with tears of utter disbelief, but she was unharmed. At the last moment she must have flung herself on instinct from the explosion's burning blast, sheltering in the corner where the remains of her home would have roared just past her, but not close enough to do anything but singe her sleeve. "Gods…" the girl whispered, Phaedra remembered abruptly her own first vision of the destruction of West Harbour by the Githyanki's passage, how shocked she had been, how she had felt unable to even move, as though she walked in a horrid nightmare. Shandra was experiencing something very similar, but Phaedra now had to get her away now, the Githyanki weren't going to stop! Not now…!

"Shandra…" she gasped, staggering closer, having checked to make sure the others were all alright. They were, and were emerging, looking shell-shocked, from their places. All three were also unharmed, they had been near the opposite wall, just out of the blast radius. "Shandra" Phaedra took the girl's arm in her hand, so that Shandra turned to glance at her, seemingly seeing past her to the utter destruction of her and her family's dearest possessions, to everything she held dear. "Shandra, you must listen to me. We aren't safe, we have to go, now"

"How could this happen…?" Shandra sobbed, a tear streaked down her cheek, leaving a glistening trail through the greyish ash that covered her pale cheeks. "There's no point" She suddenly grasped at Phaedra's hand, her nails digging into the flesh, her voice was shrill, panicked "If they'll do this, they'll do anything! There's no point…they're going to kill us all!"

"No Shandra!" Phaedra cried, silencing the older girl "No, we are not going to let that happen, we're here to protect you. Now, you have to live, understand? So you must find courage to go on"

"Oh Gods…" Shandra whimpered, then her grip slowly weakened, and something more lucid, more aware, came into her eyes and something of her courage and determination was there once again "Yes, you're right! We have to go…"

"Then let's go, now" Phaedra said, pulling gently at Shandra's hands, squeezing the older girl's fingers comfortingly.

"Wait…" Shandra suddenly let go, and glanced around "There's something I need, first…" She stumbled away, back close to where she had stood at first, and crouched down to draw from the debris the short sword she had held at first, the well-worn blade gleamed in the flickering light of the lingering flames which smouldered in the remains of what had been her home. With it in hand, a greater strength seemed to enter Shandra's posture, she held it aloft with determined precision, her features set, ready to defend herself if need be. "Now I am ready" she said.

ooo0000ooo

Even Phaedra found she remembered little of the fevered ride back toward Neverwinter. It was like pressing oneself beyond endurance, beyond pain, into a state of strange serenity. At Shandra's farm they had killed another band of the Githyanki, including one mage, the one responsible for the arson of the farmhouse. Even then there had been no time for further explanation for Shandra, but the girl had seemed too drained and exhausted to inquire further anyway, listlessly obeying Phaedra's careful instructions to mount Halueth alongside Casavir. As the strongest rider he was the only one she could trust to bear the staggered girl safely onwards. There was no chance that the Githyanki would give up, even after discovering that the group sent to the farmhouse were dead. That fitted neither what she had heard of them from Brelaina and Aldanon, nor her own experience of their deadly, fervent determination, their unstoppable drive. No, they were not safe yet, could not be safe until they reached Neverwinter and the Sunken Flagon and sanctuary. As they left the farm, day passed into night, and darkness fell over Highcliff, a darkness which made the ride onwards a strange half-formed purgatory of unborn fear, the lurking terror within was a constant presence, but Phaedra found herself almost too exhausted, too much in pain to allow herself to feel it.

They rested only briefly, midnight or thereabouts, snatching a couple of hours' sleep wrapped in their blankets, against the face of the night's terrors. Sometimes Shandra hung close to Casavir even then, no doubt sensing, as Phaedra had always done, the strength and security radiating from the paladin. In other moments she seemed more confident, more self-assured, then Phaedra could see she was weighing up her options, considering whether to ask exactly what was going on, and whether to make her own way away from them, but she seemed to understand the urgency of their situation, saving both her queries and her suspicions for another time. She knew they were going to Neverwinter, and that seemed to be enough, thank Lathander. Phaedra understood her reluctance, her confusion, and would have liked to have told all, but there simply wasn't time. Even during those furtive hours of rest she could not bring herself to speak. She was so exhausted and Shandra seemed scarcely more able than she. So…when they rode on it was in a silence weighted with fatigue and fear, and around them the cold night only seemed to grow darker…

ooo0000ooo

There were storms in Neverwinter that night, the lights of the city flickered weakly in the great rising winds and storm-tossed torrents of rain and sea. The sky was thunderous, dark clouds pressing in against the mountains and plateaus surrounding Neverwinter's walls, lightning flickered, rending the horizon, and dancing amidst the vast clouds which birthed it. And the rain, an unstoppable flood, pouring down seemingly set against Phaedra's will, set against their struggle to reach the Sunken Flagon. Yet even so Casavir, at the head of their column guided them through the streets of the Docks, the tightly pressing houses, the alleyways, towards the Sunken Flagon, home. Phaedra was too tired to note the houses they passed, to recognise their route and remember it, she could only follow. Her hair, cloak, and dress were utterly drenched, and she was trying to shield her bow and her other articles from the flood of water, but with little success. Yet absolutely nothing could suppress the sudden glow of relief and happiness when at last they rounded the corner, and the light of the Sunken Flagon hung before them in the rain. Duncan, the warmth of a hearth, and that feeling of at last being somewhere she belonged…she needed it so much, all of it…she needed home…

They left the horses, to dry, feed and recuperate in Duncan's little-used stables. The animals had put in such a great effort to come this far, and Phaedra knew they could never have reached Shandra's farm in time without the animals' help, she appreciated it. That seen to, it was time. Her whole body ached with longing for rest as she pushed the doorway open into the Flagon's welcoming glow but seeing Shandra's face in the flickering firelight she realised she would have some explaining to do before she could at last sleep. The older girl's face was set, determined, her gaze fixed on Phaedra with a keenness which even went beyond her obvious exhaustion. As Phaedra opened the door to the Flagon's bright common room, which was almost entirely empty, the storm no doubt, except for one forlorn figure sitting by the bar, his gaze fixed on the doorway, Duncan…

"By the Gods…" The moment he saw her, Duncan leapt up from his chair, an oath on his lips, and his features lighting up for a moment with a glow of pure joy and relief. He strode over in a second, not even seeming to notice the others, or Shandra, at all. His gaze was on her and her alone, and then he grasped her suddenly in a fierce, fatherly embrace, holding her close for a moment, so that she felt safe, and warm. No matter that she was sopping wet, and had not rested one moment for the last three days, everything was alright for one precious moment, and she was just a little girl, in the embrace of a man she would have loved to have been her father…oh Daeghun, why had he never held her at all? "Phaedra" Duncan gasped in her ear, his hold almost lifted her from her feet, she was smaller and lighter than he was. "Never, ever do that to me again"

"Duncan, I'm so sorry" Phaedra murmured, as he let her go, and stepped back, holding her hands though for one last moment as though to reassure himself that she was actually here at all. She really was… "It was important…"

"Of course it was, it always is" Duncan's smile belied the apparent sternness of his words "That's no excuse to treat your poor uncle this way. You worried me half to death, what in the Hells were you doing out there anyway?" He lifted his head to glance over the others until his gaze fell, at last on Shandra. His eyes widened at the sight of the young, pretty farmgirl, the cloak she had borrowed from Phaedra hanging wet and heavy around her thin white nightgown, and her mantle, her hair sodden down to her cheeks. "Say…you've brought someone new" He said, slowly, a jocular note entering his voice, who exactly was he trying to impress? Well, Shandra obviously… "So tell me, Phaedra" He continued, without taking his eyes off Shandra "Who is this lovely young lady?"

"Duncan, this is Shandra Jerro, from Highcliff" Phaedra answered, glancing between the two of them for a moment, surely he couldn't be…? "Shandra, this is my uncle Duncan, he runs this inn. We will be safe here"

"Yes…that's right" Duncan added proudly, giving her a broad smile, his eyes twinkling. Oh Gods, he really was… "Miss Shandra, welcome. Us folks at the Sunken Flagon, always ready to lend a hand to a fine young lady like yourself" Phaedra winced inwardly, okay, so she had just experienced what was lovely about having a father, now she was getting what was utterly excruciating.

"I'll bear that in mind" Shandra raised an eyebrow, and something in her voice sounded distinctly unimpressed. Well, at least she could hold her own. Even Phaedra had to admit that she really was way out of Duncan's league, which made the gleaming smile he offered in return just that little bit more pitiable. "And thanks for the offer and all…" Phaedra tensed at once, knowing that Shandra would be moving to something of much less levity "But the thing is, I'm not sure I should be staying here…"

"That's gratitude for you" Neeshka snapped, tossing her cropped red hair "We save your life and now you aren't even going to help us at all?"

"Look tiefling, maybe if I knew a little more about what you want and why you need me…" Shandra snapped with a fire to match Neeshka's own, whirling on her instantly, her light blue eyes flashing with hard anger "I've seen my home destroyed, I've been almost been kidnapped by those monsters, and had to ride to this city with you people with nothing other than the clothes on my back! Right now, I don't have patience for any more denials, interruptions or wisecracks. I want the truth right now" As she spoke, she turned to Phaedra once again, fixing her in an intimidating, cold stare.

"Shandra, I realise this may be difficult to accept, but your life is in danger" Casavir interjected calmly, stepping towards her. "We are here to help you…there is nothing to fear, from Phaedra or any of us"

"Oh, I…I know that of course" Shandra sighed, glancing back at the paladin, all the anger seemed suddenly to drain from her, her voice became hesitant and unsure as his eyes touched her own "But I just…I need to know what you're protecting me from"

"Oh look, a little paladin charm sure charmed her quick" Neeshka snorted softly, and Phaedra found herself unable to deny that it was true. She had never seen Casavir quite affect someone else in the same way he did her, and seeing Shandra gaze steadily into the paladin's eyes, her own brimming with tears she felt a stab of something quite unknown deep within herself, a strange feeling of envy, not heated, or spiteful even, but deep and sad and painful. What right had she to expect such a thing, that she was somehow special to him, that the way he made her feel, safe and protected, was somehow special? Might it not be that Casavir was simply treating her the same as any other woman in distress, as his duty dictated, though why she should have ever expected any differently caught her thoughts in a hopeless knot. In a moment, desperate to escape it, she buried it all forcibly, glancing warningly back at Neeshka as she knew she should, though Shandra seemed scarcely to have heard what the tiefling said at all.

"You're right Shandra" Phaedra answered, quickly and only half-consciously stepping closer to the pair so that she intercepted the silent dialogue between Shandra and Casavir without seeming like she was. "It's time, yes, to tell you the truth"

"You can sit down…" Duncan offered hopefully, and Shandra nodded cautiously. Not one of the seven of them left then, not even to rest, so Khelgar, Casavir, Neeshka, Elanee, Duncan, Phaedra and Shandra all sat or stood around the single table just by the fire, so that the heat radiating from the flickering flames warmed their chilled bones, and dried the rain from their clothes and bodies. Phaedra, sitting directly across from Shandra, leaned in to tell the hardest story of all, the story of this one long journey, from the ashes of West Harbour, Highcliff, Neverwinter, Old Owl Well, she spoke until her voice grew hoarse and Shandra listened, expressionless. Yet something of her wonder, of her astonishment, showed in how she gripped the table edge so hard that her knuckles grew white as Phaedra spoke of Ammon Jerro, the archives, how she suspected that Shandra's bloodline had made her a target for the Githyanki, who likely searched, as Phaedra did, for information on the Jerro lineage and the Silver Sword which her grandfather had held. As Phaedra finished, the young farmgirl frowned, deep in thought, her pale blue eyes clouded with consideration.

"It doesn't make sense" She murmured, running her fingers through her hair, clearly agitated "How could he be…my grandfather…how could he have anything to do to this?"

"You knew him?" Phaedra glanced at her, no, it was impossible, if Ammon had died during the war against the King of Shadows, Shandra must only have been an infant in arms then.

"Mother used to say he was a wizard, at the court" Shandra answered softly, seeming to drift on a tide of memory that was unstirred even by Phaedra's question, listening to something within herself alone "She said he would cradle me and sing to me, and I would pull out his beard hairs." A spark touched her eyes, a glistening touch of older, happy times, she had known her mother, and remembered her lovingly. Phaedra felt the familiar ache of sorrow, she didn't even know what her mother had looked like, or what her voice had sounded like, why had she not even a single memory to treasure?

"Eh…" Khelgar touched his own luxuriant and carefully groomed beard protectively "You better keep your distance, lass"

"How could it be…?" Shandra looked up, and Phaedra quickly regretted her moment's resentment. How could she envy Shandra who sat there without a home, no idea of what was going on, thrown into the storm of this quest without even Daeghun's training to aid her? "How could he have something that these monsters would kill for?"

"I don't know…" Phaedra admitted; she wanted to help Shandra, wanted her to know that she knew how she felt, had seen what she had seen, had experienced what she had "But, it has to be true. That the Githyanki are hunting you just proves it…"

"And now, I've lost everything, because of it" Shandra gasped, laying her hand in her hand for a moment, despair blighting her features for a moment. "And I don't even know anything about Silver Swords, or Githyanki, or sorcery…I'm just a farmer from Highcliff. This isn't supposed to happen…to someone like me"

"Shandra, you are involved now" Casavir said, firmly but comfortingly "There is no turning back, Phaedra herself had to face such a fate. You can trust her, and all of us, to aid you"

"Right…" Shandra whispered, lowering her head for a moment… "But whatever you want from me, I can't really help you, and I would like to. It's just, I have no idea what happened to my grandfather, or where this sword of his went"

"And what about his Haven?" Phaedra asked. Abruptly Shandra straightened in her chair, and a cold hard gleam entered her gaze as she stared at Phaedra, so she obviously did know something…

"Is that what this is about then?" She snapped, gazing coldly at each of them in turn "Adventurers, I should have known…"

"Shandra, what do you mean?" Phaedra gasped, horrified. Such an accusatory tone of voice, had they stumbled on something, some dark secret of the Haven or of Ammon Jerro? Shandra had just been settling in, what could be so bad as to set her off again?

"That the Haven requires Jerro blood to open, but you already knew that, didn't you?" Shandra hissed angrily "I almost believed it all for a moment, well I was a fool, and you're certainly not keeping me here a second longer" She moved to stand, Phaedra was about to protest. If she left the Flagon, she didn't stand a chance…

"Wait just a minute, lass…" Duncan suddenly and unexpectedly intervened before Phaedra could. "I don't know anything about Havens, and wizards but my niece here would never save you just for your blood. I know that as soon as I know my own name…"

"Well I don't know where you fit into all this, but…" Shandra began heatedly, then paused and turned back to Phaedra, cautiously re-evaluating her stance "You really didn't know about the blood…?"

"We didn't" Phaedra answered simply, nothing but the truth now. Shandra was in a fragile state as it was and the last thing they or she needed was her to run off into the dark…alone in Neverwinter

"Oh, right…" Shandra sat, flushing for a moment "I guess I believe you, but that doesn't mean we're quite through with this yet. What do you want with the Haven anyway?"

"We're blind at the moment…" Phaedra admitted, laying her hands on the table in front of her "All I have are the shards, and I still don't know what I should do with them. A little more knowledge could be what I need to solve this mystery, and if Ammon Jerro truly owned a Silver Sword, and the presence of the Githyanki in this means that he probably did, his Haven might just hold that knowledge."

"I understand that, I guess" Shandra sighed, ordering her thoughts for a moment before she spoke "Well, Mother did used to tell me something about it, about our family's Haven, but I never really took her seriously, the whole 'magical deathtrap teeming with deadly spiders from the Abyss' thing all seemed a little too much. Still I always used to dream I was stuck there…" She shuddered, as though a chill from the past reached out to touch her, the shadow of a dream "I know grandfather built it, to store his research and, as some kind of engine powered by his own blood." She paused, and glanced back at Phaedra "Look, I'm not a mage like you…"

"But, do you know where it is?" Phaedra pressed.

"No" Shandra shook her head quickly "Not even mother knew, Grandfather told no one, his secret died with him…" Phaedra's heart sank, she hadn't expected this to be easy, but another dead end? "Look, I'm sorry." Shandra sighed, sincerely apologetic and seeing her disappointment "I'd have liked to help, but…"

"If that is so, our priority right now is keeping you safe" Casavir answered slowly "It is possible also that something new may well come to light if we simply continue to thwart the designs of the Githyanki…" The paladin turned to Shandra once again "Right now, perhaps we should retire. We could all use the rest. Shandra, Duncan has a spare room available, I believe"

"I do" Duncan practically leapt off his seat with eagerness.

"Oh, uh, thanks for the hospitality, Casavir…right?" Shandra smiled hesitantly at the paladin "I appreciate it"

"You have been through a great deal" Casavir answered sombrely "It is the least we can offer" Casavir…Phaedra's thoughts swum in confusion as she watched the interaction, spoken and unspoken between the paladin and Shandra. She found herself wanting the same from him desperately, for him to shelter her for a moment in the protective embrace of his gaze, to feel his voice touch her heartstrings as he spoke to her alone, in that manner he was now speaking to Shandra, as though she were all that mattered in the world. She was tired, and cold, and she had suffered…and Shandra could have no idea how she had suffered, but Casavir knew…oh Gods, stop it, stop it all! She had no right to think such things! It was ungrateful, and awful, and so completely unworthy of Casavir, of Shandra and of herself to even countenance them. And she was so, so utterly exhausted, she could scarcely think straight, so that these creeping fragments of resentment seemed to have all the more power to stir something deeper and she could not fight them as she might have done had she been in full possession of herself.

"That I can offer, he means" Duncan placed himself in Shandra's path, as Phaedra struggled a moment with her own self. "My inn, you know, always eager to help a damsel in distress we are here at the Flagon"

"Um, thank you, for saving my life" Shandra added, glancing at Phaedra, and at Casavir in turn, Phaedra forced a brief smile as their gazes met. "We can speak again tomorrow, and we'll decide then, what happens next…" With a curt nod, she turned, and followed Duncan off toward the guest rooms, away from the table. Phaedra watched her go, wondering, her thoughts heavy. The better part of her knew well that Shandra and she shared something fundamental, something that she shared with no one else, not even Casavir and Elanee. They had both lost family, and been isolated in their communities, had both seen their homes destroyed by the Githyanki, and been suddenly plunged into this strangest, and darkest of fates. Shandra was perhaps the only one who could understand that, how it felt, what it did to you. And something about Shandra, as it always had from the first moment Phaedra had seen her, still stirred a connection that was even deeper, even less quantifiable than that, something she had yet to fully identify but which left her wanting to know Shandra better, to better understand what linked them. Such foundations could well lead to a firm friendship, the kind of special friendship she had missed so much since Amie, with someone like her, who did not expect her leadership, simply her friendship.

And yet…oh Gods, she could not deny how she had felt when Shandra and Casavir had spoken, what thoughts had crossed her confused, exhausted mind. First Cormick, now this…why did things always grow so complicated, so suddenly? Could they not simply stay as they were, why couldn't they? She would not, could not, allow this to ruin what she shared with Casavir, as she had already ruined everything with the Marshal. This time, though, it was all her fault, her treacherous heart that had pained so, her thoughts that had woven strands of resentment, so this time she could control it, stop it changing what she had. She would deny this moment's weakness any influence upon her actions, upon her thoughts if she had to. Better yet, she had to focus on her quest now, for their way forward remained uncertain. Beside that her own feelings had to pale in importance. Daeghun, she thought darkly as she stood, with a murmur of goodnight to her friends, would have been proud…


	40. Chapter 40

_Here it is, the long-awaited Bishop chapter! I spent hours on this, really...making every detail just right so I hope you enjoy it._

_It opens with Shandra's point of view, and ends with Bishop's. Now things are getting really interesting, I'm trying out having many different points of view on hand. Please, please...let me know what you think! Please? Any thoughts, even improvements...since Bishop will be an indispensable character and one I find quite difficult to write, so I need to know how to get him right for the future!_

_Thanks to Gaspode for indispensable aid with Bishop!_

Shandra Jerro, that was her name, who she was, who she had always been, the farmer-girl from Highcliff, though truly she had never belonged to that village, nor thought of it as home, an outcast in spirit as well as in locality from the community at large. The whispered tales, dark rumours, of her family's past that stirred the stale air of the alehouse when she passed by, the strange 'airs', as the villagers put it, that she had always put on, and of course her periodic absences from the village, travelling like some ill-bred mercenary to safeguard her crop, certainly not the proper behaviour for a young woman in Highcliff, they had isolated her. They had made her some kind of…aberration in the eyes of her neighbours, a figure often spoken of, in hushed disapproving tones, but hardly ever spoken to. She was used to that, the isolation had always made her stronger, and she understood that she could never have confined herself to the narrow restrictions of what they called a proper lifestyle. But it seemed now that her name brought with it a legacy deeper and darker than even any gossiping farmer's wife could have imagined, than even her mother's fantastical tales at her bedside all those years ago had not even touched on, a legacy that made her some kind of target.

She sat on the unfamiliar bed, within the confines of the unfamiliar room, with its view out onto the starlit sea, glimmering, shifting in the waves. It was some time near dawn, sleep had been impossible, despite her exhaustion, and her restless thoughts had kept her awake hour after hour: her grandfather, her childish nightmares of being trapped in the demonic darkness of his Haven, and the cruel, yellow eyes of the Githyanki. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she were awake or dreaming, the haunting visions were just so…real. She leant her head, weighed down by exhaustion against the wall for a moment, closing her eyes, how could everything have changed so drastically, and so quickly? She had not imagined, ever, that her secure…contented, if not entirely happy existence could have been ripped so easily from underneath her, making her a plaything in some kind of dark, towering fate, a fate of which she knew almost nothing. Even Phaedra, startlingly beautiful in the way that would have set any Highcliff matron's tongue clicking and a sorceress the like of which you couldn't imagine outside some fantastic story, and yet who sometimes seemed little more than a lost girl, trying to find her way home, and even the paladin, Casavir, so unlike any of the men in Highcliff, so strong, and wise and serene that his presence was like an anchor in this storm-racked sea, even they knew almost nothing. They were only trying to get by, on these hopeless shreds of information, as these enemies, these Githyanki, had a purpose none of them could truly see. Well, perhaps then they were more like her in that than she had originally thought…

In the heavy thoughtfulness of her exhaustion she scarcely heard the scraping pattering sound which broke upon the wooden panels of the room almost silently, a whisper of sound, and yet she knew it at once…a footstep. Slowly she lifted herself up from where she lay, opening her eyes gently, so that the dark, strange room hung before her, its rough wooden surfaces agleam with the silver that streamed through the window, and there, just in front of the bed stood a huge, dark figure, as unexpected, and unexplained as a dream, and yet its presence was surely a physical one, for the moonlight streamed about it, and it appeared then as nothing more than a shadow wreathed in silver. She stared at it, her thoughts sluggish and uncertain. Slowly the figure raised its hand, as Shandra sat there, stunned, unsure if she dreamed or not. A light appeared in that raised hand, which fell upon a gaunt, mottled face, angular, poised, eyes as yellow as newly sown wheat. The figure wore an elaborate headdress, dark feathers raised upwards from a leather band around its chin, and was clothed in similar finery, dark leather, hung with jewels and strange totems. At its side was a scabbard, long and curved, from which protruded the ornate hilt of a sword. Shandra made to stand, a terrible realisation sweeping through her, seeping her body suddenly in the sheer cold of utter panic. She opened her mouth to scream…

ooo0000ooo

It was over, the fierce, terrible battle against the Githyanki within the inn itself was over, and the Flagon's bar room now bore the marks of the ferocity of the clash that had taken place there. Tables and chairs were smashed to kindling, trophies from the walls were torn down and scattered, and everywhere there were bodies, Githyanki…crushed, eviscerated, slain by all manner of means, magical and physical, arrow and blade and spell alike, their keen eyes and cruel faces darkened for ever of that unnatural flame which always burned ardently in their eyes. They had fought ferociously, knowing in their every fierce strike that they were to die, and spurred on by that to fight to the last bitter breath, to crush the inn itself, to delay long enough for the true insidious goal of this strike to be carried out. For amongst the victors, standing with weapons bloodied, in sweat-stained night garments, panting fiercely, there was no sign of Shandra Jerro at all. It was clear, the truth was undeniable…she had been taken.

Phaedra felt like breaking down, sobbing helplessly in despair and at the loss of all hope. After all they'd done, everything, this was what came to pass, and Shandra, oh Gods, Shandra. These creatures had no pity, they would kill her, torture her if it served their dark ends, how could Phaedra have allowed this to happen? How could she not have watched more closely, expected another attack? She'd been blinded by the apparent safety of the Sunken Flagon, her own sanctuary here so far, but that had not helped Shandra. Somehow they had found her here.

"How, how did we let this happen?" She collapsed against the bloodstained wall, gazing plaintively at each of the others. Casavir was deadly still, stoic even in the face of this, but his shoulders were hunched with defeat, he had promised Shandra she would be safe. Khelgar was still murderous, vengeful, hefting his axe up and down as though yearning to bury it in another Githyanki skull and Neeshka was scowling darkly from her corner, even she felt the burden of their loss. Elanee stood a little apart, as ever her concern was most clearly for Phaedra now, but there was loss in her stillness. Duncan had fought too to defend his tavern… but now he merely looked stunned, at Shandra's loss, and at the trashing of his inn. He must have thought he'd left this all behind by abandoning the adventurer's life for a more humble occupation…but…

"We…they took us all by surprise…" Duncan groaned softly "They must have taken her before the attack even started, using their own people as a smokescreen to stop us pursuing, curse them…"

"But where did they bloody well take her?" Khelgar demanded "They…have to have some base, some hole they retreat back to and we destroyed their portal into the city so that means they're on foot. We just follow, catch up to them, and break their skulls!"

"How?" Casavir bowed his head, lowering his hammer, his features sculpted by bleak despair "I fear we are already too late for that. There is no trail, none we can follow"

"What? We can't just…give up?" Khelgar gasped, looking between them all aghast

"I don't know…" Phaedra whispered, her shoulders bowed with the weight of despair that pressed in on her from the very air. "I can't see…what we can do…"

"Well, well" the voice, a mocking drawl, laced with scorn, startled them all, emerging as it did from behind the bar, from where a shadowed figure emerged, smiling darkly. It was almost the last person she could have expected, Bishop, though the archer had fought the Githyanki savagely alongside them all. His arrows were deadly, his aim as finely honed as even Phaedra's, more so even perhaps, but it had been clear he had fought only for himself. It seemed he too lodged in the Flagon, though why Phaedra had been too shocked by the attack to consider it yet…"Giving up?" He nodded to her mockingly "And when the mewling farmgirl is relying on you?" Phaedra felt herself collapsing lower against the wall, he…he was right…

"This does not concern you" Casavir fixed Bishop in an ice-cold glare, Phaedra glanced at him, so he had decided, much as she had, from his first glance, that the ranger was trouble. "Unless you know something that we do not"

"Well that depends doesn't it, paladin?" Bishop shrugged "On whether you're willing to listen…" He stepped out from the shadows, and Phaedra's eyes narrowed, as she took in his lithe form once again. He wore roughly patched leather armour, the colour of the wilderness, what must have been an almost perfect camouflage, with pads on each shoulder, the tunic underneath was a roughly woven brownish-green, and leather boots. He held his bow at his side now, Duskwood and sinew, high quality though coarsely crafted, his quiver hung over his shoulder, clasped at the front. At his belt hung a short sword and a deadly-sharp dagger in a leather scabbard; clearly Bishop was a practiced wanderer, able to live off the wilderness much as Daeghun was. He was every inch the dangerous outlaw, a scarcely civilised, murderous scoundrel, living off blood and the wild. What truly could have kept this kind of man in Neverwinter, where it was clear he did not belong, bound to her uncle of all people?

"If you have something to say Bishop say it or get out of my sight" Duncan hissed, as if in answer to Phaedra's thought, of the strangeness of their acquaintance.

"I was under the impression you wanted to help the girl Duncan, so I hope that wasn't an order old man" Bishop's voice shifted imperceptibly, but Phaedra almost shuddered at the dangerousness of his tone. "Besides I was talking to your niece" He cocked his head, meeting Phaedra's gaze again, sizing her up.

"You know something?" Phaedra whispered. It was so hard to meet that gaze, and her mind was filled with memory of her weakness last time they had spoken. It muddled her thoughts, when they needed so much to be clear. For whatever Bishop truly wanted, she knew she would need her wits about her to see through whatever means he chose to conceal his true purpose.

"Indeed I do…" Bishop smiled, positively predatory. He raised his hand, presenting something in his palm, a twig, a sprig of green life "Duskwood, they're covered in Duskwood leaf" He said, idly fingering the leaves in his hand

"Which means what?" Khelgar growled. He had obviously taken an instant dislike to Bishop as had the others, it seemed, but the ranger met their cold stares nonchalantly.

"Which means that they came from the area around Luskan" Bishop answered, speaking again only to Phaedra "North, quite a distance I guess" He flicked the sprig of leaf so that it landed at Phaedra's feet "If you want to catch them, you really should be leaving…ten minutes ago"

"Luskan is your territory Bishop" Duncan crossed his arms implacably, glaring daggers at his unwanted patron.

"Yeah, but this isn't my problem" Bishop's eyes flashed, burnished bronze running through the tawny blaze within "Your niece may be a pretty enough wench, but it'll take far more than a nice arse to have me following at your kin's heels, and not for some pathetic farmgirl either" Phaedra flushed instantly, her words swallowed as much by his hard indifference as by his unremitting coarseness.

"It is your problem now Bishop!" Duncan insisted, his voice hard "You will take Phaedra and her companions, you will guard them, and you will lead them where these monsters go, no matter how far or how dangerous that path is, do you understand me Bishop?"

"And what makes you think…?" Abruptly Bishop paused, and understanding dawned in his savage features, understanding and a new depth of contempt. When he spoke again it was with barely restrained violence "Finally calling it due then, Duncan?" He hissed.

"A woman's life is at stake" Duncan raised his head, giving no ground "If this is what it takes to make you do the right thing then so be it"

"Fine, it'll be worth it to be rid of you and for such a small price too" Bishop snarled savagely "You're a fool Duncan"

"So be it" Duncan replied "But if she comes to any harm, you know what I can do to you Bishop" His voice was like steel, and livid anger flashed across Bishop's wild features.

"Duncan…" Casavir stepped in suddenly, beside Bishop he was a pillar of quiet indomitable, unshakeable strength to the ranger's wild fury "I do not like this, there must be another way…"

"What, you think you can find her yourself?" Bishop sneered "Now that I would like to see…"

"Enough Bishop!" Duncan shook his head resignedly, as Bishop shot him a look of sheer hatred "Believe me if there was any other choice, but, Luskan, it's dangerous and these Githyanki don't want to be found. I'm afraid he's your only chance"

"Yes, I see" Phaedra said, gently glancing at Casavir to quiet him. This was something she had to handle, she was the leader here after all. Shandra was her responsibility, and so was Bishop. The paladin stepped back, but the force of his presence was still undiminished from where he stood at her shoulder. She slowly turned then to Bishop. This was her quest, her responsibility, if she could not deal with Bishop herself, there was no chance for any of them. Was she mistaken to think that his anger seemed to pass as his eyes alighted upon hers with a disturbing intimacy, replaced, instead, by a guarded watchfulness, not hostile as such, but utterly impenetrable? And what did he see in her eyes? Something in him hinted that he knew so much more than he revealed, that he was storing her secrets, her shames, to his chest for just the right moment. "Whatever you want…" She said slowly "Whatever it is you have against Duncan, we are going to find Shandra together, understand?"

"Oh, a little fire at last" Bishop smirked harshly "Perhaps there's hope for you after all…" He leaned forward towards her, running a finger along his bowstring, his gaze suddenly hard once again "If you want to find the girl, you're going to do things my way, understand?" He warned, his voice softer, and rougher, coiled with threat "That means you don't take that tone with me again, I don't take orders very well."

"I won't, unless I have to" Phaedra nodded, ready to make that concession at least, if it meant he would be more cooperative. She sensed that was going to have to be very careful around Bishop.

"You won't" Bishop answered, satisfied "I don't make mistakes." Hefting his bow, he made a move to leave "Right now we have ten minutes, then I'm leaving, with or without the arrow bait…" His gaze travelled over Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee as though assessing, then casually dismissing them all "Unless you're planning on losing some of this extra weight…" He glanced back at Phaedra, grinned wolfishly "Or how about coming on alone, girl, just the two of us? The hunt heats the blood, it makes an animal of you, soon you'll forget all about the farmgirl and your meddlesome uncle, it'd be just you and me…and a whole wilds between us and them"

"No, we go together" Phaedra replied implacably, ignoring the seemingly inevitable comment once again, before any of the others could respond. She sensed that if any of them had any chance of getting through this, she was going to have to be the one who dealt with Bishop herself. So be it.

"Fine" He shrugged "But, none of you slows me down once we're out there, understood?"

"As if…" Neeshka snorted, but Bishop was already turning, walking back toward the dark shadowed corridors, where his room must be, a place disturbingly close to where Phaedra and the others shared their accommodation. Even his steady footfall seemed dangerous, it made almost no sound on the wooden floor, and she sensed, watching him, that he was aware of almost everything about him including her lingering gaze.

"Phaedra?" Duncan, she turned to her uncle instantly as he took a hesitant step towards her across the rough floorboards of his inn, now trashed, flattened, blood-stained and scuffed by blade and footsteps. She was leaving him behind again…unable to help him, leaving him this mess, as she tried to save Shandra, whom he had been so eager to keep safe, how must he feel? He looked…deflated, shrunken, now that the implacable anger with which he had faced Bishop had passed, he looked older. "Keep an eye on him" He said slowly, nodding to where Bishop had just gone "Don't trust him, even for a second. I have a boot to his neck, and that's the only reason he's doing this, but I don't doubt that he'll take any chance he gets to slip out of it."

"Duncan, what has he done?" Phaedra whispered "Why…is he like this?"

"I'm not surprised he treats you like dirt" Duncan snorted "Dirt's his life, he spends most of his time digging through it, looking for tracks" Which didn't really answer the question either. "He's a hard man, usually just grinds people under his foot, even how he spoke to you is a step up from that." He glanced at her again "I don't think he'll even want to talk much, he's not the type, but he will get this done, I'm making sure of that. But just in case, don't take anything he says to heart"

"Duncan, what did he do?" Phaedra repeated softly

"Sorry, lass…" Duncan murmured apologetically "He owes me and that's all you need to know. Let's just say he's a smuggler, any more, and well, it's better that you don't know. Just be careful around him, promise?"

"I promise" Phaedra nodded. Well, that was a warning she'd have to take to heart. She'd be glad if Duncan was right and Bishop didn't say much to her at all. Either way, she had to get this done as fast as possible. Shandra's life depended on this, and no one, not even Bishop, would stop her.

ooo0000ooo

The looming canopy high overhead, the strangling undergrowth beneath their feet, and the sky which seemed to bleed crimson light as dawn broke across the eastern horizon, it all raced past, as they ran onwards, heading north, always north. Even their trail, a path marked in the underbrush that had been cast aside haphazardly by the reckless forward progress of the Githyanki, sped by so fast Phaedra hardly had time to see where it was leading them next, but Bishop always knew. The ranger sprinted onwards at the forefront of the group with indomitable strength; his keen eyes could spy the slightest sign, a broken twig, the barest imprint of a footstep. Notwithstanding the occasional snide comment he was almost entirely focused on the path ahead, seeming to take it solely on trust to believe they were still behind him or not caring either way. Phaedra staggered right behind him, her robe slipping over her knees as she ran, keeping her gaze fixed on his back as he slipped effortlessly through the wilderness, knowing her own steps were clumsy by comparison. She stumbled on the thick undergrowth, on the rougher ground, forcing herself to keep going, to keep running. Shandra's life hung in the balance and once again…she was not going to give it up! Though her heart pounded, her laboured breaths were harsh and painful, her legs ached, she forced herself to go onwards. Behind her she was distantly aware of the others struggling on…metal clashing, and joints protesting, as Casavir and Khelgar lumbered onward through the dense growth, never slowing despite the immense weight they both bore. Elanee was the third behind Phaedra, graceful, elegant, she scarcely made a sound as she glided through the forest, and Neeshka's muttered oaths and heavy breathing were the only sign of the tiefling's similarly quiet progress. Soon even those signs began to fade and all she could hold in her head was her advance, putting one step in front of the other, breathing in and out steadily. Everything else had to leave her thoughts.

"Right, that's enough" She scarcely understood when Bishop first spoke suddenly. Gasping, brushing her hair from her sweat-streaked face she realised the ranger had stopped in front of her, turned round, a condescending smirk on his face. She shook her head, breathing heavily. They…couldn't stop now, not now, when so much was at stake. "It wouldn't do for Duncan's precious niece to collapse out here in the wilderness, now would it?" In contrast the ranger was still relaxed, a slight flush of vigour in his cheeks but nothing more. He was clearly practiced in this kind of pursuit, and she wasn't…

"We have…to go on" Phaedra gasped out nonetheless "Shandra, I can't…"

"Phaedra…" Elanee caught her arm gently, so that she stopped and exhaled heavily "We can't help Shandra if we run ourselves to exhaustion" Phaedra glanced around, realising that it was already coming on to evening now. They'd been travelling so long already and after the furious ride of last night as well. Nothing but her determination had kept her going so long, that and Shandra's face in her mind…

"Good suggestion" Bishop raised an eyebrow, but it wasn't directed at Elanee "I advise you take it, some of your subordinates look about ready to collapse" His gaze travelled to Khelgar… "The dwarf's not really measuring up to this. Why'd do you keep the stubborn little knee-high around anyway?"

"Shut the Hells up ranger! I've got enough to keep up the pace for as long as you like, and I'll still be able to beat you to a pulp at the end of it" Khelgar snarled, red-faced and panting. He obviously wasn't used to this kind of endurance run, but Phaedra knew he'd die rather than admit it, especially in front of Bishop.

"What was that, dwarf?" Bishop's eyes glinted dangerously "Was that…a threat?" His hand travelled slowly to the dagger at his belt…

"Enough!" Phaedra cried out, interposing herself between Bishop and the thunderous Khelgar, this had gone on far long enough! Bishop actually looked as though he might kill something, and Khelgar, it seemed to her, was about to take the bait "We do not have time for this! Shandra does not have time!" Khelgar glanced away, his ruddy features flushing, but Bishop only gazed at her with a sneer…

"There's as much time as I say there is" He said, softly, with a hint of a deadly threat "And if you don't know when to keep that mouth of yours shut, girl, there'll be plenty more for all of you. Don't think that I'll just lay down for you because that half-breed sot you call an uncle thinks he can threaten me"

"Your job is to get us to the Githyanki, Bishop" She snapped, angry now, more so because his words had the sting of truth. They were reliant on him now, and she didn't like it. "If Shandra's life doesn't mean anything to you, the debt you owe to my uncle should!" If she had to, she could be as hard as she needed to be, if only to control him "From now on, if you ever have anything to say, you say it to me!"

"Seems as though you misunderstood me, girl" Bishop said coolly, but his gaze smouldered with anger. "The rules have changed out here, we're in the wilds now. And in the wilds, you follow me. Where I say step, you step. When I say stop, you stop. And when I tell you to shut up, that's exactly what you do" She gasped, despite herself, shocked into silence. Abruptly he turned away, leaving her to stare after him. "The trail curves ahead" He announced, not even bothering to look back "Stay put, I'll just make sure it's not a false lead" With that, he vanished into the cool dew-streaked shadows of the forest, and was gone from sight almost instantly.

Phaedra collapsed, sighing, to the soft, grassy floor by the nearest tree. That moment of sheer tension, and the exhaustion of the trek so far, it all made her head ring…

"That ranger…" Khelgar shook his head in disgust, seeming hardly able to articulate his own anger…

"A complete bastard?" Neeshka suggested cheerfully

"Yeah" Khelgar sat, scowling, then he glanced at Neeshka with surprise "I would've thought he'd be your type…"

"No, definitely not" Neeshka shook her head "There are thieves, criminals and the like, and then there are complete bastards. A thief can be a bastard, but a bastard is not necessarily a thief."

"You'll have to explain the subtleties of that one to me" Elanee said, looking baffled. Even Phaedra smiled slightly. Neeshka had a knack of relieving the tension even of such moments.

"A thief hardly ever works alone, because there's less profit overall in trying to do everything yourself" Neeshka explained avidly "And so we have to trust each other, aren't too many thieves who are going to stab a friend in the back. That's bad business. Bishop on the other hand, I think it's safe to say he doesn't go for the whole friendship thing…" Phaedra realised then that Casavir had moved over to her, and was standing patiently by her, evidently wishing to speak. She glanced toward him questioningly, and moved over to give him some space where she sat.

"Are you alright, my lady?" He said softly, settling down by her as the others continued their discussion.

"Yes, I'm fine" Phaedra answered. Well, a little shaken perhaps, but Casavir's solicitude was quite unnecessary. Bishop could pretend to be, but he would never be as frightening as so many of the other things she had faced upon this quest.

"Bishop…" Casavir said tersely "I am concerned about him."

"So am I" Phaedra admitted "But we need him, and I'm not giving up any chance we have to get Shandra back"

"Nevertheless you should not have placed yourself against him so boldly" Casavir answered "He is dangerous"

"What should I do then Casavir?" She turned at once "Just let him get away with everything? Just lay down for him, exactly like he wants?" She shook her head, Casavir had promised that he would allow her to fight her own battles once. Now, once again, he wanted to be the one to stand between her and danger. It was hard to be angry with him for that, but she knew her own capabilities, and she could manage Bishop. She just needed to learn how to get through to him.

"It may seem as though he wants that, but I think he does not" Casavir lowered his head "I think he wants you to challenge him, as you did then. Did you see how he baited Khelgar? He wishes conflict, because it gives him a chance to prove just how vicious he can be. He wishes to control us, to isolate us, through our fear of him"

"Let him try" Phaedra tossed her hair dismissively, although inwardly she was disquieted by Casavir's words. They rang uncomfortably true, but even so she knew she had to be able to stand up to Bishop, face him on his own terms. "He'll never respect me as a leader unless I'm prepared to challenge him."

"I know you will not like this, my lady…" Casavir began haltingly "But Bishop is not going to be travelling alongside us for very long, however this pursuit goes. It will only be days, a week or two at most…knowing that, would you consider allowing me to be the one who deals with him for this time?"

"What?" She stared at him, aghast that he even suggested it. Oh, he could dress it up as he liked, but that would be giving in to Bishop, letting him win! After what she'd done, after what he'd seen her do…how could Casavir even make her such an offer? "Casavir…you know I couldn't"

"It is just for a short time…" He pressed "And it is merely a precaution, you will not be less of a leader because of it. The others will understand…"

"And Bishop?" Phaedra whirled around to face the paladin "What kind of message would that give him? He'll think he's beaten me!" She was trying to see this from Casavir's point of view, but an uncharitable suspicion that he simply thought her too fragile to deal with Bishop was pushing into her mind.

"Respectfully, my lady…" Casavir lowered his head. "Does it truly matter what Bishop thinks? He is a means to an end, to get us to Shandra…he is not one of us"

"That's not the point" Phaedra shook her head, unable to keep the frustration from her voice "What kind of leader would I be if I let you do this? If I let Bishop intimidate me? I know I'm better than that." She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself "And besides…" She continued, more peacefully. Casavir was just trying to protect her, wrongly, as it turned out, but that was fine. She'd far rather show him her point of view reasonably than simply snap at him. "If he honours his debt, then I have nothing to fear from him…"

"Phaedra, he will not honour his debt" He said, a part of her was shocked by his use of her name, clearly he thought this deadly serious, and yet she still found herself annoyed, as much with her own reaction as with that. Should she simply cave in because he showed her a courtesy he did to every other woman in the party? Only she was 'my lady', perhaps because she was the only one he regarded in terms of the noble conventions of chivalry, a woman in distress. And perhaps the kind of desperate gratitude that was welling up inside her was the reason for that… "Why would a man like him care for such things? He is here for some other reason, what if it is revenge on Duncan? You are the best way to accomplish that. If he can find a chance to harm you, he will take it immediately"

"If he didn't care for the debt, or Duncan's threats, he wouldn't still be here" Phaedra answered, still wanting to resolve this reasonably. As ever Casavir's words were stirring up emotion, but she was trying to distance them from her arguments, with limited success. "What really bothers you about him so much?"

"He…shows an unhealthy interest in you" Casavir said slowly…ah, so here was the heart of it.

"You don't believe…that he wants…?" Phaedra stared at him "Casavir…he can't…want that. It's just a façade, he's trying to throw me off balance, and you and the others too. Somehow he thinks that our disgust, our fear of him, makes him stronger than us. I can't let him think that!" He tried to speak again, but she went on quickly "You said yourself he isn't here very long, so what exactly can he do? I'm going to be careful with him, but I'm not surrendering like this! And I thought you'd understand that…" Her voice rose, becoming more strident…much to her deep frustration. She sounded so much like a petulant child…when all she wanted was to sound like the leader Casavir clearly didn't think she was.

"I do understand" Casavir said softly "But I fear you do not"

"Oh, really?" Phaedra snapped "Do you understand, then, that this is exactly what he wants you to think, what he wants you to do? But I won't let him win!" She leapt to her feet, desperate to get away before she said something she regretted. It hurt, it hurt her desperately, to think that Casavir still couldn't see that she was a leader, that she was strong enough to do this. He was her friend, shouldn't she be able to expect that he should know that? That he shouldn't just see she was a woman, like everyone else did, like Cormick had? But she knew, with a dull desolate ache of anguish, that she had always wanted him to see her as a woman, that she had wanted him to think of her as beautiful, but this, this, was all that had ever brought her. None of the acceptance, the approval, she had always longed for from him, just the same distant, incessant chivalrous protection. Really she had been as much angry with herself as with Casavir, for allowing that to happen, allowing him to think of her like this. He didn't respect her, like he did Elanee, because she had never truly taken charge, because she had never earned that respect.

But that could change if she made it change! If she showed him that she could be stronger, that she could do these things he thought she could not, it would change. She would show him that she could deal with Bishop, and when she did, he would finally be able to see that she was more than simply a young girl he needed to protect! He would see her as more than that! First, though…she had to learn to deal with Bishop, as a true leader would, a leader Casavir could respect. There had to be some way to do that. Deep in thought, she settled down quickly near where Neeshka was setting up a fire, away from Casavir for now. Until she had proved herself, how could she expect him to speak to her as an equal and until then they would always end up arguing as they had then. She felt a pang of guilt, hoping he had not taken her anger to heart. Once she had shown him what she could do, he would surely understand that she had been right all along. But Bishop…no matter how strong her resolve was, she understood right away that it wasn't going to be easy to make the ranger understand that she was leader here in a way that would prove her capabilities to Casavir. Somehow, though, no matter how difficult it might be, she had to find a way…

ooo0000ooo

If there was ever a moment when Bishop felt completely at ease, it would always come now, when night had fallen absolutely. The hours of darkness had a thousand different faces, you could drain their draught to the full on one night and still they would never fail to sate you the next. Back in Neverwinter, for one, darkness had thrown itself upon the city with all the brazen intimacy of an experienced whore. Nights there were fast and rough, a chain of heated encounters in the stinking alehouses and brothels, the true heart of that rank and rancid city. But, like any woman, the charms of Neverwinter's nights grew stale fast, and after nearly two months chained to her, Bishop was all the more ready for pastures new. Out here, in the wilderness of Neverwinter Wood, he could finally rid his nostrils of the city's stench, and breathe freely once again, the long months of roaring frustration draining from his shoulders as he felt the vast emptiness open up around him. Night had no boundaries anymore, there were no fences, no walls, nothing to cage him in, nothing to control or confine him. And that made things clearer too. Out here, you were probably being hunted even if you thought you weren't, and that meant you didn't have much of a choice but to understand your place on the scale of life, or if you didn't you'd learn eventually that it was a hell of a lot lower than you thought it was, right before you got exactly what was coming to you, an arrow in the stomach, or maybe just teeth around your neck. There were a lot of ways to die out here. A lot of ways to kill too…and Bishop knew which side he'd be on when the time came. He smiled grimly, freedom…it felt good…

But he couldn't fool himself for very long. Even out here, even as the wilderness taunted him with its boundless expanse, there was always that one thing, that one chain, that one noose around his neck that tightened ever closer as he considered simply walking out into the wilderness, and leaving it all behind for ever. Duncan, it was always Duncan. He almost wished for a moment that he'd killed the drunken sot when he'd had the chance, instead of agreeing to this fool's errand, but he knew that no matter how much he made the half-breed suffer, even that wouldn't be good enough for Duncan. He'd spoken, in that way he did, of debts, but both of them knew that debts didn't matter to Bishop in the slightest. What Duncan didn't realise, of course, was that neither did his threats. Even if Duncan ever had the balls to do as he'd warned, even if the Watch gave a damn about what had happened, no city guard was ever going to be able to catch up with him once he'd hit the wilderness. The only reason he'd stuck around in that filthy bar the half-elf kept, giving Duncan that oh-so valuable impression of obedience, was because he'd been waiting for his chance, for some way to give Duncan back what he was owed, with interest. And the moment Duncan's niece had slipped in through that door, shy, quiet and absolutely stunning, he'd known that finally he'd found it and it was going to be worth every second he'd wasted in the Flagon. After all that time, the opportunity was just going to drop into his lap, quite literally. Oh, the taste of freedom he'd enjoyed for a moment this night might be good, but revenge, when it came, would be far, far better. And once it was done, once he was no longer bound to Duncan by the fierce longing for revenge, by all the anger the half-elf, even when he was not around, could rouse in him, then he'd have more than his taste of freedom. Finally…then he wouldn't be bound to anyone…

But right now, he had a job to do, and it wasn't the job that Duncan, or his precious little niece, had in mind. He was the best ranger in the North, and once he'd set his sights on it, his prey never had a chance. Originally, knowing that Duncan would never let him jump onto his niece's parade of misfits so easily, he'd planned on getting to her from his comfort in the Flagon. That had still been his intention when she'd first returned from the mountains with that bastard of a paladin in tow. He'd cornered her the moment she was out of sight of the innkeeper, there'd been no reason to rouse Duncan's suspicions yet, and had let her know he was watching, a little talk he'd enjoyed immensely despite himself. A good hunter always scouted out his prey first, learnt every one of her weaknesses so when the time came they could be deployed, one by one against her. The truth about Phaedra, of course, the dirty little truth behind his new leader, was that really she didn't trust herself, not at all. She relied so much on others because she couldn't bear to make her own decisions and face the consequences. Alone, she was almost powerless, as he had ably demonstrated in the Flagon. And that was where he would have her. Of course, back in the inn, that had always been more problematic, poor Phaedra was so afraid of being alone that it was rare to find her without the accompanying presence of one or other of her pathetic followers, normally the scrawny elf druid who thought so much of her mystic pronouncements, or that self-righteous prick, the paladin, whose not-so-chaste devotion to his leader was blindingly obvious to everyone except her. But out here, the possibilities were practically limitless, as he was quickly learning.

He'd been reluctant at first to get involved in Phaedra's crusade against all manner of evil, given her woeful taste in companions, but now Duncan had forced his hand he was beginning to understand that not only would this make things far easier for him, it would also make them a lot more satisfying. For now, as long as it took to track down the Gith and that farmgirl everyone seemed so desperate to get their hands on, he'd have Phaedra closer to him than ever, and if the fight with the Gith back in the inn was anything to go by, plenty of fast brutal action, and plenty of opportunity to gain Phaedra's trust with a few choice displays of his skills along the way. That would come soon enough, for now he'd marked out his territory ably enough and the others knew to be wary of him, or else they'd find out just how on edge the last two months of inactivity had left him. And Phaedra was wary now too, perhaps, he thought with a smile of amusement, she thought he was one of those 'bad men' she'd been so strenuously warned about back home in that swamp of hers. But it was time to give her a bit of an education in his own way...show her things were never quite so simple as that. Like any hunter he felt a certain pride in the value of his prey, for now he wanted Phaedra to do as well as she possibly could, so he would let her in on a few home truths everyone else had neglected to tell her, help her along the way a little bit, in his own way.

At last he emerged silently from the undergrowth, stepping carefully into the crisp silence of the grove where he'd left them…he saw at once they were all still here, five still forms wrapped in thick blankets as though to shield themselves not simply from the cold, but from the threat of the night all around them as well. He heard each heavy breath on the air, all fast asleep, and not a single one of them on watch either. They were careless, very careless. Again, as he stepped across the ashes of the fire through and amongst the sleeping company, he went through them in his mind, appraising each of them as he had done over and over again as they travelled. A life in the wilds taught a man to be thorough, and he knew exactly how he would kill each of them, should it come to that. The dwarf, that temper of his was going to get him gutted, if his overconfidence didn't see to it first. A knife in that weak-spot on the shoulder of his armour would finish that fearsome axe before he even closed the distance. The tiefling had been a little more tricky, at least at first. She was wiry, and fast, but she was just another girl in the end, and he'd seen in the fight with the Gith that her left guard was far too weak. An attack there, from a position of greater strength, would silence her street-wise wise-cracks for ever. The third of them, the elf, was less easy, she was the one who he couldn't quite understand. She was quiet, seemingly solitary, but devoted to Phaedra, utterly, without question. She was also the only one who matched Bishop in knowledge of the wilderness, as a druid she would have to be watched vigilantly. Although, he smiled wolfishly, that would not be altogether unpleasant. She wasn't as attractive as Phaedra, somewhat scrawny and bony around the edges compared to her leader's aching sweetness, but still she had some potential, and there was a certain gratification in it, since she held her dignity so close and would no doubt be appalled to be subject to such scrutiny. Finish her off first, and quickly…she'd fight like a cornered vixen with cubs should Phaedra come to harm. And to complete this merry ensemble, aside from Phaedra herself, was the paladin. He was no mystery, a lifetime wasted on repressing his every instinct had driven him to this, worshipping at Phaedra's feet, idealising her into a woman he could desire under a thin cloak of loyalty and devotion. Although he was probably the most dangerous of them all, that warhammer was a brutal weapon, and certainly the one most offensive to Bishop as well as a man with an already healthy claim to Phaedra's affections, Bishop was almost glad he was here. The paladin's reaction to what was to come would be an added dose of satisfaction to what already promised to be a deeply satisfying endeavour.

And then of course their precious leader, the one who held everything together, he had left her for last, as always. Stepping out silently he made his own way across the grove to where the girl lay, closest to the smouldering embers of the fire. She slept silently, deeply, her sheets with that infuriatingly familiar weave, a Mere weave, clasped tight around her, her limbs curled upwards close to her body. Oh, Bishop had known so many women, faces he hardly remembered, nights he could so easily forget once they were done, but Phaedra, even amidst that blur of bodies, she would have stood out. Never one to mince words, Bishop had been forced to concede from the offset that she was quite simply...stunning. And part of it, of course, was that she didn't even know she was, that she was so acutely unaware of her own staggering beauty, that she was quite so innocent, quite so trusting. And that...that he didn't know quite what to make of it. Sure, it was bloody annoying most of the time, he wasn't about to forget how she'd tried to get him eating out her hand just like her uncle, she'd pay for it when the time came, but after so many women, none of them quite like her, he found the novelty of it all exhilarating. And damned attractive too, unexpectedly as it was. Oh, she was ripe for this, Phaedra Blake, with all her beauty and all her innocence and he wanted her badly...patience, he thought quickly, as with any hunt, timing was everything.

And yet, he gave her another curt glance as she lay there peacefully, there was still something he was missing. He knew it was there, but it evaded his closest scrutiny... how exactly did she, utterly innocent, completely naive, do this, all of it, everything she had accomplished? He had to admit to a grudging germ of admiration for her exploits, not least of which was taming this bunch of fools to feed off her every whim. And she fought well enough too, she'd been trained adequately with that bow of her's, and magic was always something formidable. But always he came back to her as a leader, the least likely leader he had ever seen, but everyone he had seen come to her like a moth to a flame had fallen under her spell, and without even knowing what she did, she wound them tighter and tighter around her finger. But he couldn't work it out, how exactly she did it, what exactly drew them all to her, how did she so thoroughly entrap them? But if she were to be mastered entirely, if he were to conquer Phaedra beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of these nights he would have to discover exactly how she did it. And once he had, once she was his entirely, once her everything was laid bare before him, he would at last have his revenge and then Duncan and Phaedra wouldn't matter anymore. No one would matter to him anymore, then, finally, he could be free...but for now, he thought with a smile, sleep Phaedra Blake, the time will come, for the both of us...


	41. Chapter 41

_Hey, if you can see a word count for this chapter you'll probably understand why it took a little longer than usual. It is a long chapter, I couldn't really see where best to cut it down, but it does seem to do some character development (mostly Bishop still) as well as moving the story on through Ember and suchlike so I hope it works..._

_One other thing, I'm going to go back and review the last chapter (the first Bishop one) according to some recommendations made to me, so if anyone has any thoughts still on that one, or if anything springs to mind after reading this chapter, I'd like to hear it._

* * *

Morning, it had come so soon; it was grey and dew-streaked, with the heavy clouds dense and low above the thick, verdant canopy, Phaedra awoke stiff and sore from a rough night, her hair tangled with dew and twigs, her back and neck aching from the uneven ground over which her bedroll had been placed. She felt barely refreshed, it had to be only a couple of hours after dawn now, and her night had been troubled by strange dreams that she scarcely remembered, although the feeling of being watched stayed with her for a moment after she awoke. But she forced her aching body upwards into a seating position, knowing that they'd had more than enough time to rest, and the pursuit had to continue anew.

"Ah, so you're awake, finally" Bishop, as he spoke, smiled mockingly, she met his gaze first across the ashes of the campfire. "Maybe we can be on our way now" He was leaning coolly against a tree, his head inclined towards her. He was evidently quite ready to continue himself, in his leather armour, bow at his side, quiver fully stocked with arrows, had he even slept at all last night? Perhaps not, after he'd left the grove last evening so enraged, she'd been almost afraid he was not going to return, but if he still remembered their confrontation now, he showed no sign of it. Meeting his tawny eyes she recalled her promise to herself from yesterday…could she truly find a way to gain Bishop's respect in the short time they would travel together? And did she really want to? No, she couldn't allow herself that kind of doubt, it was as sure a way to fall into his trap as any. As long as she was strong and firm with him, she'd find some way through his brutish exterior and to the person that had to be there somewhere.

"We'll be on our way when I say so" She said as firmly as she could, pushing herself up to stand. He raised an eyebrow, disconcertingly as though he found the reply somewhat amusing, but didn't choose to comment. That was a start, at least. She glanced around the camp and saw that Casavir and Elanee too were awake. Elanee was bent over the scattered pile of their packs, pulling out the food they had hastily gathered from the Flagon before their departure, it wasn't much but it was all they could get in the pressing time. Casavir was standing very close to where Phaedra now sat, still unusually tense but unoccupied as of yet, unless you counted glaring icily across the camp at Bishop, who didn't seem to be acknowledging the unspoken tension hanging around him. Oh dear…this wasn't going to be easy…

"Ah…" Before she could think of a way to approach the heavy strain that floated in the air around the two men in a way befitting a leader, Khelgar, sleeping across from the fire suddenly let out an exclamation and bolted upwards from the sleep. She quickly glanced across at the dwarf, though wearing a simple white tunic to sleep in he still had the gauntlets of Ironfist bolted to his hands. Phaedra stifled a smile, he never let them out of his sight now. Well with Neeshka around he was probably wise to, and she still didn't know quite what Bishop was capable of. "That's real food…from the Flagon?" Khelgar glanced reverently to where Elanee was preparing something for them "Gods, I was starving after all this time on the road with almost nothing!" Well, that was to be expected, Phaedra supposed, but Neeshka, as it happened, was still fast asleep.

"Elanee, do we have time for this?" Phaedra said in a commanding tone of voice. Yes, she could focus on the journey, on the time they had left, imitate Bishop's business-like brusqueness and show her knowledge of the art of pursuit. That was what a leader would do…perhaps it might even impress him.

"Relax" Alarmingly, it was in fact Bishop who answered her, and again with that trace of insubordination in his voice that she didn't quite know how to deal with as she should have, but she did manage to give him what might have passed as a hard glare before he continued "Our trail's going nowhere, and I have everything under control. We'll catch them"

"Are you certain of that?" Phaedra asked quickly, with all the resolve she could muster.

"Hey, they don't call me the best ranger in the North for nothing darling" he drawled lazily, as though deliberately mocking her attempts to be firm and resolute. How very annoying…

"Don't call her that!" Casavir intervened venomously before she could deploy any kind of worthy reply that would refute Bishop's attempt to be infuriating.

"That's enough, both of you!" Phaedra snapped at once and with a flash of anger, desperate to regain the upper hand before it looked as though she had sought Casavir's aid to protect her feeble womanhood from Bishop's insinuations. Did he have to undermine her like this when she was trying so hard to be strong? And yet she couldn't help but see the flash of frustration that ran across Casavir's features in answer, and knowing she had caused it she felt a knot of discomfort and guilt tighten in her stomach. Yet there was no way she could apologise show him that she didn't want to throw back his concerns for her in his face like that, without undermining her position in front of Bishop. And he had to see that she could deal with Bishop, with her own troubles, without him defending her like this, otherwise he would never respect her enough to see her as she truly was. So she stayed silent, and gave Bishop another hard glare, since he scarcely seemed to take her outburst any more seriously than he had any of the rest of her attempts. "We've got to get going, let's just get on with it…" She said firmly. She was so tired, no, not a moment's weakness, she had to push on no matter what...that was what a leader had to do…

ooo0000ooo

"We're close to the border" Bishop informed them as their second day of pursuit drained away to a cloud-stained sunset above the high white mountains which lay ahead. It seemed that their path led unerringly toward these towering monoliths, the Spine of the World, the same range as that which contained Old Owl Well, though these were firmly in Luskan dominion. But here they were a desolate place, not even the orcs found any sort of life there, and Luskan patrols, so frequent along the Neverwinter border if Bishop was to be believed, found little to interest them there. If the Githyanki had a staging ground in Luskan territory, it was most likely within the mountains. "This is as far as we go today, we stop here"

"Here?" Phaedra lowered her gaze, glancing quickly round where they now stood, on the banks of a small brook, with the forest stretching out all around as it had done for the whole day. Her body ached to lay itself down on the soft grass, but she forced herself to ignore the urge and be as strong as she had to be "Why here? I can go on, we all can" There was some scorn in her voice, she hadn't meant it to be there, but it seemed the strength she was hoping for was founded on that kind of scorn of danger and hardship, so be it.

"Yeah?" Bishop glanced at her, with a disdain to healthily match her own "Well just try and keep going for the next two days after that. In the state you're in right now that sure as hell isn't going to happen." She glanced at him again questioningly, waiting for some kind of explanation, and to her relief he gave it "We cross into Luskan tomorrow, and once I'm in Luskan territory I don't stop…ever."

"Luskan…" Phaedra whispered, determination drained from her voice a moment, as she gazed out into the hazy gloom beneath the tangled canopy, could it truly be so? Her spirit chilled as though the mention of the name was enough to leach all warmth from the air, they would truly be passing…into Luskan? She knew well enough the stories of the cruel place, every Harbourman did, but now she had learned that from within the City of Sails shadowy figures watched her, watched her progress, the place now held such a terror…

"You're afraid?" Bishop breathed, so softly only she could have heard, since behind them the others were already unpacking, preparing the camp for the night ahead "Good, once we're in Luskan there won't be any second chances…for either of us"

"You know Luskan?" She asked carefully, partly to try and show she wasn't as afraid as he thought she was, partly to take her mind off the very real fear that she really was feeling beneath the forced flippancy of the question, and partly because she knew that if she had a chance of getting to any kind of understanding with Bishop, she would have, contrary to all sense and instinct, to find out all she could about him. A direct question would be hopeless; he'd just deflect it with some comment and leave her in a weaker position than before. Perhaps skirting around what was really at stake might reveal something.

"Not a big fan of those low-justice loving murderers." He muttered savagely "The whole city's like a big thieves' guild, crushed under the Hostower mages." He shot her a sidelong glance. "If you know what's good for you, you tend to avoid their patrols from an early age. And then, if you're good, you keep doing it until your luck runs out."

"We…won't get caught though?" The words had been meant as a brute statement, perhaps an assessment of his abilities, or at the least a questioning of how far he could guide them through Luskan. Somehow, though, between her thoughts and her lips they were transformed into a question, a plea for reassurance, the likes of which she had been so trying to avoid. What was she doing she thought with a flash of frustration. She was the leader, she had to be the leader, no weakness, not to him…

"I don't get caught" Bishop replied bluntly "Stay close and you won't be either…" She glanced at him once again, surprised by the implication of concern for her, concern at least whether she lived or died, which was something new, something she hadn't expected. At once she met his own gaze that had moved to her face a second earlier, his tawny eyes gleamed golden in the streaking sunset. She found herself transfixed, they were…so striking, the eyes of a hawk or a predatory cat; with a wild light like a gleaming ember at their heart. He had a fierce allure after two days in the wilderness, his hair tousled, a flush of vigour in his face, the shadow of stubble over his chin deeper and thicker than before. She had been aware of Bishop's physical magnetism of course. It was something she had put to the back of her mind and avoided the whole journey, but now, so close to him, it was startlingly powerful once again…"You know…" Bishop continued, his voice hoarser, pitched low in a way which tugged at her imperceptibly "I'm not sure you can rely on everyone here to be so clever. Some of them won't listen to good advice when they hear it"

"What?" Phaedra whispered. He didn't mean that, truly? She knew she could rely on everyone else; it was him she was frankly most worried about. He was trying to unsettle her again, like she'd said to Casavir. She tried to snatch onto the last threads of that elusive leadership she had fought so hard to find, but they evaded her completely. So she simply stood and gazed at the man she had been so hoping to find some way to make an impression on, feeling once again like a lost girl.

"You're still thinking like the paladin…" Bishop answered softly "I'm not going to betray you, why would I? My…understanding with your uncle makes sure of that" Even now he spoke with extraordinary bitterness "If I make a mistake, I pay for it. So you can trust my advice, and here's some I'd make sure you consider. Your little group, they're set in their ways, don't let them take this little grudge they have against me too far, don't let them make mistakes" With that, he abruptly turned away, and walked, with that deadly silence, down towards the river, looking for all the world as though they had not spoken at all. He left behind a flush in her cheeks, a shortness of breath. She clasped a hand to her chest helplessly…wondering what exactly had just happened, at a loss with him, but most of all with herself. So soon, after she had sworn to control herself, not to be distracted by this, by Bishop most of all, but how could she have ever known then that he would be here, with her, in the wilds outside of Neverwinter? That they would be travelling together now? Oh Gods…she leant back against the tree, all her resolve and to be defeated by her own weakness so easily. And yet…had he not given her his advice, such as it was…? It was certainly very different to how he spoke to her when the others were around, or how he spoke to them in fact. What did that mean?

And hadn't a part of her thrilled at his words, that he would have her close to him, to protect her? That was something new…something not quite like Bishop at all. Focus, damn it…she was a sorceress, control of her thoughts was a necessity, and yet…nothing would stay ordered in her mind. Out of sheer frustration she darted into a conversation between Neeshka and Elanee without being entirely clear of what they were speaking. What exactly had he meant, could she really trust him, really? It was true that he was bound by a debt, and what she perceived of that debt made it impossible that…Lathander! She was going to go mad trying to puzzle out what Bishop intended, or wanted. And it hardly mattered anyway because once they got Shandra back safely he would leave her behind and get back to whatever he did best, and she would no doubt have other priorities. But that didn't stop the turmoil in her thoughts. There was more to Bishop than the rough, abrasive, even cruel, man he appeared, of that she was certain, and what he had said this evening only confirmed it, but still she did not quite understand what she was feeling from him. Her instincts had never been so muddled. All she knew was that, with what was at stake, her uncertainty could be a danger to all of them.

ooo0000ooo

"Hold it there…" Still at the head of the group, as Luskan's territories had swept by, Bishop had rarely found any time to stop, or any desire to it seemed. But as they had followed their quarry through the woodlands for yet another morning of harsh pursuit, their surroundings had begun to change…the trees had become denser, darker and older, clinging to each side of their path, their gnarled roots grasping at the ground below, their branches splayed outwards, crowned in a wealth of silvery leaves. Phaedra knew a little of woodcraft, and did not need Elanee's whispered reminder that these trees were Duskwood, the same wood which had made Bishop's bow, which had covered the Githyanki corpses in the Flagon. They stood now at the edge, the crossing point between the green life of Neverwinter Wood, and the dark heart of the Duskwood, the sprawling forest of Luskan where these trees originated. It was said that the properties of the wood were odd, it was a reagent in nullifying spells, for example, but thankfully here where the trees were still comparatively scarce; she felt very little of the reported effects. Right now however Bishop's attention was not on the trees, though he had grown more and more tense as they had travelled deeper into Luskan. Now as he ground to a halt his gaze had travelled down to the floor, to where a rough dirt track cut through the dense life of the Duskwood undergrowth, certainly not the devastation caused by the passage of their enemies, but here a clear, well-walked path. There had to be people living nearby "I thought this might happen, damn Gith…" Bishop muttered, he crouched momentarily, scanning the track. At last he raised his head, turning back towards Phaedra, as though he spoke to her alone "This is the path to Ember"

"Ember?" Elanee enquired softly. She was the only one, apart from Phaedra, who had ever spoken civilly to Bishop, though he hardly seemed to acknowledge her.

"It's a small village under Luskan's control…" Phaedra explained "Trading post, mostly…" She turned again to Bishop, keeping her feelings close and hidden. "What does this mean?"

"The Gith joined up with the path, I'm guessing last night…" Bishop said "They've gone on into the village"

"By Tyr!" Casavir exclaimed. Phaedra glanced back at him, he forced his way forward from where he'd stayed at the back of the party, ready to rush into the village for the sake of these people…

"Casavir…" She started forward, before she quite knew what she was doing she had taken his arm in her hand. He stopped instantly, turned to her and looked her full in the face, his ice-blue eyes suddenly filled with an unbearable intensity, she felt the muscles of his arm tense under her hand; his strength, the force of the spirit in his eyes, it was monumental, serene, comforting, but also impossibly distant.

"Where are you running off to paladin?" Bishop was suddenly by them, smouldering with anger, his voice harsh, and sardonic. "You think you can save them? Or are you just going to bless their corpses, because you'll find nothing else!"

"If there's a chance that they are still alive, we have to take it" Casavir stepped forward, placing himself imperceptibly between Bishop and Phaedra. Startled into silence by that brief moment of connection with the paladin, Phaedra stayed silent despite that she had been trying to avoid such a confrontation occurring again. Did proving she was a good leader matter more to her than the villager's lives, than Casavir's support? Of course not, and this time she had no choice but to agree with the paladin.

"You really think the Gith just left Ember behind?" Bishop snarled "They're cunning bastards. I've seen that, tracking them, and they know that what's needed to draw you and her out into the open. Walk straight into Ember if you like, but no one's coming out of there alive if we do!"

"An ambush?" Neeshka gasped with shock.

"Nevertheless, we cannot allow this…" Casavir began coldly, but Phaedra gripped his arm tighter, and he looked to her questioningly. She shook her head, and he fell silent once again. Thank the Gods, he understood, and he was giving her this chance to get through to Bishop. Had she been unfair to him?

"Bishop" She dropped her hand from Casavir, stepping tentatively toward the ranger. His gaze burned as he took her in. He was so different to Casavir, all violence and passion and she felt her pulse beat faster beneath the wildness in his eyes "Are you sure about this?" She said softly, but with a hardness in her tone he could not but answer.

"Who do you think I am?" Bishop growled. Though he was obviously angry with her as well, he spoke to her differently than to Casavir, with a kind of wariness, skirting round outright fury "This trail is simple, it's like the Gith aren't even bothering to hide their tracks"

"They're leading us on…?" Phaedra shivered involuntarily at the thought, although she fought for control hard enough to keep the fear reaching her voice "Then Ember must be a trap…"

"That's what I was saying all along" Bishop answered "They know we're here, and they wanted to eliminate us before we get close"

"If that's the case" Phaedra lifted her head, thinking of Daeghun, how he would have wanted her to think. She could do this. "We have no choice but to spring the trap. If we avoid Ember, we avoid the ambush, but we leave a second group of Githyanki behind us and we're in serious danger. We can't get caught between two groups of them…" She glanced to Bishop, wondering if the argument had impressed upon him, or whether he would just reject it out of hand. For a moment he was oddly impassive, seeming to study her thoughtfully, then abruptly he grinned wolfishly, with a strange kind of possessive pride.

"That's my girl, you're finally thinking like a tracker" he said "I never said I wanted to avoid Ember, hells, I've been itching to hunt these Githyanki to the ground. Here's my chance…" As he spoke, his fingers ran over the fletching of the arrows in his quiver, a shadow of cold murder crossing his face. Watching him Phaedra felt a chill run through her but she quickly suppressed it, this was the kind of man she needed right now. So be it.

"Lovely to know that you two both actually wanted the same thing anyway" Neeshka snapped tartly. The matter-of-fact tiefling had her hand on her hip, her crimson gaze sweeping over Casavir and Bishop dismissively "Now we've finished wasting time, what are we going to do about it?"

"We storm Ember" Bishop answered dryly "But for now we forget about the villagers. Alive or dead, they're nothing to me."

"Be that as it may Bishop, I intend to free them" Casavir's eyes glinted with hard resolve.

"Fine, do your worst" Bishop said scornfully

"You're acting like you've got some kind of plan ranger" Khelgar tapped his axe, bloodthirstily impatient "Get to it"

"So far the Gith have put a lot of trouble into planning this" Bishop continued "And they're cunning bastards, so don't think they'll just be waiting for us in the middle of Ember like cattle. No…they'll be hidden, archers, mages…whatever they've got. If I guess right, they'll have them stationed inside the buildings…"

"That would be the definition of an ambush" Casavir snorted

"True paladin, very true" Bishop smiled mockingly "So tell me then, how do you spring an ambush?" For a moment Casavir stood silently, enduring the mockery in Bishop's tawny gaze, then he stiffened, his eyes narrowing "That's right" Bishop nodded, and his eyes flicked at once to Phaedra "To spring an ambush, we need bait"

ooooo0000ooooo

The village of Ember lay beneath a high sun, the clouded blue expanse above, the green sea of trees below, the village rising from the forest in its own small grove where the voracious growth of the Duskwood had been halted by the efforts of its inhabitants. It was a modest place, only a little larger than West Harbour, though it had its own inn, a quartermaster's office, a tiny palisade wall, large enough only to keep out forest animals, a deep well in the central square, and a somewhat incongruously large road bisecting it; the source of its success. Ember was a trading post, founded not so long ago in the wake of the greater prosperity prior to the war, and things, despite the vast expanse of the forest sealing it away from civilisation, and the ever-present threat of Luskan, its overlords, had much improved since then. Indeed normally at high noon Ember should have been alive with families, tradesman, commerce, and the normal business of life. To see it so eerily empty, no human presence, no livestock, not the smallest sign that this should have been a thriving village was terrible. Phaedra blinked, feeling her eyes itch momentarily. She knew nothing of Ember, of those who lived here, though she pitied them still, but she could not stop thinking of West Harbour, of seeing it like this, unnaturally deserted, its gates wide open, awaiting her to step in, to spring the trap…

"Ready for this?" She bristled as Bishop's voice sounded close to her ear, his breath warm on the back of her neck. She hadn't even heard him approach, yet he had to be standing only an inch from her now. What now?

"Yes" Phaedra lifted her head, feeling the stray coils of her golden hair stir with his warm breath. As instructed the others had taken up positions around the village, Bishop, obviously had something more to say before he did likewise.

"I did think this out…you know" He muttered in her ear roughly "It'll work"

"If you do your part" Phaedra said softly. She knew she should have stepped away from him, put some distance between them, but even now she yearned for some kind of comfort, even his, and doing so would have meant the first step toward the village. She wasn't quite ready for that yet.

"Afraid I won't be at your back?" He laughed softly. "Well…perhaps you know me better than I thought." She slowly turned around to face him, a spark of cold anger erupting in her chest, that he of all people would threaten her, even if the comment was meant in jest, it clove far too close to her own suspicions to be funny. And yet her anger really sprang from something deeper, something inexplicable, if she was honest, yet her feelings fled her scrutiny the moment she looked into his face. There he stood, mere inches from her, and she stared into his eyes, resisting fiercely the troubling thrill that the all-too physical touch of his gaze upon her own awoke. She was stronger than this…

"This plan might be your idea, but I'm the one walking into the village…" She said, raising her head with all the icy elvish pride she could muster, trying to forget that she had been scared of the very idea just moments before. "You had better be ready when I do"

"You need a promise from me?" He shifted in his armour, his voice rough with sarcasm. Suddenly he seemed angry, he had warned her not to order him, but what did he expect? She was not going to give him the satisfaction of simply laying down for him! "I'm touched…"

"That's not what I said…" She snapped back "I just wanted…"

"Oh, well it sure sounded like that to me" He shrugged blithely "If you want that, you can still go to the paladin…if he's not too busy panting over the farmgirl's old skirts" Phaedra winced, he cut deep. His words awoke a dormant anguish that threatened to break past the façade of cold indifference between them.

"I trust Casavir" She began cautiously, not wanting exactly to set him off again. "But I don't trust you..."

"The only person you can rely on is yourself, it's past time you learned that, girl" He warned darkly "So, are you just going to stand there until the Gith realise we're out here? I'd get going, before the paladin gets some idea about charging to save you the trouble" He stepped back quickly, abruptly, and turned his back on her with perfunctory directness, walking back with silent step into the undergrowth. Confused, she gazed after him for a moment. Her thoughts could scarcely keep up with him, one moment he was reassuring her and advising her, the next he attacked her, for her own good apparently, then he was suddenly all practicality again. Bishop…he was trouble. But, he was right about one thing at least. She had a task here, for her friends, for the people of Ember…for that she would have to go in, alone…

Turning away, emptying her mind of Bishop, and of everything else, she breathed deeply, reaching inward to touch at the well of her power. It was time, she stepped forward, turned toward Ember's open gates. She hovered on the edge of giving in to her magic, her spells rising within her, everything she could need for any situation, though for the moment she kept her hands from her bow. Best not to show the Githyanki her visible weapons, let them think she went in unprepared. With luck, they would rush her, drawn by the inexorable fury the sight of her seemed to incite in them, if not, she had defences against magic, arrows, and the others were all at the ready to do what they could. Bishop's plan, well… he could give good advice when he wanted to, she'd have to admit that, but how to separate that from this…other troubling things he said? Oh Gods, there…he'd distracted her once again!

Moving slowly, her power flickering imperceptibly about her, it stirred up leaves around her feet, caused stray hair to quiver and caress her cheeks, she passed through the gates of Ember, into the village, into the Githyanki's web. The village was eerily silent, the looming homes empty, windows blank and vacant. All she could hear was the sound of her own footsteps crunching in the dust of the road running through Ember, the smell of ground earth, the whistle of the wind through her hair, but within her, deeper than all of that, magic whispered its own song. She came to the centre of the village, by the well, simple, rough-hewn stone, a bottomless deep within it. Somehow she knew, the sore ache of magical intuition, that was she was being watched, appraised, that the watchers were shifting uneasily, yearning to strike her down but unsure whether to do so yet, soon, they would break. The Githyanki were single-minded, Bishop had acknowledged that, and even whatever orders they had would not be enough to hold back their fervour.

"Kalach-cha!" At once the door of the building nearest to where she stood, an inn, burst open…and her enemy were at last revealed after the long pursuit, the Githyanki, pouring out into the square like a swarm of vast malevolent locusts in their gleaming, spiked exotic armour, with blades shining and rippling in the harsh sunlight. She smiled grimly, well they were predictable at least, and she pulled her hand back, tracing a veil of arcane fire in the air. On cue, a volley of arrows were propelled towards by the archers amongst them but as she whispered arcane words of power, the flawmes in her hands burst outwards, great swathes of fire rippled around her, the arrows burning ineffectually into dust before the sheer power of the magic.

Everything exploded into battle then, as Casavir, Neeshka, Elanee and Khelgar burst out of their places in the forest, heading for her, the sight of them spurred the Githyanki on, and suddenly there were more of them, a dozen, maybe more, and all alight with blood frenzy. Phaedra faced her own five attackers, summoning new magic to her aid. Light blazed from her hands, a single bloom of magical energy blossoming into a volley of bolts of sheer power, sheer energy that swept for her foes, crackling with a heat that was more than physical heat. Quickly three of them fell, seared by magic. By her she could feel Elanee's power, and Casavir's, like two burning stars, and knew they too were engaged in combat. Everything was going exactly as they'd hoped, except one person was still missing…

As the other two Githyanki ran for her, she clasped her hands together, gasping out another spell. A sheet of rippling lightning surged from her, but suddenly the second of the two called out something in a guttural, harsh voice, and a wall of dark energy appeared between her and him, the spell struck it, but quickly dissipated, all the power from it, leeching directly into him! Necromancy, or some foul sorcery very much like it, but by now Phaedra knew enough of these things not to be so terrified of their dread power. Her spells danced around her, gleaming flickers of light which followed in the sweeping arc of her arm as she brought magic to bear against the Githyanki wizard. His will burned out from his eyes, and curses seared toward her, striking at her determination, attempting to overpower her mind and enslave it. Her counter, a blazing shield of light, was already leaving her lips, her power poured into the second's opening it gave her. For a moment his defences held, but they were flimsy things, and she easily slipped through the cracks, burning into him intensely. At last he let out a single scream of sheer agony, and burst into flame from the inside. A roar of sheer heat seared out towards her, then the power blinked out of existence and there was nothing left but a slight grey ash, which floated away on the wind. Phaedra shivered. They were monsters, but still…. She gave a moment's hesitation, and the second Githyanki was running for her, rippling sword gleaming. Suddenly there wasn't enough time, she pulled back, grabbing at her bow and arrows…

At the last second before he reached her, the Githyanki suddenly froze. She gasped, stumbling away, as the sword slipped from his fingers to clatter to the floor. His hand lifted, as though disbelieving, to his skull; an arrow pierced him right through, not one of hers, but the rough fletching she recognised from those in the quiver on Bishop's back. Well…he certainly took his time she thought distantly, stunned, then the Githyanki collapsed before her. Phaedra stared at the creature for a moment, breathing heavily, still in a state of shock. That had been close, far too close, if Bishop hadn't…She glanced up quickly, seeking out the ranger with her gaze. He was striding now out into the village, he made no effort to conceal himself, he seemed to welcome, with a cruel smile, the attentions of the zealous Githyanki. His bow was strung and out across his hands, a full foot longer than her own, his arm straining with the sinew bowstring, with an arrow at the ready. He had an air of cruel grace, a fierce delight in destruction, indeed he fired almost lazily, waiting for the last moment before he let loose, but each time his arrow struck home. His skill was superb, she could have compared him even to Daeghun on those rare occasions her foster-father had taken up arms, without magic, he far surpassed her.

"Phaedra…" She tore her gaze from Bishop, and met the icy blue of Casavir's eyes… "It's done" She nodded, all around them the Githyanki were dead, or dying. Their host had numbered some fifteen by the end, now bleeding away their lives into Ember's empty fields. Elanee was seeing to Khelgar and Neeshka, her whispered words conjured up soothing light to heal what glancing wounds they had sustained. It had been a reckless plan, surely, but here it was, and it had worked… "Are you alright?" Casavir asked. She nodded, flushing momentarily. She remembered well that he had expressed grave reservations about Bishop's plan, only to look after her, to protect her and she had overruled him…

"It worked…" She whispered, wanting him to know why she had done it, but a note in her voice was still apologetic…it was true though, it had worked. Bishop…had been right…

"It did" His gaze travelled to Bishop, as though reading the turn her thoughts were taking. She followed him, with his own foes defeated as well, Bishop had slung his bow over his shoulder, the battered sword and dagger he normally hung at his belt were now in hand, and he travelled amongst those of the Githyanki that were not expired, plunging the twin blades into those he found… "He is a man of blood Phaedra, he feeds on violence, on cruelty"

"That does not matter…" Phaedra shook her head, though lowering her gaze from the spectacle "We need him, I need him…"

"You are right" He acknowledged bitterly "We have no choice. However…I think it best if you do not listen to his advice so freely again" Phaedra stared at the floor, unsure of how to answer him.

"Nice little ambush they had planned here" Suddenly Bishop's voice broke the nervous silence between her and Casavir. She glanced up, relieved at the distraction. As the others joined them by the inn, Bishop moved over, with a smirk of satisfaction on his features, sheathing his bloody sword and dagger nonchalantly "Decent effort, sloppy execution. Might even have worked if I hadn't been here" Phaedra smiled weakly at his bravado, though the others were less than impressed "That force, must have been over half what they had. This'll make it easier on us when we catch up with them anyway"

"But, won't they be moving faster, and be harder to track?" Phaedra put forward tentatively. Daeghun's teachings still resonated within her, and she was momentarily pleased to see Bishop frown, considering her take on things.

"Well, now aren't you a bright ray of hope?" He said at last, and Phaedra couldn't but roll her eyes at that. She supposed it was far too much to expect that he should be accepting of her opinion twice…

"She was merely pointing out the realities of the situation…" Casavir said coldly, again he leapt in to aid her. She felt a moment's aching frustration, just once couldn't he let her defend herself, couldn't he see that Bishop just wanted this? But it was followed by a surge of guilt, how could she prove herself without hurting Casavir? She needed to talk to him, but she couldn't find the words that would show him what she felt.

"I suggest you reign in that attitude of yours paladin" Bishop growled "What, don't think she can speak for herself?"

"It was not my intention to speak for her" Casavir answered defensively

"Yeah, then don't" Bishop snorted dismissively, before turning to Phaedra once again. She frowned, that had been unnecessary, and as always Bishop had cut deep. Before she could start to protest, he was speaking again "You're right, they don't have the men to bait another ambush. They won't be able to hide from me though" He glanced up suddenly, and Phaedra turned confused, to see the door to the inn swing open cautiously, a figure emerging fearfully into the light, a woman, alive…

"Hello, excuse me?" She murmured. She was small, barely taller than Phaedra, pale and blond, with liquid brown eyes that shimmered with tears, her dress was plain, homespun. She looked quite terrified, shaking still in the aftermath of her ordeal. Phaedra instantly moved toward her with instinctive protectiveness "You are hunting a woman, Shandra…Shandra Jerro?"

"You saw Shandra, how, when?" Phaedra asked insistently, though her voice was as gentle as she could make it "Was she here?"

"Yes, yes, she was…" the blond woman sobbed pitifully, her hand pressed to her cheek… "We heard her, crying, screaming. She was with…them…"

"You knew her?" Elanee whispered perceptively "Before this?"

"Yes…" She nodded insistently "She used to make the merchant run through her every year. We were, are, friends, good friends…" She gave a little gasp "Oh forgive my manners, my name is Alaine…I own the inn here…thank you, thank you for saving us"

"How long ago was it that you saw Shandra?" Phaedra asked quickly.

"We've been here three hours, since they came…" Alaine gasped "Just over three hours. We all heard her, I tried to call out to her, but…" She buried her face in her hands for a moment. Phaedra leant forward, and gently touched her arm reassuringly "You must help her. She's in terrible danger, please…"

"Alaine" Casavir moved in closer. Alaine glanced up, even though Casavir's gaze was fixed on her, Phaedra still felt in passing the sense of security radiating from him "We will find her, and we will do everything in our power to get her back, I promise you" Alaine blinked, tears trickling down her flushed cheeks, but she raised no hand to brush them away. Casavir held her gaze, and all her attention…

"We're promising no such thing" Instantly Bishop muscled in, cutting off Phaedra, and shattering the small, hesitant, hopeful smile that was forming over Alain's lips. The young woman glanced instantly to him, taking in the wild dangerousness of his appearance, the scorn in his voice, and her face fell, paling instantly. "Or at least, I'm not." Bishop continued savagely "That girl you all loved so much, she probably lost her final chance when you didn't even try to save her from the Githyanki. If she's not dead already, she soon will be"

"Bishop!" Phaedra cried, wheeling on him, her patience all but spent. The very thought, him suggesting it, and blaming this poor girl after everything she'd suffered… "Don't you dare even say that! Shandra is alive, and we will find her, and save her, that includes you! So if you don't have any suggestion that can help us…"

"Yeah, I have a suggestion" Bishop growled, silencing her "We're wasting time, and this is Luskan territory. I say we leave now, before one of these peasants rats us out to Luskan"

"We'd never…" Alaine began, shocked

"I've heard that all too many times before" Bishop answered "Look, you've shown all too much care for your own skin for that to mean anything. All of you were too spineless to even stand up to the Gith, my bet is first patrol that comes through here gets the whole story straight from you"

"No…" Alaine crumpled, her eyes filling with tears

"Go Bishop" Phaedra snapped, her voice shrill "Wait over there until we're done!" His eyes flashed, was that anger, or perhaps a savage sort of triumph? Then he turned, and began to walk away, that usual deadly silence in his pace.

"We tried…" Alaine whispered, once he was gone "But those monsters, they killed anyone who resisted. We…wanted to help, but we'd already lost…I…"

"No one is to blame…" Phaedra answered gently "And you're safe now…"

"Not all of us…" Alaine glanced away painfully "Just catch them and stop them. I need to know they're dead, that's all I need to know"

"We will stop them" Casavir avowed gravely

"They headed north, towards the mountains…" Alaine whispered "That's all I know. You must go now. I, thank you, for saving all of us…" She raised her eyes once again, gleaming with tears, and Phaedra suddenly felt a surge of hatred for the Githyanki. Another village they had ruined, more deaths, more blood on their hands, she would stop them if it took every ounce of her strength, of her magic. It was time to end their terrors once and for all!

Alaine accepted their own farewells, meekly handing them what little food she could salvage from her storehouse, which Phaedra accepted gratefully. Joining Neeshka and Khelgar by the door, she, Casavir and Elanee made their way back out into the sun. They had done all they could for Ember right now, Phaedra prayed it could have the chance to rebuild, to put things right. But now, she had something else to deal with…

"Done, are you?" Bishop; he had been waiting, as instructed, but it almost looked as though he'd been mentally utilising those villagers who'd emerged safe from their homes as target practice.

"What in the name of the Gods was that?" She snapped "Terrorising that poor girl, why? What in the name of the Gods is your problem?"

"My problem…?" Bishop answered incredulously "My problem is that it was their fault that the Gith managed to set that ambush up for us, then they didn't even lift a finger to help us when we were saving their sorry lives!"

"They are not soldiers, Bishop" Casavir put in frostily. Right, so now Casavir was getting involved too! This time, though, she could hardly blame him…she had respected Bishop for a short while, now he just showed again how contemptible he was. She'd been stupid to be so easily manipulated! "They are farmers, and they were caught completely without warning. Their reluctance to fight is understandable"

"So, you think it's understandable that they just lay back and let the Githyanki take everything?" Bishop snarled "That they don't give a damn about us or that farmgirl? It was their fault…"

"None of this was their fault" Phaedra argued…

"No?" Bishop scowled "What about your village then? Yeah, Duncan told me about that. What would've happened if you'd done the same as them?"

"This is not West Harbour…" Casavir responded before she could, scandalised though she was that he would speak of West Harbour to her, what did he know of that? "The circumstances are not the same, they did not have someone like Phaedra to help them. Fighting is not always an option…"

"Look…" Surprisingly it was Neeshka who intervened "We can wait here while you three cut little pieces out of each other, or we can get going and actually save Shandra? Which is it?" Her voice effectively silenced them all, Phaedra stepped back, lowering her gaze and flushing hotly. She'd wanted to be a good leader, so why had she gone and got involved in a pointless quarrel like that? She should have been the one sorting things out, not delaying everyone. This was not helping Shandra…

"Neeshka, you're right" She shook her head, and turned to Bishop once again, this time her voice was civil. From now on she would do better, she could not let him aggravate her, give him that kind of power over her "Bishop, please…lead on now"

"Fine" Bishop turned, surly, but compliant. She frowned, she needed Bishop's cooperation, despite the matter of whatever lay between them, and he had helped her out during the battle in Ember, despite his insistence that she handle it on her own, she hadn't even thanked him yet.

Carefully they made their way out toward the second of Ember's gates, slipping back into the line they had travelled in so far, Bishop in front, Phaedra behind him, then Elanee, Neeshka, Khelgar and finally Casavir, walking down along the well-worn path. Phaedra had plenty to occupy her mind as they came to the gate, but even so, something; an awareness, a twinge of intuition, a sense, stopped her in her tracks just before she walked out of it. It was…an itch, an ache that there was magic nearby. Behind her the others paused, and Bishop turned round questioningly. Before they could ask, Phaedra lifted a hand to her head, feeling outward with all the aching sense of her magic, and found it. It was something, no sorcerer, or wizard but a presence of the kind she had never felt before, something far more than any of these. It was something…so inexplicably bound up with magic that it seemed a being of magic itself…and of a magic that seemed so pure, and wild, and…strange that it was almost frightening. This being, this paragon of magic, was standing just behind a straggly tree up on the small ridge. As she seized upon it, the sense became suddenly stronger, aching into her skull, driving into her mind, so strong as to be undeniable, impossible to ignore. If she could ever have described it in any physical terms, though it defied such crude categorisation, it would have been like seeing a tide of light so intense it blocked out the sun, all streaming outward, upward from that one point.

"Phaedra…?" Casavir made his way to her, she raised a hand, stepping forward slowly…

"I feel it too" Elanee stepped up beside her. Phaedra glanced to her for a moment, was the presence…dangerous? Somehow she didn't think so, and it didn't appear as though Elanee did either.

Then, the presence moved, and a figure emerged from behind the tree. To her surprise, to her utmost shock, what she saw with her eyes was a boy, a very ordinary-looking, if scruffy and unkempt boy, nine or ten at the most. He had dark, ruffled hair, was wearing a dirty smock, a…villager's child? Then his gaze lifted to meet hers, and she knew that this child was so much more. His eyes, dark, round, intensely focused, were pools into, she did not know how to describe it, only that it felt as though staring into his eyes she saw through them into the heart of the cosmos itself. There was such insight, such alien perception, this boy saw more than one layer of being, he glimpsed something deeper than what anyone else could. And still, with the inner gaze of her magic, she saw the power streaming from him, who…was this boy?

"You…" He murmured, stepping down from the small ridge, his voice was small, but reached her intently, resonating within her mind with the timbre of eons. It was the voice of an adult, no, much more than that…the voice of eternity "You…are the one who will destroy Ember"

"What?" Phaedra gasped, words flashed through her mind: visions, foresight, prophecy, foretelling, but what he spoke of…impossible… "No, I couldn't…"

"I was mistaken…It is not…will not be you" The boy tilted his head, his gaze deepening upon her "The…murderer will seem like you…but it is not you…"

"You mean…but who would want to harm this place?" Elanee asked, her tone maternal even now, but awe and horror broke through it. She too knew what this boy was, a seer. They were slightly more common amongst the elves, people, who touched the veil of time, who saw the future. This gift, so rare…to have occurred here, in this young boy, in this village, it was almost inconceivable and yet she could not deny what she felt, which meant the boy's words were horrifically, undeniably…true…

"I cannot say…" The boy stood now in front of them, his studying gaze touched each of them in turn, seeming to draw something from each one of them. Casavir stiffened, Neeshka gave a little gasp and flinched, even Bishop clasped his bow closer as the boy's gaze alighted on him, his muscles tensing as though he saw some threat in this child. "But it is true." The boy continued softly "He will destroy this place, he will kill all within it he can discover. He will slay almost everyone, except only me…I think and perhaps one other"

"No…" Phaedra whispered, staggering to her knees. This was all far too much, Alaine, all these people, this just could not be true…it could not… "How?" She whispered "Why?"

"Ember's fate is set in stone. There is nothing you or I can do to save it, but you can perhaps save one, you can perhaps save me" The boy murmured "You walk within a greater destiny, the future parts for you. I…see that you change fates, move the tide of providence…those you touch are set upon different paths" He nodded firmly, and his ethereal tones suddenly took on a greater determination "I need something from you, there is something you bear which will spare me…"

"Anything" Phaedra spoke through a sudden weight, the ache lying heavily upon her. The future, everything she knew about seers warned her that this, this was the future, as he spoke it, but…to not save a single person in Ember, except him, how could this be? And what else did he speak of, that she…Phaedra Blake should have so great a fate? Almost unthinkable, and yet… "Anything I have…"

"Thank you" His eyes fluttered a moment, flickering over her, over her pack, over her quiver, all her belongings "No" he gasped, and he was suddenly unsure, suddenly a child "It…is not here, but I was so sure…"

"What in the Hells are you doing?" Bishop stepped up beside Phaedra, glaring at the boy savagely " "Go on, get out of here, now" He growled, he was so tense, as though he were a caged animal riling against its confinement; something about this boy set him off, but what?

"Ah, I understand now…" The child seemed unperturbed by the threat in Bishop's voice "It is him, you are the one, you have something I need…"

"What?" Bishop snarled "Try and take anything, and I'll have your hands for trophies"

"It is the knife" the seer whispered, his gaze sweeping to Bishop's belt, to the small leather hilt there in its sheath "You have a knife, it will be what saves me…"

"My knife?" Bishop's hand shot protectively to the dagger "I've had this for ever, there's nothing special about it"

"Nevertheless, your knife is different" The boy answered enigmatically "I need it, or I will perish alongside Ember…"

"Bishop…" Phaedra began cautiously, he didn't see what she did, but she had to convince him somehow. This was so important, she knew it.

"Not a chance" Bishop growled, glaring at her "Unless this dagger is going between his eyes, it's staying here with me"

"Give it to him" Phaedra whispered, glancing up at the ranger pleadingly, but he was so hard, so harsh…could she ever reach him? "Please…"

"No" Bishop snapped

"Bishop" She closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn't deny a pinprick of disappointment. She had hoped Bishop was just that little bit better than he appeared, but…if only money would motivate him, so be it. "I'll pay you back for it, just give it to him, please…" He glanced at her for a moment, eyeing her critically, though there was no hint of what he intended to do in his posture, then…

"Fine" he said, and pushed the knife toward the boy, hilt-first. "But don't think I'm going to forget how much you owe me, girl"

"Thank you" the boy took the knife reverently, running his finger over the blade "I am Marcus, soon, there will be a time when I shall repay you" He turned to go…his footstep soft as dew…

"Wait, Marcus…" Phaedra caught his shoulder with her hand, frantic "You can't, I can't help them, these people, any of them?"

"No" Marcus murmured, there was a hint of human pity in his voice, but still he spoke with such finality, such certainty, the dread finality of time itself "It is not possible, there is a fate here that is beyond us all. They would not leave here, not for my warnings or your's, remember it is their home…they will die to defend it when the time comes"

"No" Phaedra gasped, her voice quavering with sadness "It can't be, we have to save them"

"You must go from here, continue your hunt" Marcus lowered his head slowly "Otherwise the woman you are seeking will be killed and then there will be no hope for any of us" With that, he walked away, and this time Phaedra did not stop him. Her hand falling heavily to the floor, she lowered her head, feeling tears burn her eyes…

"Phaedra…" Elanee knelt down beside her, one hand falling gently over her shuddering shoulders. With a strangled sob, Phaedra collapsed against her, and felt Elanee's arms wrap tightly around her, a mother's touch, cradling her "Phaedra" the elf whispered "Phaedra, be strong. Fate is not something we can choose…"

"Elanee" Phaedra sobbed against Elanee's shoulder, staggered, hurt to the very core… "What am I supposed to do? I can't just leave…"

"Yes, you can" Bishop's voice, the last thing she wanted to hear, cut into her "I get the feeling you think that boy was telling the truth, so believe him, this useless village can't be saved or don't and none of it matters anyway" So brutal and pragmatic, and yet somehow it made sense, but Phaedra could not stir nonetheless...

"Bishop!" Casavir growled

"It's the truth…" The ranger simply shrugged in answer "Or are you going to let the farmgirl die because some little boy had a bad dream…?"

"For Tyr's sake, give her a moment's peace" Casavir snapped

"But...how can I just leave them?" Phaedra gasped...

"Phaedra…" Elanee whispered "If Marcus saw the truth, it still will not be your fault for knowing. Phaedra, it will never be your fault! We…do still have a chance to save Shandra. I know this, I know you can save her"

"Shandra" Phaedra murmured lifting her head softly, Shandra. She had promised she would save her, save her no matter what… "Yes, I must…" She stood, wiping her eyes hastily and glanced quickly over the others. Khelgar was frowning concernedly, Neeshka looked confused, but ready to help any way she could, Casavir was grim, Bishop impatient, they all knew what they had to do. She would have to as well "Okay, let's go" she said, keeping her voice under control "Alaine said the Githyanki were only about three hours ahead so we must be gaining on them" She glanced to Bishop "Please, go on" she said, and he nodded, taking the lead once again. She fell in step behind him, time to continue. Perhaps Marcus had been wrong, perhaps her going to destroy the Githyanki might change Ember's fate but, deep within, she knew it was a false hope, feeling, like an echo of a whisper the stirring of Marcus' magical energy once again, and the doom of his hushed, incisive voice sounding within her heart. She dared not once look back to Ember…


	42. Chapter 42

_Hi, I'm afraid this might be the last chapter for a little while as I have a couple more exams this week and next week. Sorry to leave you on a bit of a cliffhanger, although this chapter does resolve one rather crucial element to Phaedra's journey..._

_Thoughts? I don't mind if it's just a short review but something would be great. I'm grateful to my two consistent reviewers, Gaspode and idiotwhocantthinkofapenname and of course voltagelisa too. No one has to be quite so comprehensive as they are, but another opinion would be appreciated! _

_Thanks!_

The Spine of the World, so…they were here once again. Again the mountains, dry, cold, and unforgiving, rearing up about them and again their path wound through gorges, along precarious cliffs, barren and empty. Again a deep threat hung heavy in the cold air, a threat, this time, not of the orcs, but of the Githyanki, the eerie thought of them was a constant accompaniment on the road. Phaedra pulled her cloak closer around herself, shivering. If anything the mountains in this part of the Spine were even bleaker and colder than those near Old Owl Well. Even the long enforced activity of their pursuit was not enough to warm her, as the biting cold wind whipped around her, scouring her flesh. Bishop, at the forefront, led them along a trail which hardly seemed visible to Phaedra's untrained eyes. He seemed confident enough in his path of scattered rock and soil, footsteps in the dust, but even so there were times when he had to stop, wordlessly searching the rock as she and the others waited, their fate entirely in his hands. Even Elanee would have found it difficult to lead them forward on this route, or back towards Neverwinter, to Phaedra, each direction seemed identical, so they were very much at Bishop's mercy. At least the constant push onwards dulled her thoughts, the constant rhythm she had fallen into became, most of the time, all she could focus on, and it dulled her thoughts of Ember, and of Shandra, as well. Each time their pursuit stopped though, as it had now, while a stain of lilac run through the rapidly darkening sky, everything came back…

"Ah, I thought so" Bishop's appraisal pulled her back to herself. She blinked, shaking her head, and glancing quizzically at where the ranger crouched in the dust, his fingers running over the ground. "There's some kind of old road here, ruins, the Gith have been following it for the last couple of hours…"

"Ruins…?" Phaedra gasped, stepping up to where he knelt, and glancing avidly down to where his hand lay on the ground.

"That's right…" Bishop nodded "Don't know what they are though…" Under his palm, her eyes picked out something, faint lines in the rock, too precise to be crafted by nature, and around it, pieces of rock, crumbling into dust, which nonetheless bore the unmistakable touch of mason's tools. Could it be…? She looked up, and noticed, suddenly, that the path on which they now stood was far too straight to be simply the random crossing of the Githyanki through these mountains, it seemed to be cut, instead, straight into the valley's side. Though much of it had collapsed it was indeed some kind of road, though had Bishop not pointed it out she would never have guessed.

"Who could have built this?" Elanee whispered, running her hand over the white stone of the cliff into which their path was cut.

"I…don't know" Phaedra shook her head, wracking her memory for anything Tarmas might have said on such a subject "No one could have lived up here…"

"Might be dwarf work" Khelgar grunted "Couldn't tell you for sure though"

"Does it matter?" Bishop snorted dismissively, standing "If the Gith are following it, we follow it, that's all we really need to know"

"No, it isn't, not this time" Khelgar stepped forward, scowling belligerently "We've been hunting the Gith for days now, since Ember we haven't had a hint of them, and I get the feeling we're coming close to where they call home. Are you really going to be able to catch them in time ranger?" Phaedra glanced at him, realising this had been brewing in his mind for some time. It had, upon reflection, been almost three days on the trail, and a whole additional day since they had left Ember but she herself had not thought of this. For her the pursuit thus far had been a simple matter of moving forward behind Bishop, no thought of the days, the time that had passed, had yet crossed her mind, but what if the Githyanki truly were near their base of operations? Could they be then, running out of time? Neeshka and Casavir both watched Bishop closely also, clearly interested in a way that showed they too had considered the possibility, or perhaps even discussed it, but…without her?

"Maybe, maybe not" Bishop answered curtly, as though it hardly mattered to him either way "That's the way of things out here. Since Ember they've been getting faster though, and it's not just that they dropped so many back at the village. They know we're after them…"

"Can we do it, catch them?" Phaedra whispered, shocked to consider so bleak an assessment of their chances. How could things have become so desolate without her even noticing?

"If you want my opinion" Bishop glanced at her significantly, his tawny eyes glinting in the evening light, hard, unsympathetic "I'd say we've lost far too much ground already. They're desperate to get back, and they're not letting us get any closer. If anything, they've started outrunning us by now…"

"No…" Phaedra gasped "No, it can't be…"

"There's still a chance" Elanee stepped towards them "We haven't lost that much time, perhaps if we push ourselves…"

"Yeah, we might arrive before they hang out the farmgirl's corpse" Bishop cut across her "But I'd give up the chance of catching them before then. It's fight them in their home, or don't fight them at all"

"You said you could do this, ranger!" Khelgar roared, as Phaedra leant heavily against the rock, aghast that it could have come to this, after all they had tried to do, tried so hard… "You acted as though it would be easy, don't you remember?"

"I said I could lead you to these Gith, and I will" Bishop answered. He seemed so unconcerned, and yet Phaedra sensed that there was something beneath that, a tension, a strain that she could not quite identify, but which told her stronger than words that something here, something about this journey, moved him far more than he was giving away. But what? "Whatever happens to the farmgirl once we get there…it's not my problem" The others met his cool indifference with equal parts stern silence and anger, what Phaedra saw in their eyes as they stared coldly at Bishop she scarcely recognised, it was evil pure and simple. And yet despite everything, despite his total lack of sympathy, she could not think of him in those terms. So was she being fooled? She didn't know, and was aware an answer would probably never come, but right now it didn't matter. They were committed to follow where Bishop led until whatever end this cursed pursuit brought them.

"Be that as it may, Bishop, we mean to return her to the Flagon safely" Casavir said at last, his voice shockingly cold "You will see this through also, if you intend to fulfil your obligation."

"Don't tempt me, paladin" Bishop growled "We've wasted enough time anyway, let's get moving, before they have they get sick of the farmgirl's whining and string her up" Phaedra was inexplicably relieved that they could move on as she gathered her things quickly together once again, slipping her quiver back into a comfortable position, brushing down her dusty, filthy robes. Even whatever charms they had within them had served little against the drudgery of the pursuit. To be sure, any disagreement in the group put her on edge, since it was invariably her who had to sort things out, but something about the rapidly widening maw between Bishop and…well everyone else, was somewhat more troubling than anything she had encountered yet. She couldn't deny that Bishop seemed to treat her differently to the others, but what to make of that? Had she made the kind of impact she had wanted to so much at the beginning of this trek? If so, it didn't feel like it. And it hadn't made things any different with Casavir either, who was just as prepared to shield her from Bishop at every given opportunity. She was tempted to think that Bishop spoke to her differently because she at least tried to treat him fairly, since he had helped them, grudgingly, which everyone else seemed to ignore. And yet, would a man like Bishop even care about that? Wait…why should this even bother her now? He was leaving soon enough, he was going to go the minute his debt was paid…so she came to this once again. Why was she so certain that she and Bishop weren't to be finished? There didn't seem to be an answer, but as she settled back into the rhythmic pace, right behind Bishop, her gaze alighting back in place upon the ranger's back, the tense and release of his powerful shoulders as he moved, the rippling of the muscles in his neck, she grew only more certain that something existed here that connected the two of them, that it could not be finished so soon. But how could she ever explain that to anyone else…it didn't even make any sense to her…

ooo0000ooo

This was it then; an open cave, a passage into the darkness within the mountain. It plunged into the grey rocks of the sheer cliff which loomed above it, casting a thick, long shadow across the floor of the gorge in which it was set. That darkness, it had to lead to the hive of the Githyanki, to the lair of these enemies whose eerie presence had haunted Phaedra from the very beginning of this journey. She felt a shiver of anticipation and fear run through her, could…it truly be? Their path… the old road on which they stood now led straight into the maw of the cave, which was framed by great stacks of rock, climbing up the cliff toward the clouded night sky. The road was less decrepit than before. The paving stones were whole in some places, showing signs of delicate artifice, and there were other small signs of human habitation. Above the cave entrance was what might once have been a collapsed pediment, the gorge was cluttered with chunks of old rocks, long eroded away, but some of which were graced by ancient carving. Though at any other time the mystery might well have fascinated Phaedra…right now though all she could think about was that shadowy cave, the darkness within it seemed to reach out to her, envelop her…

"That's it…?" Neeshka said carefully from Phaedra's side, her glib tone falling flat as she swallowed heavily, her eyes wide "This sure looks familiar and I'd been starting to miss the creepy caves too"

"They're here" Elanee murmured "I feel it…there is an imbalance in nature…"

"What exactly is our plan from here on?" Neeshka asked "Somehow, I'm not sure if marching straight in there is the best bet" They all glanced at Phaedra expectantly, she sighed, running a hand over her hair. To be frank she knew she hadn't thought of what they were going to do next, all that remained to her was her determination to rescue Shandra, and blind hope that they might reach the Githyanki before they came to this base of operations had sustained her up to the moment the awful truth reached out from that shadowed alcove. Truly she should have thought it through, have some idea of what they could do next. She'd left the decision to others, to Bishop of all people…if she was honest. For all her resolve, she hadn't been able to stop him rather taking over the running of things…since he determined their course forward and that was all that really mattered right now.

"There only ever was one option" She replied at last. At last she understood now, they had no choice…the way was open before them.

"Attacking head-on" Bishop nodded with satisfaction "I like it"

"I disagree" Casavir put in instantly, as though he feared it was more Bishop's idea than her own "There must be some kind of alternative. You know they will be ready, they will be waiting for us in there…"

"And may I remind you, we don't actually have a clue what exactly we'll find" Neeshka added, rubbing her arm with trepidation.

"It's the only way Neeshka, Casavir…" Phaedra glanced away from them as she spoke, her gaze falling on the peaceful, dark sky, oh Gods…what horrors awaited them there? She shuddered, wondering if possibly this might be the end of her quest, here in this darkness. Would it consume her, consume them all utterly? And yet they could not but go forward… "We've lost all our chances" She said bleakly "Shandra was kidnapped, then we were too slow to catch the Githyanki. Now, this is all we have left"

"The lass is right" Khelgar hefted his axe, giving his assent "We've always known it would come to this, we need to finish the Gith once and for all…"

"Shandra's in there…and she doesn't have a lot of time" Phaedra added quickly. She was what really mattered, beyond all talk of destroying the Githyanki…

"They may use her as a hostage, even kill her if we move precipitously" Casavir argued, was it just her imagination, or was he being more cautious than usual, to serve as an indirect foil to Bishop's forwardness?

"But if we stay here too long, she won't have any chance" Phaedra shook her head "It's the only way to save Shandra, and, I feel, to stop the Githyanki threatening West Harbour or anywhere else again." Vengeance or death…how grimly fatalistic, but she knew that her path had led her to this place. It had been inevitable from the moment the Githyanki had attacked her home, that she should have to face them, to drive them back…or lose everything. Casavir frowned, for a long moment he was silent, they all were silent, then…

"Very well" he sighed gravely "You know that best perhaps…" Neeshka shrugged, ready, it seemed, to admit herself overruled.

"Then we have to go" Phaedra said, turning to force herself to face the gaping maw of the cavern, and to step forward to the front as leader once again… "It's time…" Time to put fear behind her, time to fulfil her silent vows, to put a stop to the Githyanki, to save Shandra, to save West Harbour, and time, perhaps, at last to find something of the answers she had sought so long. Her hand ran over the pouch at her waist, feeling the hum of the energy of the three shards, their mingled power pulsing under her fingers. Everything that had come before seemed to have led her to a moment, this moment, and now all that was left to do was to walk forward…

And in that moment, as it came to its close, all of her fate came full circle, and she stood in a vast hall of stone, dim, flickering with the light of torches set up across the bare stone walls. Behind her, the light pierced into the sooty darkness from the high entrance through which she had stepped, and the others stood about her, her friends, Casavir, Elanee, Neeshka and Khelgar, and Bishop. Above, the ceiling was high, bare stone, almost lost to a deep veil of darkness, smoke hung heavy about them, from the flames it poured out in great billowing streams, and there, standing across from her, as though all the weeks of this journey fell away at once was the lordly, towering figure of the Githyanki who had led the attack on West Harbour, who had…killed Amie. He wore his ornate armour, black leather straps tied tight across his thin, muscular chest, and bore, at his side a long, curved sword, shimmering with the light of the torches. Phaedra gasped, suddenly every breath was a torment, she was plunged, in an instant, into a sea of anguish, her whole body shook. Her eyes were fixed on him seeing not only him but, standing behind him the ghostly figure of Amie as she had seen her last, a look of shock and agony frozen on her face, her heart pounded, as though it would burst through her ribs, hammering into her chest in an agony of anguish.

"Kalach-cha…" At once he saluted her by that alien name, and the sound of his voice was like glass being driven into her skull "Well, we meet once again…"

"Phaedra, be steady…" Casavir's hand fell upon her trembling shoulder. She turned on him, wild with the sudden storm within her. Her breath was harsh, raking her throat like a flame passed through her.

"I confess, I had been worried that another would earn the glory of your blood upon their blade" The Githyanki continued languidly "But you are a capable foe indeed, it will do me great honour to bring your head to Zeeaire"

"No!" Phaedra screamed, at once she tore herself from Casavir's grasp, terror and rage were all she felt, all she could think, she would…kill him! All magic fled from her, her mind could not seize upon it, fevered as it was, and spells vanished as though beneath a fog of rage. It didn't matter, she would kill him, she would cut him down! Catching sight of the short sword on Bishop's belt she lunged at the ranger and seized the hilt of the sword, but suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, gripping her so hard he seemed to crush the delicate bones in her arm. She screamed again, sobbing frantically and pulling at him, for Amie she had to kill him! She had to kill him! She tugged in vain at the hilt, but Bishop's grip was like iron, his face, as she threw back her head to glare at him, was expressionless. "Let me go! Let me go!" she cried "I…will…!"

"Phaedra!" Elanee was suddenly beside her, pulling at her shoulder "No!"

"No!" Phaedra shrieked "Let me go!"

"What are you doing?" The Githyanki's voice slipped in through the cracks, prising her open, burning deep within her, this monster… "Come, cease this foolishness. Face me as you truly are Kalach-cha."

"No!" She stuck out, pounded Bishop across the chest, but though all her strength had gone into the blow he did not even stagger. "Let me kill him…!" She screamed "He murdered her! Let me go!" Then suddenly he did, and the force of her own fury sent her sprawling backwards into the ground, but the sword came free in her hands, she did not know how. Instantly she was on her feet, she pulled it upward inexpertly

"No!" Casavir bellowed, starting for her, but she stumbled out of the way, screaming out all her anger and revenge she sprinted toward the Githyanki, fully intent on cutting his head from his shoulders.

"Enough!" the Githyanki roared, as she ran for him, trailing the sword behind her in both hands, crying out. He pulled back his free hand, the clawed fingers raking the air, and incantations brewed suddenly from his lips, there was a flash of light in his palm. Phaedra sprang forward on the last step, swinging back, then the spell exploded outward. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, a force of energy so great she was sent blasting backwards, slamming into the wall so hard she felt her body jack-knife forward, she fell to the floor, on her knees, gasping, tasting blood, the sword fallen beside her. The pain, ah Lathander, the pain, but it finally brought her back to herself. She gasped, he…could have killed her easily. It was exactly what Tarmas had said! How could she have lost control? "Coming to your senses then, Kalach-cha?" the Githyanki continued, as the others rushed to her side "Good, I am a Sword Stalker. I do not wish to fight you in such a crude manner. Show me your magic, Kalach-cha, make this fight worth something"

"Phaedra…" Elanee's whispered words brought warmth which spread through Phaedra's body, sweeping aside the pain, healing her… "He…wants you to duel him"

"I know…" Phaedra stood slowly, brushing the dirt from the Battle Robe

"Damn, there's no way we're playing by his rules" Neeshka snapped "Give me an opening, I'll cut his gullet open!"

"I think not" The Sword Stalker shook his head, his yellow eyes glinting "You shall have joy enough with my compatriots. This…is between the Kalach-cha and I, alone" As he spoke the shadows around him seemed to seethe, detaching themselves from the whole, thick darkness, movement, life, and a swarm of yellow eyes that glinted with unnatural strength and force; Githyanki, more Githyanki…

"Listen to me" Phaedra murmured to them all "Do not try to kill him. Attack the others but leave him to me"

"But…" Khelgar protested

"No…" Phaedra closed her eyes for a moment "I do not know what he will try to do, but this duel is going to be beyond anything I have ever faced. A moment's distraction and…"

"You die, I get it" Bishop crouched down to pick up his sword and sheathed it carefully back in the scabbard at his belt. He showed no sign of any reaction to what had happened, but nonetheless she wondered for an instant if he had let her go on purpose…to what end?

"We will take care of the others then" Casavir vowed, detaching shield and hammer from his back, taking them up in hand "Be careful my lady…"

"Give him the Hells" Neeshka whispered, as Phaedra took a step forward, and her at last power rose within her, there was nothing else now. Her mind emptied, she forced herself to focus on a single point, on a single figure before her, and she considered him carefully, keeping the tide of anger under control, she was stronger than this! Tall, sinuous, his ornate headdress fluttering as his power moved in response to hers, his sharp teeth flashed as a cold smile touched his pale lips, his mottled green skin flushed with anticipation.

"At last, it comes to this Kalach-cha" he said, his sword flashing as he brought it down to face her "You feel it as well, our fates have led to this moment, you, my worthy opponent. I, your destroyer…Zeeaire has well-rewarded me in giving me this chance to face you, to end this"

"What's he after?" Neeshka muttered "Normally they just attack us"

"Zeeaire allows me this luxury, knowing my prey makes their destruction all the sweeter" The creature gave a hoarse laugh.

"Zeeaire…?" Phaedra whispered, Casavir had said the Githyanki were apostate, they had no Gods, but they spoke of this figure as though she were one. This Sword Stalker was quite ready, it seemed, to talk before their duel began, and she wanted all the information she could pry from him.

"Our mistress, right hand of the Lich Queen" The Sword Stalker hissed, with reverent attention "She is our leader on this world. She waits below for the news I will bring her of your death"

"Zeeaire…" The other Githyanki around him murmured the name, so he was not their true leader as she had thought, there was one greater.

"We are the people of Gith, we are her children, we continue her war" the Sword Stalker intoned ritually… "Vlaakith is our Lich Queen, ordained by Gith to rule us for eternity, her word is our law and she has spoken that Zeeaire is to lead us here" Strange, their devotion was not to the Gods then, but to their own leaders. No wonder they were such a formidable and zealous people. "Zeeaire has ordained that I shall kill you and seize our shards that you have stolen, so it shall be"

"No…" Phaedra said, her voice, at first trembling, grew in strength as she stood straight, she was vengeance: for West Harbour, for Ember, for Shandra…and Amie. "You have killed my people, you have hounded me on my every step, and I have beaten you each time! Whatever you want, whoever leads you, I am going to wipe your people from my world!"

"How dare you, you wretch" the Sword Stalker snarled "Zeeaire's will is absolute! I am her instrument and I will destroy you, to her glory!" He raised his clawed hand, fingers clasped into a tight fist, and his power blazed outward, so that a flame appeared above his hand, a flame of pure magic, bright, hot but without smoke "I shall still your tongue Kalach-cha!"

"Stalker, there is movement below" One of the Githyanki beside him, indistinguishable from the others murmured, just audible to where Phaedra stood "We've lost contact…"

"Silence…!" The Githyanki Stalker struck him across the face violently, he scuttled away, accepting this without question, and the Sword Stalker turned to Phaedra once again, his eyes glinting with pure hatred "Your people never deserved freedom! We shall bind your world to our great war, as the Illithid once bound us!" At once his spell burst outward, great tongues, ropes of fire leapt from his hand, sweeping round in coils of burning fire which swept round toward her, searing into the air. Phaedra's response lifted a rippling tide of energy from the air, against which the flames dissipated instantly. Already her foe was on the offensive again, his harsh voice cracking as he spat forth arcane incantations, and a blaze of light burned in his hands. A searing ray of heat slammed toward her, in answer she wove a great shimmering icy tide, which, leaping from her hands, enveloped his spell then raced toward him. But he was fast, his sword swept through the air, he used it like a staff, to trace an arcane gesture into the air which poured out an answering wave of energy, cutting through her spell and shattering it into pieces which petered harmlessly against him. But he was not giving her a second's peace…already power gathered about him for the next spell, the next relentless attack.

All around them the cave exploded into battle as the others clashed with the Githyanki, but there was nothing more Phaedra could do for them. Her entire being was focused on the figure before her, on the volley of spells he launched her way, on the fluid shifting weave of defences she raised, was forced to raise, one after the other. Her spells strained, the Sword Stalker was on another level, in no duel she had fought so far had she faced a spellcaster of such artistry, such experience. His spells were great webs of incantations, blazing skeins of power which assaulted her in wave after wave, striving to undo her. He would feint, feigning a weaker spell, or an instant's hesitation, drawing her into the attack, then assaulting her back against a wall, he was playing her! Her power blazed, incandescent, in response to the surge of anger, he had killed so many! It would end here! She cast out a web of light, he quickly countered, slamming his sword into the substance of her spell and dispelling it with a murmured curse, but she seized the moment, and poured her power into the instant's advantage it gave her. Still he was untouched, his magic seared about him, and he pulled her spells from the air and dissipated them. It was like a dance, a deadly dance, each move she made he responded with his own, to his attacks she raised her own defences, his magic was so much more elegant than Ajah's, and her own had to be as complex.

Between them the air crackled, burning with arcane energy, they were two blazing fonts of light in the midst of the dark cave, facing each other across the expanse of bare rock, spells blazing between them, and around them, fire and lightning, ice, light, warring against each other between the sweeping sheathes of rippling light which surrounded the area in which they sparred, one mind against another. Energy cracked outwards, striking the air, the magic in the contained space was of such volume that the cave seemed hardly able to encompass it all, and light seared upwards as though it could have brought down the mountain in its sheer power.

It had to come to a resolution…the duel was so intense that both combatants were burning up power at a ferocious rate, she knew from the aching emptiness within her, and from the increasing desperation and hatred in the Sword Stalker's alien face. She strained, and he strained against her, growing more and more heated in the desperate fury that ignited his burning spells and the fury in his eyes. And yet despite his furious attacks, his bold strikes, her magic was not giving way in the slightest. It defied even her own understanding of its limitations, let alone the expectations she had read in his face, that she would crumble quickly before his superior power. But as she drew more and more from within herself, she felt a hint of the agonising ecstasy that had enraptured her twice before now, and knew her magic, with that seed of otherwordly force within it, had its own ideas, and it would buoy her up as long as was needed. And yet she fought almost as hard as she duelled with the Githyanki Sword Stalker to make sure that only drops of the precious power drained into her, she did not wish to lose control as had happened before, lose herself to it. It defied her though, slipping within every moment she was distracted with the spells she flung at him, raking across her mind and daring her to let go entirely. But he was losing his magic, she saw it in his desperate eyes, in the way the light around him dulled…if only she could hold onto herself a moment longer, the tension of containing it was almost unbearable, as though she were a vessel filled to bursting.

Then, at once, just before she had to let go, there was a snap, even she felt it, across the blazing tides of connection that ran between her and him, two souls locked together in battle, the snap that told her in one instant that he had lost, that he had no more to throw into the fight. In the next instant, though, alight amidst a haze of fierce rage, he leapt for her…and his long, curving sword cut outwards into the air with a high-pitched screech. For a moment Phaedra scarcely understood what he was doing, her own magic drew back around her protectively as her arms fell back to her sides, and he sprang forward on a single step, a figure marked out in a hellish light…Gods he was running at her! He was attacking her! She had time to take a single step back, throwing out her arms, and a stream of light seared outwards from her, a barrage of magic she flung at him with all the strength she could muster. But even as the spell slammed into him, its fierce light burning around his gleaming armour in incandescent blaze, he did not stop, or even slow, not even to stop the spell, he…ran straight into it, and it caught alight around him. He screamed out, his lips parted in a helpless rictus of pain, as his ornate costume burst into flame, but still he kept coming, and Phaedra staggered back, barely able to move.

Then he reached her, and his sword swung down towards her. He was screaming unintelligibly, screaming with all his zealous fury that would defy even his own imminent death to kill her, the object of all his hatred, but Phaedra couldn't hear him, only the incipient scream that was beginning in her own throat as she threw back her arms. Terror roared in her head…and the blade sunk into her shoulder and then pain was all she knew, pain and the rush of blood that splattered across the ruined folds of her gown. A thought, a spark of lucidity, amidst the blazing agony arose in her mind that perhaps this was how things were meant to go, that she should die under his sword as she slew him. She fell back, throwing out her arms, and a flood of her blood onto the stone, and he fell with her, burning, and dying, and his eyes were upon her own, and there was fear in them, fear and loathing, dark yellow eyes that had haunted her so long…ah Gods, this was like some nightmare…why should she die like this? And it hurt…so much, and she was so frightened…she didn't want to die, all her resolve, all her faith…seemed to flee her grasping heart. Tears blurred her gaze…

The next minute, a near-eternity of agony, he was dead upon her, his eyes closed against the fury within them, his body over hers, wounded and broken. She could feel no rush of relief, no sense of triumph that she had killed him at last, for there was nothing but pain. Her eyes fluttered, she breathed out in a great heaving sob, but still she felt no cold touch of death upon her heart, no numbing of the pain, her shoulder was split open, she could feel the sword still within her, jarring against the bone, dug into her body, but the pain seemed to be everywhere, and the blood, warm and slick, trickled down her arm. Wait…the sword had only touched her bone…it had gone no further…oh Lathander, was she to live after all? How could anyone live through this?

"Get that off her!" Voices…through a fog of pain, she knew that voice…Elanee, panicked, shrill… "Phaedra! Phaedra!" And the Githyanki's body was pulled from her, and shoved to the side…and she lay back, looking up into the ceiling, still soot-stained and smoky of this huge towering chamber. "Phaedra? Can you hear me?" She tore her gaze from the ceiling, though even the tiny movement of her neck sent a stabbing pain through her whole body. A cracked, hoarse scream left her lips, but her eyes found Elanee's soft gaze above her, green eyes as soothing as a forest clearing, but filled with glistening tears of shock that sparkled like the touch of dew.

"Elanee…" She gasped, through lips that suddenly seemed swollen and sore and tasted of blood, she had bitten down so hard in the anguish of her injury.

"It's okay Phaedra, it's okay…" Elanee's voice wound around her, an embrace of gentleness so tender that it almost dulled the pain for one precious instant, then the elf looked sideways to one of the others, and Phaedra could only whimper helplessly against the agony raking through her. "Get her up, quickly" She felt an arm around her waist, and knew it instantly, Casavir…the strength, yet the reserved gentleness of the touch was unmistakable, and he drew her up against him. Her side was pushed up against the cold, unyielding surface of his armour and she screamed again…ah Lathander, it hurt so much. Casavir shuddered, loosening his grip, she felt his keening worry and anguish for her in each movement of his body, but she still could not see his face. Elanee was before her again, swimming before her eyes amidst a fog of tears, she whispered something…a prayer to Silvanus Earthfather…

"You've got to get the sword out of her" Bishop snapped, she could not see where it was…where he was, but something in his voice held more emotion, wild, savage and raw, than she had ever heard from him before.

"It's jammed" Casavir answered, and for the first time his voice did not hold that coldness when he spoke to Bishop. It wavered, as he shook, holding her against his trembling chest "It's lodged under the shoulderblade"

"Then I'll just rip it out, damn it!" Bishop snarled "She's losing too much blood" She felt it the moment he seized the hilt of the sword, the jarring of the blade ripped her shoulder open even further and she cried out helplessly…trying to raise a hand, to stop him…just a moment longer…oh Gods…

"Bishop!" Casavir growled, his voice harsh at her ear.

"Hells paladin, your heart's bleeding worse than she is" His every touch on the hilt sent a shaking pain down its blade into her. "This is coming out, or else she dies…"

"I can't heal her" Elanee shuddered "Not while it's there…"

"Exactly" Suddenly she felt Bishop close to her, so close to her, and his voice, when he spoke to her then, seemed to speak to her alone, as though no one, not even Casavir who held her was there with them. "Come on girl, I know you're stronger than this…" Yes, she could…ah…she could endure the pain…

"Take it out" She gasped, letting her head fall back against Casavir so that she could see him for an instant. His hands were grasped tight over the ornate hilt in their leather gauntlets, that grip was so tight, how could she not feel it anymore? His eyes were fixed on her's. "Do it, now"

"If it's an order" He pulled at once, and she saw no more. For an instant all consciousness dissolved in a burning spark of pain that struck like a hammer blow, if anything before had been beyond enduring, what she felt now was beyond even that. A tide that swept her away…agony, agony beyond anything…so that she felt as if she would just give way entirely, she longed to with what vestiges, what ribbons of consciousness flashed across the sweeping roaring flood of pain, but her stubborn body, her stubborn mind, would not let go. But then she felt it, a touch of…something else other than pain, something warm, like a summer sun on the Mere, something soothing like the touch of Amie's hand in her own…and with all her being she seized upon it. It rocked her, it held her…and she rejoiced with a child's pure joy as it slowly spread within her, touching the wound in her shoulder, wrapping all the pain within a beautiful warmth that dulled it, that brought it back into her…and she wept, her tears warm, sweet upon her lips…the tears of a child. Just as the pain had swept aside herself for a moment, now relief dulled herself…she felt scarcely real, as though it were a dream…and she was alive, blessedly alive…

And then she was here again, and she was herself again…lying back against the cold metal of Casavir's armour, and the blood upon her arm was drying, stiff and foul-smelling mess, and her robes were ripped apart at the shoulder. Her cheeks were wet, her vision a blurred mess, but the pain was gone. Gone entirely…she looked over to her shoulder, saw Elanee's hands upon her, and felt the soft touch of the elf's fingers. Elanee's eyes were closed, her concentration intense and a soft blue light that glimmered about her whole body flowed gently into Phaedra. She could almost feel the skin knitting back together, a slight tingling sensation, the itch of healing ran down through her skin, but there was no pain anymore and the tension left her body. She collapsed into Casavir, who held her with an almost aching gentleness, scrupulously avoiding touching her more than was necessary. And it was gone, then, the wound was gone…though her blood still stung her nostrils with its metallic tang, though her robe still fell over in a great rent upon her neck, her shoulder was healed entirely, the pale flesh unmarked by scar or cut. She glanced again at Elanee, awe-struck and the elf smiled weakly, falling back onto her knees, wan and spent…how much power had it taken?

"Thank you" Phaedra whispered, her voice was still hoarse from the weight of the incantations she had wrought in the great battle with the Sword Stalker, but it trembled with gratitude nonetheless. Elanee had saved her, once again…saved her from that terrible pain…her mind recoiled from the memory, her skin might be unmarked now, but scars remained nonetheless…she didn't want…to feel that ever again. "Is everyone else…?" To her relief, the others were standing near, Khelgar's axe nicked and bloody, though he himself was untouched, Neeshka looked exhausted from the rigour of the tightly fought battle within the small space. It wasn't what she was used to, but she had obviously done all she could. Last, of course, Bishop, standing slightly apart, and holding the great curved sword that was streaked halfway down the length of its blade with Phaedra's own blood. She gazed at him for a moment, remembering his words back as she had lain upon Casavir's shoulders, the fierceness of his eyes as they had shared…something then. She didn't quite know what…

"Shandra isn't here" Neeshka said, sheathing her blade "They must have taken her deeper into the caves"

"They've taken her to Zeeaire" Phaedra nodded slowly, laying a hand on Casavir's shoulder as the paladin helped her stand upright, his indomitable strength buoying her up, as always. She remembered all too well the fervent devotion of the Githyanki to their leader. Whoever this Zeeaire was, she would be powerful and masterful, but they had to fight her if she stood between them and Shandra.

"Be careful Phaedra" Elanee warned, standing herself "You're still weak" Yes, her legs still trembled, it took a few seconds leaning on Casavir still to balance herself. She felt…drained, weaker, fragile. And her shoulder was still stiff, and ached, as she adjusted her bow upon her back. With much of her magic burned off in the fierce duel it would be all she could rely on now. But there was no question of going back…

"You must stay back, my lady" Casavir advised, as she stepped hesitantly away from him "And Elanee, you should as well. No doubt the danger will grow only greater as we descend, and I do not wish to see either of you harmed any further"

"Yes, of course" Phaedra answered, drawing her cloak over the rent in her robes, she would have to have Sand look at it for her… "We have to go on" They had already given so much, but there was more to come…of that she was certain.

There was then no more to be said, they began to move quickly. Phaedra allowed herself to fall to the back, taking down her bow from her shoulders. The others walked on in front, but as she came to the corpse of the Githyanki Sword Stalker, the limp, broken, burned…indeed pitiful body lying face down against the rock, she found herself stopping suddenly and gazing down upon her enemy, her nightmare. His ornate costume was rent to pieces, and burnt into ashen powder, broken by the violence of the last spell she had cast against him. He seemed like nothing, just a dead body. She willed herself to feel something, anything. Anger perhaps, the anger that had driven her to beat him, or exultation, or relief, but there was nothing in her heart but a heavy numbness, cold and empty. None of this changed the past, none of it changed what had happened…Amie. Slowly she let herself collapse to her knees by him…unsure of what she was doing, of what she wanted, and her gaze trailed down the horrific wounds she had wrought in his corpse…but not even disgust would touch her.

"What did you really want, coming here?" Bishop, she glanced up. He was standing there, just by her, though the others had moved on towards the tunnels ahead. "It wasn't really about the farmgirl, was it?" She frowned, gazing up at him, what was he saying, what did he want? "You needed revenge" He pronounced the word with satisfaction, as though it solved a mystery about her he had been pondering.

"I…you would never understand it" She whispered softly, exhaustedly. She didn't even want to explain to him. Shandra, she had come here to save Shandra, she had to save her and everyone else, and stop these Githyanki, but how much of it was…revenge, for the hurt they had inflicted upon her more than anything else? Amie…did not care…it didn't matter to her, wherever she was now, that this monster was dead. So was it then only for her own revenge, for herself? Perhaps it was, she did not know anymore. It was just so hard to make sense of…all of it…her own anger, her own pain…most of all…

"He hurt you, so you killed him. It's simple enough" Bishop crouched down by her, his gaze alighted upon the Sword Stalker's richly garbed corpse for a moment, then it swept up to meet hers, even and cool.

"It doesn't matter anyway" Phaedra answered quietly, lowering her head "It didn't change what happened…"

"You're not afraid anymore, that's changed" Bishop answered, his voice was soft, low, compelling. It took her an instant to comprehend what he was saying, when she did, she turned to him, startled, to find he was already standing "It isn't over yet girl…" he said, he was not looking at her anymore, but forward into the cave, where the others had stopped, just realising that she and Bishop were not with them "Your farmgirl's still waiting…" Wordlessly she clambered up, and brushed down her robe, whatever else he had said, in this he…was right…


	43. Chapter 43

_Hooray! I've finished exams! Now I'm free of the oppresion of the 'real world' at least for a little while, we can return to more important matters, namely Phaedra and friends' continuing journey. _

_This is mainly a sort of story chapter-building up mysteries, introducing key concepts and characters for later, and suchlike. You'll have to wait till next time for the epic showdown with Zeeaire, unfortunately, but this helps to set the scene for that at least. _

_Thanks for reading! And we're drawing alarmingly close to the end of Act 1...when we'll begin to see some changes. But more on that later..._

_Kindest regards,_

_Arc Ascendent :)_

The caves below were largely, inexplicably empty, empty of all life, Githyanki or otherwise. They travelled in single-file, along the narrow craggy passages, a winding web of tunnels which led inexorably downward, Casavir took the lead, Khelgar behind him, then Neeshka, Elanee, Phaedra and finally Bishop. There were no torches here, and no light and so Phaedra's simple light spell hovered above, bathing the path ahead in a warm, blue glow, though behind them there was only a thick darkness which was heavy upon Phaedra's shoulders. The emptiness only added to the intense claustrophobic feeling to the branching, curving tunnel they followed, though there was only ever one way forward, a fact which struck Phaedra as highly unnatural. Perhaps it was the product of Githyanki artifice, or perhaps something even older, belonging to whoever had sculpted the road outside. Still there wasn't much space to think for very long, always her thoughts returned to the emptiness. It was as though it was a being in itself, pressing, malevolent. It was possible that the Githyanki, having seeded their entryway with such a powerful ambush, including their most powerful lieutenant, might have chosen not to line these tunnels with further traps. or guards. It was possible, but it was also highly unlikely. Something was wrong, it tingled at the edge of touching, of awareness, a sense that there was something unnatural here. It was hard to think straight as it was, she was exhausted. Nothing could be focused on for more than a few seconds, and still, beneath the surface, her thoughts rang with a vague feeling of confusion, questioning her every motive.

"Stop" Neeshka froze suddenly mid-step, lowering her head, her eyes fluttered, deep concentration hardening the angular lines of her face "I just picked up something, strong" She murmured, her voice strained for a moment "Not sure what it is, but it's in my blood"

"It's not the Githyanki then" Casavir shook his head. She could not see his face, but by the tension in his jaw, in sharp relief from the light behind him, she could see how on edge he was. "Definitely not"

"If Neeshka feels this, it must be a demon" Elanee surmised cautiously, a conclusion which nonetheless made Phaedra's heart skip a beat. She was right, Neeshka, on account of her tiefling blood could only have picked up some kind of response if there were infernal creatures present. Ice ran through Phaedra's veins…

"A demon, or a devil" Neeshka nodded "But I'm thinking there's more than one…"

"Are they with the Gith, or what…?" Khelgar asked

"Impossible to say" Casavir replied "Whatever the case is, we must be very careful from now on" He motioned forward and they moved on, with much more caution in their steps than before, demons…could it be truly? Phaedra knew a little, as every mage did, of the infernal planes, the Abyss, and the Hells, and their respective denizens, demons and devils. If they were here, they had to have been summoned. Could it have been by the Githyanki, or someone, or something, else?

"Things never stay simple with you, do they?" Bishop's voice rumbled in the darkness. "And I was just starting to get comfortable around here"

At once they then rounded a corner, and Neeshka gave a gasp, clutching at her forehead where were her stubby horns, which Phaedra had come to hardly notice anymore, her eyes flashed. Phaedra staggered to her side, and laid a hand on her arm. She looked up suddenly…

"They're close…" she gasped

"No lass, they're already here" Khelgar said grimly, and Phaedra, and Neeshka, both glanced up in horror for the passageway had suddenly opened up. There was another great hall of stone ahead, a curved ceiling, high, the craggy, rough walls to each side were distant. There was no torches, but it was alive with a burning, flickering light that ran over the walls like water weaving amongst the shadows. At its centre, it burned outward from a single point, from a man. He stood with his back to them in a long robe of a simple weave, a leathery colour. It hung down to his ankles, and was held up around the waist with a thick, rough belt, on this was hung a long, thin scabbard, ornately crafted with a spiralling pattern in gold, the blade which emerged from within it glowed, seeming to drip sparks to the plain stone floor. His head was bald but the thick beard he wore over his chin was just visible, the hair was a sort of ashy copper, his skin was ruddy though lined with age, she could almost glimpse the veins pulsing with life under the skin stretched tight over his skull.

But what she saw with her second sight, the sense of magic, was both more shocking and fearsome than even his appearance. He writhed with power, an awful power, completely untamed, practically exploding out of him like an inferno contained within a single man. It was like nothing she had ever seen, so powerful, so wild, no spell could contain such a force. What kind of magic was this? It was impossible, no wizard, not even a sorcerer, could contain this energy. Then, suddenly she knew and Tarmas' voice echoed in the vaults of her mind. A warlock, this man was a warlock. He could cast no spell, would not, for his magic was a force of violent fury that stemmed from a force within, often infernal blood or infernal contracts. It would simply blast from him, without any coherent artistry, simply a terrible force that would annihilate everything in its path. It would be awesomely superior, even in a novice warlock barely coming to terms with this power, to the average conventional mage, though only those with an innate gift for such power could follow this dread path, and they were rare indeed. If they did their so-called invocations were overwhelmingly destructive, they commanded fire, negative energy, poison, but many showed a talent for summoning and controlling infernal beings which explained this man's dread entourage.

Towering above him, against the wall, was a monstrosity taller than any man, and so thick across the shoulder it barely seemed contained in the hallway, it was covered in a straggly down the colour of steel, its shoulders were spiked, and it seemed to have no neck. Its head was bowed close to its chest to gaze down with beady red eyes to the warlock, they sparked with unspeakable malevolence and rage, she was suddenly struck with a horrific odour as she gazed at it, like rotting flesh. It was some kind of demon, although what kind she could not say. But there were others, others she could not but recognise. Flanking the warlock on either side were two such creatures, almost women, though impossibly sensuous, with skin flushed with warmth, sparkling black eyes, they wore little more than diaphanous veils of silk that shifted in the torchlight. But glance to their backs and any thought that these were women faded instantly, for exploding from their shoulders, vast, spined, huge, dark wings, shaped like the wings of a bat, fluttering to caress the air. They were demons, true demons, known as the Succubus. They were creatures of passion, as all demons were, but their chosen passion was lust, temptation of mortal men. To love a Succubus though was death, after one night their prey would be left drained of all life. Other, smaller demons, winged, their bodies barely the size of a human skull, with bat wings, crimson, with gleaming eyes clustered around them, Imps, lesser Demons. Impossible…nothing could have prepared Phaedra for facing demons, for knowing that she would have to fight these monsters, with all their fearsome powers. Not even the Githyanki could be worse, and, if that were not enough, that warlock. She staggered, once again witnessing the power writhing beneath his flesh as though aching to be free, how could they hope to fight him? Even at full strength she knew no spell of hers that could combat the fury of a warlock's power. She longed to step back, but feared even to move, terror pulsed icy in her veins.

"Deal with the Githyanki leader Zaxis" At once the warlock spoke, addressing the dread creature in front of him, that towering mass, his voice echoed, filled with unnatural strength, across the cavern. "And retrieve the shards from her." So they were indeed enemies of the Githyanki, and looking for the shards. The part of her that was still able to think churned with this new information. She did not know quite what to do with it, all she knew was that if they sought the shards then they would have to come for her…

"At once, master" The demon spoke. Its breath, a rancid stench which rolled across the cavern, reached Phaedra's nostrils a second later, she gagged, her eyes filled with tears, but once they'd cleared she saw, to her astonishment, that the demon was shambling off with its great steps that shook the hall, retreating deeper into the cave as ordered. It was leaving, perhaps the warlock had not noticed them yet…

"So, another player enters our game" Her heart leapt into her mouth as the warlock turned suddenly. The Succubus Demons and Imps followed him automatically and her gaze suddenly met the fearsome eyes of these terrible creatures, but it was to him that she was most drawn. His face was lined, but there was such authority, such ageless force, in it that she could not have guessed his age, though the straggly, rough beard he wore thick over his cheeks and chin was greying, once it must have been red, coppery. He wore a tattoo, an ornate design, over the whole of his face. It was a demonic sigil of some kind, stretching like a gruesome spider up his forehead, lines chased down past his eyes, which were burning and yellow, shockingly intense, to his cheeks. It was drawn in ink which glowed ghost-like in the gloom of the cavern, a terrible, hellish light like a flame. His eyes too burned yellow in the darkness, with an unnatural light at their heart as though his spirit burned through. "A powerful opponent indeed…" His brow furrowed, his gaze growing more intense. It focused upon Phaedra alone, ignoring all the others, as though he were trying to scour something from her mind. She could not speak, could not react, around him his power coiled in great ugly strands, it was a vision of monstrosity. "Who are you?" He rasped, Phaedra couldn't have answered…

"Ah, master, she is lovely" The sibilant voice of a Succubus, so different to their master's rough, gravely tones, echoed across Phaedra's frozen mind. "So lovely, fresh and warm and innocent…pure" She purred, there was a blood-chilling menace in the sensuous lushness of her voice "And she is prolific too" The creature grinned across their master at the other of their number "Look at all the men she has with her, all of different shapes and sizes too…"

"Ah, the subtleties of divination escape me" The warlock's voice rumbled in the darkness, his power withdrew somewhat, coiling around him "And I sense nothing. For a moment I thought I felt…impossible" He shook his head, as though purging it of unwanted and unlooked-for thoughts, and the hard determination of ages settled over his rough countenance "I do not care why you have stumbled upon this place, girl" He growled "But power or no, I cannot let you leave. Too much hangs in the balance here" He lifted his hand, and at once his power erupted. What she had sensed before was nothing, nothing, to this. It was a towering inferno, a great mass of coiling strands of magic, all infernal, all darkness. Everything evil and foul and unspeakably powerful wound around this man…and it wove into the air, reaching, as he did…towards them. Oh Gods, Phaedra let out a squeal…this was it, they couldn't fight this.

"Wait, master" One of the succubus demons started forward towards him, but stopped short the moment he turned to her. A shudder ran through her shoulders, her wings fluttering with agitation as his burning gaze hardened upon her, his fury at the interruption enough to intimidate even so fearsome and horrific a creature. What kind of man was he that he could terrify a demon? What kind of monster? "You gave us leave to advise you if you needed it, master" The succubus began hesitantly, each word offered slowly and carefully as though she knew well that the wrong one meant obliteration. "Now…I see these petty adventurers come to disturb you when so much is at stake…" She tutted, a light giggle leaving her lips, as confidence lightened her statuesque bearing since he made no move to react, as of yet, his countenance entirely impassive. "Let us handle them for you then. We are more than capable of it, and we have your lesser servants in our care already. You have so much to do already…" She looked up coyly, a sensuous smile touched her lips, but in her eyes burned unspeakable desire. "It will be pleasurable" She murmured, oh Gods, she longed to kill them herself, kill them or worse, that was the only reason she had risked confronting her master.

"Ah…" He rasped, considering for a moment, his hand hovering in the air, as power writhed around him, completely ungovernable, a devouring, sweeping fury, and yet he held it in place with as little effort as she would use to control the smallest cantrip. "No doubt this is Blooden's doing, yes?" He said harshly, as the Succubus trembled before mastering herself once again "Her imprisonment is a trial for her, so she wishes her servants to play in her stead, is that it?" She did not answer "But…" He paused for a moment, and before Phaedra's trembling, uncertain gaze and the sense of magic beyond that, his power began to move once again. It shifted, amidst the shadows, winding in and around and above him, great strands of infernal energy, burning, wild and vicious. "I suppose they are not as strong as I had thought, and I do not have time to waste upon annihilating such weak, ignorant fools as they" He stepped back slowly, backing into the shadows at the base of the cave's sloping wall, and the darkness fell in around him, but his gleaming yellow eyes still burned, fixed upon Phaedra "Yes, kill them, all of them" The warlock said softly, but his words resonated within the darkness of the cave, and within Phaedra's mind also. There was more to this, to him, but how to even think of this as she stood there rooted in place by terror? And yet her heart resounded with his words, and his eyes, that never left her face with the hint of searching in their burning depths, had such a weight to them… "Count yourselves fortunate" He growled "What small suffering my servants may grant is as nothing to the price you should pay for disturbing what you could never understand"

He stepped back slowly once again, and his power towered above him, burning in the flames of its awful magnificence, so that it seemed to scorch the ceiling above him, weaving amidst the shadows. Like two vast, demonic wings it unfurled outwards, swathing the tall, imposing figure of the warlock in a penumbra of sweeping, raging, wild power, then slowly it folded in around him and enfolded him in a smoky, bloody light so that his form seemed to dissolve into the shadows around it…and so it was…at the last his gaze fell once again on Phaedra, a frown touched his thin lips, something considering in the glint in his eyes, then he was gone, and the aching sense of his power gone with him. It was some kind of teleportation, strong magic, very strong, though he had used only a fraction of his power to accomplish it. She could only surmise, in the next moment of stillness, that the warlock had some kind of bond to the place he was travelling, otherwise he would never have approached such a feat so casually. But then the two Succubus Demons, and their horde of Imps, began to move slowly, spreading out into the hallway, their hungry eyes scanning those arranged against them. In the face of such malevolence, she could only stagger back, drawing her bow from her shoulders with trembling hands…but as the echo of the warlock's power faded from her mind, her resolve hardened and she knew that, whatever they had just witnessed had been, they had to slay these creatures, or all would be lost. She refused to let that happen…demons, or no…

oo000oooo

Even with everything she had done so far and what she knew she had to do yet, fighting Demons was not an experience Phaedra knew she was ever likely to forget. The Imps, though small, were fearsome indeed, attacking unerringly for weak points and almost impossible to hit with arrows. They commanded some small magic as well as all Demons, whose bodies were substance of the primal chaos of the Abyss, did but it was nothing to the power the Succubus Demons unleashed. They had commanded a great skein of enchantments to weaken the mind, to compel it, like nothing Phaedra could ever have imagined but Casavir's presence was like a great light breaking through the fogs of magic they wove. As a paladin, such a thing was only natural. The Demons were one of the chief enemies which the Gods of Law and Good, such as Tyr, equipped their holy warriors to fight, everything about Casavir opposed these fiends. Much as he had been against the undead in Old Owl Well, he was critical to their eventual triumph. But, once it was done, it was Bishop who voiced the question that weighed heavily upon them all…

"So, is anyone going to explain what in the Hells that was?" The ranger growled, once the cavern had fallen silent, and they stood for a moment amidst the corpses of the fallen Demons, rank with the stench of death and dark magic. "Did you forget to tell me something, maybe?"

"Maybe" Neeshka, clearly worn down and on edge from the infernal traces whirling in the air still though their foes were defeated, replied snappishly "Or maybe you just didn't listen hard enough…"

"I don't think so" Bishop shrugged, with that knife-edge of pointed threat in even this most casual of movements "I've been listening very hard…" Somehow he made even that sound menacing, a promise that he knew more than he had revealed yet…

"Look, Bishop…" Phaedra stepped forward, her voice weary and hoarse. She raised her hands in an attempt to be conciliatory, but her patience stood upon a wire. No one had expected this heart-stopping revelation; a new enemy, one who commanded a magic she had never thought to encounter, one so rare that even Tarmas had spoken but briefly of it…where had that warlock come from? She had seen not a shadow of his footsteps, now to pile more mysteries upon everything she had to contend with he appeared before her. His words had revealed so little, she was still trying to sort out the repercussions of what he had said. "None of us knew that was coming, alright? And none of us have seen anything like that before…that man, that warlock…"

"Didn't Sand say that the murders in the Blacklake were the work of infernal magic?" Elanee murmured softly, but the words had such a shocking implication that silence fell in their wake. And yet they rang true nonetheless, a warlock commanding demons, could this be the explanation the Watch had sought for in vain? If so, that man who had stood before them wreathed in his power was the one behind the murders…but even if that were true it only raised far more questions than it answered. And there were far more disturbing implications at hand…

"He said he was…searching for the shards" Phaedra looked down, clasping at the pouch at her belt protectively, feeling the hard edges of the three shards under her grasp. "That means he'll come after me…"

"He may not be aware that you possess them" Casavir answered "Otherwise surely he would not have left it to the demons to kill us?" Phaedra's shuddered, somehow she knew that it would never be so simple. How could she ever hope to hide anything from that man, from those eyes…that had touched her so deeply, seeming to rip from her everything she held so close?

"Yeah, he underestimated us" Khelgar nodded with satisfaction. "But we made short work of it, anyway" Nonchalantly he wiped the thick scarlet blood from his axe blades upon the stone…Phaedra shot him a confused glance. He could not have sensed the magic about the warlock as she had, that storm, that vision of the Hells in all their ravaging fury and devouring famine, magic so violent and virulent that it still even now sang its dirge in her mind. And yet still it seemed impossible that he should face it with such indifference as he did, as though it were simply some other enemy. Was she the only one who understood? She felt for a moment the isolation of being a mage, that had so haunted her once in West Harbour.

"So, just another enemy then?" Bishop's hooded gaze settled on her "How many is that now?" She had no answer, there was just so much interweaving within this journey she had begun, she could scarcely make sense of it herself.

"Come, we must move on now" Casavir quickly took the lead, Phaedra noticed with a rush of relief. She felt far too exhausted, weighted down by fear, to do so herself. "We cannot leave Shandra caught between these two enemies" He was right, in the end, that warlock's purpose here mattered less than saving Shandra from the Githyanki, and from his demonic servants, if it came to that. If only she could convince her instincts of that, as they still fogged her mind with the remembrance of her terror.

As they descended deeper they found the corpses of more Githyanki, slaughtered where they stood by these Demons, crushed, smashed into the walls, most probably by that vast awful form from before. What a foe was this creature, that it could brush aside the Githyanki so easily? But here too, as they descended, did the evidence of this place being an ancient ruin became clearer and clearer. The rough, rocky tunnel became a delicate passageway, with carefully crafted blocks of stone fitted in the walls and often the hints of ancient carvings, even murals, carved into the rock. The floor became a mosaic, intricate, with sweeping circular patterns in darker flecks of stone, the ceiling was high and vaulted. It had a sad serenity to it and despite everything a strange peacefulness found its way into Phaedra's heart, beneath even the roiling tensions of what she had to do. It was like that time, back in the ruins in the midst of the swamp with Bevil, then as now she found a momentary comfort in the mournful ancient ruins, could these ruins here also be of that ancient empire, Illefarn?

But soon she had to abandon her contemplation, and that sense of peace slipped from her grasp, for they came to a place where the ruins were the most complete so far, a square in the midst of this cave, with stairs leading down from where they now stood. It was lined with delicate fluted columns, the remains of ancient statues, and it was alight with a blaze aside which Phaedra's tiny light spell was as nothing. For here, in the centre of this room, was another figure which set Phaedra's spirit on edge, sending her heart pounding with a new fear. A figure who was tall and imperious, who wore rich robes of a sumptuous deep blue hue, lined along its edge by crimson. It seemed a man, for its dark hair was cut short, and its features, set amidst pale skin of a hue that was actually closest to pale blue, were elegant, refined but very masculine. However upon his forehead, this man, well he was not a man at all, had two horns, set just beneath his hairline, and his eyes, the heart of all Phaedra's fear, large, gleaming, a vivid, lurid yellow, the pupils deep red and alight with an ageless intensity. This…was another of the demons, and one far more powerful. He commanded magic, she sensed that at once, but it was not like the magic of the warlock, although indeed subtly different to any other power she had so far sensed. It had a depth to it, a profundity that was warded but did not threaten, as though she stared into a starlit ocean. Behind him, set into the passageway that should have led them onwards, was a magical barrier, a great, lucent thing, incandescent with power. It swirled with unruly energy, a barrier blocking them? And this creature was no doubt the source, would they have to kill him to dispel it?

Suddenly, and to her intense surprise, the creature before them raised his hand, the clawed fingers curled in a gesture she suddenly realised was to beckon them forward. Indeed there was nothing threatening in his posture, he seemed totally calm, entirely composed…

"That is no demon" she hardly heard Casavir's whispered warning in her ear "He is a Devil, a baatezu…and one of great power. Do not heed anything he says"

"Come, be not afraid" The devil spoke, his voice was haunting, pure and resonant "I am well and truly bound" Phaedra gasped as he gestured to the floor before him. Set around him, a clear circle of light, of magic, that gleamed almost as radiantly as the barrier behind him. Runes flickered within its substance, a summoning circle…binding this creature here…a weave of bindings and protective charms, dazzlingly complex…

"Lass?" It was Khelgar. She glanced up, tearing her eyes from the hypnotic power of the magic that bound this devil captive and met the dwarf's eyes "Is he telling the truth? Or are we going to fight?"

"He…is telling the truth" Phaedra nodded slowly "That…circle, he cannot do anything from within it. It binds him here" Somehow it seemed unlikely that so ancient and powerful a being should be so bound, but such a circle was impossible to breach. A Devil, though, especially one as powerful as this, would have no need of any kind of mobility to still be able to ensnare its victims.

"True, true enough" The Devil smiled, it was a surprisingly benign expression, even set within his ghastly, inhuman face "Therefore, come closer, mortals. I feel…that a short discussion will aid us both immeasurably"

"Phaedra?" Casavir caught her arm, his eyes glinted with concern, his voice, a whisper of warning "Be very careful, he will seek to ensnare us all"

"Yes…" Phaedra breathed in deeply "I will…" With his warning given, Casavir fell back, a protective presence at her shoulder, and she stood, once more, at the front of the group. She would speak with this Devil, as leader here, and break through its wiles. As she stepped slowly down each stair, her footsteps echoing through the grand hall, the Devil's eyes fell upon her, a burning flame at their heart and she considered what she knew of their kind. Sworn enemies of the Demons, they were creatures of guile and subtlety, cool and passionless. Custodians of the Hells, they oversaw the punishment of those damned to those terrible climes, and thus followed a code and law of sorts. But their purpose was just as malevolent as the Demons, they simply worked differently, through contracts, made and broken, through manipulation…she would have to be very careful what she said here.

"Yes…much as I expected" The Devil murmured, but his soft words echoed through the hallway, his gaze passed over each of them, burning with knowledge and wisdom as yet untold. "You have come, at last"

"You expected us?" Elanee gasped

"Don't believe a word of it" Neeshka snapped "Typical planar double-talk" But as the Devil's gaze passed over her, she reared back, with clear shock flashing over her face. What did she see in his eyes?

"Time is fluid, truth is eternal" The Devil answered placidly "My domain is of the second." That didn't answer the question, but nor had Phaedra expected it to. Clearly this Devil was mighty, and information was power to such creatures. She did not know what breed of Devil he was, but he would not reveal anything unless it was to benefit him. "Suffice to say, I have been waiting for you" He continued "You cannot harm me, nor can I harm you. But as things stand, we are in a position to each benefit one another, greatly"

"What exactly do you want from me?" Phaedra asked coldly.

"Admirably blunt, mortal" The Devil gave a curt nod "I too have little patience for the unpleasant nuances that usually mark such dealings between your kind and mine, though I have been bound by them many times. What I wish from you, though, is fairly simple, well within your capabilities if you are who I believe you are. I have been bound here by those who are your enemies, to my shame" He spread his long, clawed fingers, taking in the circle in which he stood "My presence here aids the Githyanki immeasurably, for I have been tasked with stopping anyone getting through to the sanctum of their leader, Zeeaire. Hence this…" He raised a single finger to the barrier behind him, tapped it lightly. It pulsed with magic beneath his touch, ripples of radiance ran across its surface. "It is entirely impervious, I assure you, even to one possessing the gifts of your blood…"

"The Githyanki bound you here?" Phaedra glanced at him, strange that it should be so when there was another so proficient in such arts wandering these caves.

"Though the gift is rare, there are Githyanki who possess the abilities needed to harness my kind." The Devil answered, his voice cool and impassive "Some such have travelled with Zeeaire over her crusade. But now, we come thus to the crux of the matter, free me from this disagreeable servitude and my barrier will be instantly dispelled, granting you free passage onward to where Zeeaire awaits"

"You want me to free you?" Phaedra gasped, appalled by the prospect. Even if he didn't kill them or steal their souls the moment she did so, letting such an evil creature loose to ensnare more innocents was a monstrous crime…

"We cannot do this" Casavir sprung to her side, his gaze fell, blisteringly cold, upon the Devil "We will have no dealings with you, Baatezu, let us pass!"

"That I cannot do, mortal" The Devil shook his head impassively "You must be reasonable. No threat of yours can touch me while I stand within this circle. Indeed I could wait all eternity here should it be required of me, but you are running out of time. There is a Hezrou Demon within these chambers. Act quickly, or he shall find Zeeaire ere you have the chance, and whatever you seek from her will be lost to that creature's insatiable hunger" A Hezrou Demon, of course the grey creature from before. It was within, past the barrier and they were still trapped here? Shandra could be in terrible danger!

"No, we cannot unleash this plague upon the world!" Casavir snarled "Phaedra, there has to be another way!"

"There is no other path forth …" The Devil intoned "The Illefarn built this place thus, it was their doom. But I do not see the reason for your resistance, you travel with one of my kindred, after all" He gestured to Neeshka, who seemed aghast, so she was of the Devil kindred rather than Demonic…

"Neeshka is redeemed by her human blood" Casavir was shaking with anger "You, however, are pure evil"

"So, Neeshka is it?" The Devil considered this thoughtfully, but he spoke quietly, so that only Phaedra heard, as Neeshka herself stepped forward, pulling the others' attention toward her

"Hey, paladin" Neeshka snapped "He's right, I am part-Devil but I'm also part human and I've seen humans who've done worse than any Devil could. No one has to be good or evil, maybe this one's different! I say we trust him"

"The word of a Devil is a sacred obligation, remember your teachings, child of the Gods" The Devil spoke to Casavir once again "I give you my word, I shall not harm you here. Let me free, and I shall leave this place, and you, with my hands unsullied by any deed of evil."

"But you will do evil! If not to us, then to others! How can I allow you to go free?" Casavir snapped…and the Devil was silent, though he continued to gaze, with great intensity, into Casavir's face.

"What does it matter to us?" Bishop argued angrily "We're here, we have something he needs, he has something we need. That's all that has to concern us!"

"It's for Shandra" Phaedra stepped forward. There simply wasn't an option to do otherwise. It was time to cut through this debate. Whatever it took, she would get Shandra back safely "I'll do as you ask"

"Phaedra…" Casavir protested softly "I know your desire to save Shandra is pure, but please consider this more closely…"

"I'm sorry Casavir, there isn't any time…" Phaedra turned away, fixed her gaze on the Devil "What do you need me to do?"

"I apologise, child" The Devil said, with unexpected gentleness "There are not always choices we can make. Some of us, some such as you and I, are bound by things greater than ourselves, by magic, by fate…and by blood." He raised his head "To free me, you must speak my True Name…" The circle flickered about him, runes dancing within its surface…

"Your…True Name?" Phaedra gasped, the True Name was a single word, a magical word that contained within it the complete power, the very being, of the person it was assigned to. Every one of them had one, but the knowledge was such a secret that few, if ever, learned their own True Name, let alone that of others. It was a good thing too, for the True Name gave complete control over the spirit, substance of a creature. For example the summoning and binding of powerful planar creatures often contained the True Name of the summoned. Such was the power of the Name it could then bind the creature to the summoner's will for as long as the spell held. To hold the True Name of a creature like this Devil would be a great power and a grave responsibility.

"Indeed…my True Name" The Devil nodded "It should be no difficulty to you, considering who you are. I shall tell it to you, this once, and you must repeat it, thus breaking the spell. Are you prepared to do that?" Phaedra hesitated a last moment, she did not look at Casavir, but felt his gaze burning upon her…then…

"I am" She answered quietly, and met the Devil's eyes. He nodded and a satisfied smile touched his lips.

"You have a strong will" He said, gazing intently into her face "Only one other I have seen across the ages has a gaze such as yours, filled with such determination. It is right you should share his strength. But I think yours is a strength born of sadness, a merciful strength, and it is far greater for it. I think…you shall surpass him, for his strength was born of anger and spent in fury" Before she could ask him what he meant, he moved again, stepping back into the centre of the Circle "I am Mephasm" He said at last, and something elemental seemed to shift at the sound of the Name, it held such a great force.

"Very well, you are free Mephasm" As she spoke it, the word resonated in the air, stirring the stifled dusty space about it. At once the binding at Mephasm's feet burst into a great white light, a shining, blazing circle of radiance, runes danced in the air, burning, flaring outward, and for a moment nothing could be seen of Mephasm at all. Heat blasted outward, a wind that scattered the arid dryness of the hallway, the circle lifted upwards, leaving behind it a trail of blazing white light. Then the shadowy figure of the Devil appeared once again, and the light instantly faded, dimming to nothing more than a slight glow about his shoulders. It was done, she had half-expected Mephasm to appear, with the circle gone, in some form greater and more terrible than before, revealing his true power but he was simply that imperious figure from before, unchanged, nothing more…

"I thank you" He said at last "It is done now, and for your grace I shall give you what more aid I can. To know your enemy is a priceless boon. First, the Hezrou demon ahead, Zaxis is his name, he waits in the next room, but the doors Zeeaire's sanctum are still sealed tight. He is a powerful beast, but he is stupid, and fears pain greatly. Strike at him hard enough, and he will flee." "

"Who summoned him?" Phaedra quickly asked, desperate to get the information before Mephasm vanished "I saw a man…"

"His master is a great warlock, a binder of demons" Mephasm answered "His purposes are veiled even to me. But he has great power, and this is not the first time he has walked this plane…" Phaedra gasped. Something about Mephasm's words chimed within her, echoing what Brelaina, and others, had said before him, could that man be the dread King of Shadows? Returned to life? Impossible, and yet…the Shadow Priests had spoken of him as though he were alive, as though he were a God. Had she truly stood before the King of Shadows and not known it? But Mephasm was speaking once again, she quickly focused on his words "Listen closely, there is more." He said "Once you are rid of Zaxis, you can only rely on what artifice you have to break through the seal Zeeaire has placed on the doorway, however…once you have done with that, you will face her at last. She is mighty, a great sorceress and a greater swordmaster, but she has one fatal weakness, she cannot go beyond the Astral Plane. For time does not flow in that place, so Zeeaire's age is something beyond the reckoning of most mortals of your kind, but were she ever to step into a plane where time flows naturally it would catch up with her in an instant, killing her in minutes. For this reason, she crouches behind a great portal, her feet lie within the Astral, but she can still fight within your plane, and will if she is given the chance. If you tempt her from the boundaries of that portal, or find some way to dismantle it, she will be defenceless, and her death, long cheated, shall find her at last"

"Thank you Mephasm" Phaedra answered, struggling to quickly get a grip on all this information, to work out how best to use it.

"Time lies heavily upon you too, child, more than you know" Mephasm said softly "There are pieces of the past…secrets, mysteries, that you cannot discern yet, and yet they are already moving around you. Your past, the past you do not even understand yet…already begins to shape your fate, as that which has been once returns again…"

"What do you mean?" Phaedra whispered…his cryptic words held a meaning, just out of reach…

"I am sorry, there are laws…and I cannot reveal more" He lowered his head, with a strange, reluctant sadness "But our bargain remains unfulfilled…now it is my part…" He turned, laid both his hand on the great, shining barrier between him and the next room. Power lanced from it into the figure of the Devil before it, as fire danced around his hands upon it, the barrier itself seemed to be drawn into him, the great prismatic light leaching out from it and into his clawed fingers, as though it were water slipping into a crack in a rock. For a moment it appeared as a plane of glass, cloudy, reflective, a great mirror set between the two fluted columns of the gateway, then it was gone and so too, suddenly, was Mephasm. He slipped away between one flash of light and the next, burning out as though he were a flame himself, gone out swiftly as a candle. But she heard a last echo of his voice on the air stirred by his disappearance "My thanks, dear mortal…Our paths, I think, shall cross again ere the end"

oooo0000oooo

A great tide of pestilence seemed to surround the dread creature, Zaxis, now awakened to its full offensive power it seemed. It stood, wreathed in clouds of poisonous vapour, falling from its vast shoulders to gather in a smog around its body, and its gaze, as it took in Phaedra and her companions, burned with hunger and rage.

"More flies caught in Zaxis' web" It rumbled, its great voice trembled in every recess of the grand antechamber in which it stood. "Good, Zaxis was growing hungry, and the door is not…opening" Behind its massive form there was indeed a great set of gates, tall and wide…marked with the pattern resembling an unfurling fern and set with a forest of tiny gemstones which sparkled in the light of Phaedra's own spell. This delicate artistry belied the strength of its monumental construction, for the deep gouges in its surface, the dents in the stonework revealed the sheer strength with which Zaxis had been trying to force his way in, with brute force, evidently unsuccessfully.

"Your master will not be pleased about that now will he Tanar'ri?" Before Phaedra could react, in truth she was utterly stunned by Zaxis' appearance and by the awful, acid stench surrounding him, Neeshka had lightly stepped to the fore, fearless, her voice taunting…

"What do you know of the master?" Zaxis hissed mistrustfully

"Oh, I know he's getting mad" Neeshka shrugged, her crimson eyes flashing "He wants you back Zaxis…or else he's going to punish you again"

"How can you be a messenger of the master?" Zaxis stepped back "You are…"

"I'm Baatezu aren't I?" Neeshka pointed out "Even a dim brute like you should be able to sense that!"

"Neeshka, what exactly are you doing?" Phaedra murmured, as Zaxis roared, pounding on the floor. He was only growing more and more angry, which could hardly be the best thing.

"Leave it to me" Neeshka grinned, she was enjoying herself? "I get him mad enough, he'll just believe anything I say. Then, he's out of here and we don't even have to fight him"

"Zaxis has not seen you before" Zaxis at last bellowed "The master should have told Zaxis…"

"He doesn't tell you everything, now does he?" Neeshka continued "I mean…he told all the others…"

"What?" Zaxis roared "He told Hebzebel, and Baalibasan…he told all of them? And not Zaxis? Why?"

"Maybe you should ask him, Zaxis?" Neeshka suggested innocently "You really should know something this important…"

"You are right, Baatezu" Zaxis' terrible features twisted into a scowl. By every God in the Heavens, it actually seemed to be working! "Were this the Abyss Zaxis would crunch your face off, but the master does not like that, curse him. When Zaxis finally finds a way to eat him Zaxis will come for you too"

"I don't doubt it" Neeshka answered offhandedly "Until then, Zaxis, have a good trip" The Hezrou Demon grunted, it seemed to have nothing more to say to a Baatezu, then its massive claws unfolded suddenly, and it spread its arms, its blunt features twisted up in concentration. Then, just as Mephasm before it, its whole huge body began to glow, its outline fading, as though it were bleeding into the air around it, into the stone behind it. So, a Demon as simple-minded as Zaxis still commanded magic that would have tested even an experienced mortal sorcerer. These were indeed fierce foes, but if they were truly under the binding of the King of Shadows she sensed she might well face them again. Still, she was glad Neeshka's ploy had worked…

"What…?" Khelgar grunted with annoyance "We don't get to fight him?"

"I thought that was the point" Neeshka shrugged. Even at a time like this, they found an excuse to argue…

"Enough" Phaedra sighed with exasperation "We're almost there now…" She stepped forward and all thought of Zaxis, of the demons, of the King of Shadows, faded as her gaze took in the slender patterns across the great door before her. Such beauty, and yet, through these doors, lay the one truly behind the Githyanki assault, behind the attack on West Harbour, the pursuit of her all this way, this creature called Zeeaire. At last, the mask was about to fall away and the truth was going to be revealed. She would gaze into the face of she who had hounded her so far, and with this would come her chance to end their pursuit of her for ever. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing she had to take the plunge and yet her hand would not obey her, would not lift itself to the surface of those grand, imposing doors. As though deep within herself she did not want to see…what lay within these doors…

"Phaedra…?" Elanee, standing to her left whispered her name and she knew it was now time. She could not avoid what was to come, for everything that she had done led here, to this doorway, to Shandra. She raised a hand gently to the stone…how to break through this door that even Zaxis had failed to more than dent? But, as though in answer to her thought a great rumbling suddenly echoed from within, the doors began to shake, to tremble. Phaedra gasped, stumbling backwards into Casavir and withdrawing her hand instantly, what kind of power could possibly shift theis massive construction? To her shock, the two great doors pulled back, drawing from the vast frame of their doorways, they rumbled across, slotting into deep cuts within the walls to either side, disappearing into the stones next to them. It was a mechanism of some kind, impossible, but her mind quickly seized on what this truly meant, as the doors slowly vanished, revealing the room beyond. Zeeaire herself must have opened these doors, which meant she was aware that Phaedra was outside, and was waiting for her. Her heart pounded painfully, she felt a trembling run down from her shoulders through her whole body. Here, this was where her quest would either fail and she would die or she would find her answer and end the threat of the Githyanki for ever. It was a stark choice, but everything that had come before lay heavily upon her shoulders and that weight was, in the end, what made her step forward, through the great, rumbling doorway as the last of the two ornate gates vanished into the wall. She stepped into the place, Mephasm had called it a sanctum, where Zeeaire at last stood, awaiting her. It was time…


	44. Chapter 44

_It's fitting that this chapter closes the whole Githyanki saga, as it rather provides a mini summary of my style in my opinion. Long descriptions, some flashy magic, but also something new, an enemy from within Phaedra herself! Hope you like it and continue reading! Next chapter will bring Act 1 to a close_

The room before her was magnificent, it had high vaulted ceiling with ornate stonework wrought so delicately it seemed hardly able to support the weight of the ceiling above it, a ceiling that was decorated with a great tree of interlocking runes, so complex that the eye could be lost within their surface. Most she hardly even recognised, though Tarmas had taught her runecraft and Daeghun to read and write elvish from a young age. The walls had mosaic carvings of trees, ferns, all manner of plants; a forest within a cave, once this too had been set with gems, but these were lost, pried loose. Pillars lined the walls on either side, carved to appear as trees themselves, with the traces of old murals, colours so brilliant they must have appeared almost real when freshly painted. But she could only glimpse these wonders for a second, for…in the centre, so large it seemed to scratch at the borders of the room, grasping at the ceiling with its great metallic spines…a portal, exactly like the one back in Neverwinter, in the Githyanki's secret warehouse, the same dull metal, crafted into a network of hideous spikes that arced upward, curling round at their tips to enfold a great orb of energy…for this portal was fully functional, its whole surface ablaze with power, the power to cut between the worlds, and the spines held within them a sphere, a sphere of light, of swirling, burning light, blue, clear blue as though she gazed into a globe of sapphire. But this light was a living light …it swirled, round and round inexorably, pulsing with energy and power, but perfectly contained within the spikes. And within it, the floor was not the mosaic of the ruined chamber, but a grey sand, stirred up by a wind that did not exist within this place. Phaedra knew instantly that she was looking upon the earth of another world, the Astral Plane, home to the Githyanki people.

Even this could not hold her attention for long, for within the portal stood a figure, a figure she knew at once. It was a woman, tall and sinewy, her skin must have been once the mottled green of the Githyanki, for along the edge of her cheeks ran that pattern, almost like scales, but her face, a harsh, angular, bony face, had leached of all colour to a hard grey, almost like stone or metal itself. Her eyes were slits, sunken heavily within the high bones of her face, her nose a hard point, knife-like, her colourless lips curled in an imperious sneer. It was an ageless face, unlined, but touched by eternity, much as Mephasm's had been, but where his had been serene, hers was knotted with emotion, an endless fury, hatred festering within each jagged contour. She was lean, her body held with the strain of her desire to kill that was almost overriding what little caution she might have possessed. It was clear…that here was a warrior, her skills honed to a knife-edge. She held her sword expertly, trailing it on the ground, but Phaedra knew, looking at her, that she could have killed a thousand different ways even without it. She wore very little armour, her shoulders were covered in pads of shimmering metal carved into the likeness of torturous, screaming faces. She wore also bracers of similar exotic design, above her legs an ornate plate of metal was hung, set with rubies and carved into an angular geometric pattern, leather bands ran over her chest, up her legs. An ornate, spiked coronet, resembling the head of some otherworldly insect, was set upon her tight skull. She was Zeeaire and her gaze was fixed on Phaedra. There was such loathing in that gaze, it was as though she looked upon a pest, a creature she would have longed to squash under her boot. Only the strong presence of her companions near her kept her from wilting under it.

"Though these demons were unanticipated, know that your arrival was not. I have seen it burning in my visions for some time" Zeeaire spoke and her voice echoed within the swirling expanse of the Astral portal, stirring up the dust at her feet. It was a cruel, harsh voice, vibrating with the timbre of an exotic accent. "You have stolen from us our most sacred of artefacts, defiled them with your touch. How long did you truly think you could escape us Kalach-cha?"

"That is over" Phaedra set her head straight, meeting Zeeaire's hate-filled gaze "Now I am here"

"Here, you will answer for your crime" Zeeaire sneered "You and this frail thing that carries the last of the Jerro blood" Phaedra's gaze snapped across the room as Zeeaire's lean arm swept up, a single accusing finger pointing to Shandra. The girl was trapped within a rough wooden cage, her hands raised to the bars, her gaze was fixed on Phaedra, thankfully she didn't seem to have been harmed, though tears glistened in her clear blue eyes. Without a doubt the Githyanki had not had the time to begin whatever they planned for her.

"Let her go!" Phaedra snapped, anger ripping through the sense of fear, of fatefulness she had felt as she had gazed upon Zeeaire "Gods curse you, let her go! She knows nothing, she has done nothing to you!"

"She is the last known descendent of one who stole our Silver Sword" Zeeaire hissed "That is crime enough"

"Ammon Jerro died long ago" Phaedra snapped "Even if he stole one of your swords…!"

"The sword he stole was broken!" Zeeaire snarled "He broke it…now we must hunt down the mess of his crime. Though the lives of mortals are all too brief their sins are passed to their kin…Jerro's crime passed to his descendents!"

"I told you…I don't know anything about it…any of that!" Shandra cried

"Somewhere in her thoughts is the knowledge we seek" Zeeaire continued, ignoring the outburst from Shandra "I will leave no memory unturned, no shred of self untouched…and when I have what I need, I shall execute her!"

"Let her go" Phadra hissed once again, and there was murder, soft and cold in her voice, so deadly that she could scarcely imagine it coming from her own throat. But it was not hers alone, this hunt for vengeance. Amie, all those dead at West Harbour, all those slain and lost to these creatures' rage and fury, stood as shadows about her, and spoke through her lips. "Let her go"

"Know that you are in no position to demand anything from us" Zeeaire hissed "Here, now I shall give the judgement your crime deserves"

"My crimes…?" Phaedra snarled "Your people attacked me, my village, first!"

"They did so in response to your crime" Zeeaire's eyes narrowed "You carry the shards, so you carry the guilt as well, as did your village…"

"What crime…?" Phaedra cried, she was almost sobbing. She suddenly wanted this cruelly impassive Githyanki to understand, to know all the pain her people had caused, scattering across this world in their infinitely cruel, infinitely futile search… "What crime…?"

"You know your crime…" Zeeaire snarled, but beneath her bravado was a note of caution, of hesitation "You bear a relic sacred to the Githyanki people…a…our…Silver Sword…or fragments of one" Phaedra glanced up, leaving her sorrow and desperation behind, she had heard well that moment's hesitation, a lack of confidence that broke through the creature's cold impassivity. Was Zeeaire…hiding something? Suspicions stirred in her, a vague feeling she had felt close in that there was something more than even Aldanon had explained surrounding her and the shards, and the Githyanki pursuit of them both given confirmation suddenly. She instantly knew that a direct question would be her only way of discovering more, before Zeeaire chose to attack and silence this secret for ever…

"What are you really after?" She said softly, but her voice resonated through the vaults of the Illefarn chamber, as clear as the bells upon the spire of the Halls of Justice. "There's something more to this, isn't there?"

"Enough!" Zeeaire pulled her sword across her body as though to defend herself from the question. Her protestations rang through the sanctum, as hollow and empty as much of the chamber was "You arrogant creature, typical of your kind, grasping at things you cannot hope to understand! Others have stolen the same as you, and have suffered the same fate as you will! There is nothing unique about your crime, nothing special about you! You are nothing more than another thieving insect and I shall obliterate you and all evidence of your stumbling path!" But the vehemence of her protest only cemented the sense that she was hiding something, holding it so close to her chest that the thought of letting it go even in the slightest was intolerable. But it wasn't from Phaedra she hid this, or at least not only from her…she suddenly realised, as the Githyanki leader's escort, that fearsome squadron of ornately armoured guards grouped around the portal, shifted with discomfort, exchanging glances filled with confusion…she was…hiding something from her own people…

"Forgive my words, Zeeaire…" One of them, a thin male in patched leather armour, spoke suddenly, his voice rustling like the wings of an insect as it floated in the dusty room "I too felt the power of the shards when the Kalach-cha entered…and when I gathered the shards as you instructed" Zeeaire shot him a look filled with the promise of death glinting in her hard black eyes, but it was too late to slow what had begun here, she could not undo her moment of obvious weakness…

"As did I" And another, a female, who stood tall and imperious in shining silver, gave her own to the chorus of dissent. In her voice there was no sense of the deference the male had gifted their leader, indeed she drifted towards insubordination. "This seems a matter greater than us and our Queen should know of it. It has been too long since we sent word to her of our actions here" By the Gods…had Phaedra and the shards she bore been drawn into some kind of plot by Zeeaire? This Sword Stalker, so loyal, so formidable, was trying to turn situations to her own advantage, but why? And yet more hints to pile upon her suspicions that the shards she bore were more important than she had any kind of concrete proof for as yet…Zeeaire viewed them as crucial to her interplanar coup d'etat obviously…

"Ignore the words of the criminal" Zeeaire snapped "They are deceptions, she seeks to manipulate you as our illithid masters did once. Do not allow it!" Clearly she was more used to giving orders than convincing others with subtlety. And clearly she wasn't convincing anyone…

"Looks like she lost some face" Bishop muttered approvingly from where he stood at Phaedra's left, an uncomfortably close position he seemed to have claimed as his own "We might be able to count on a few defections when things turn nasty" And it was true, of the seven Githyanki counted amongst Zeeaire's last line of defence, few now looked as certain and deadly as they had when Phaedra had first entered. They seemed to be bowing to the inevitability of facing Phaedra and her friends now, but if she were lucky, their morale would be so dented that they could well leave their leader behind.

"But this is enough nonsense, you shall stall your punishment no longer Kalach-cha" Quickly Zeeaire, noticing what Phaedra did no doubt, drew attention back to her "It is our reckoning now, Kalach-cha, your's and mine. For fate has brought you here so that you shards may be added to my own" Her thin, bony fingers ran over a pouch at her waist, fine leather, but interwoven with gold thread. So she did indeed have her own shards, they must be stored within… "Were we on the Astral Plane" Zeeaire hissed "The Lich Queen would see you tortured, killed and raised again for countless cycles. Your crime merits many deaths, but as we are here my sword will suffice to carry out a more merciful sentence. Hand over the shards and you and your companions shall receive a swift and painless death!"

"No" Phaedra pulled her bow from her shoulders, her voice and the gaze she set upon her deadly foe as cold as steel, and as hard as vengeance "Never, you have killed far too many but it ends here and now" Zeeaire only smiled, the cold, thin smile of one who faces an enemy so outmatched that their words of bravado are nothing short of amusing. The Sword Stalker raised her free hand, and Phaedra felt the gathering of her formidable, unquenchable will about her bony fingers. Everyone prepared for the inevitable attack, but Phaedra suddenly gasped as the pouch at her belt, the pouch in which the shards were contained gave a violent shudder, pulling away from her belt. Instantly her hand went to protect it, Zeeaire was targeting the shards, and not her at all! But it was already too late, something ripped through the surface of the pouch with such force that Phaedra felt it herself: a spark of silver light flashed across her vision, then another and another, the shards, gleaming with all their resplendent silver radiance, seized by some unknown magic! She made a vain grab for them, for at least one of the hard-won tokens, but they snapped from her reach as Zeeaire's fingers curled in an insistent gesture of summoning. All three of them were there now, burning with a well of silver radiance that stirred the dust of the ruins. Even the Githyanki watched in awe as they hovered there in the air, floating towards Zeeaire's waiting hand. At once the Sword Stalker seized them, her bony fingers closing to swallow the silver light in shadow, gone, lost…how could Phaedra have been so careless? After everything she had gone through to gain these shards…they had been taken from her in an instant, despair poured poison through her, but beneath even that, her determination to slay this creature only intensified. The shards were hers, she did not feel right without them near…she could take them back, if she had to seize them from the very teeth of the Githyanki…

"Did you really think you could keep such relics of my people?" Zeeaire sneered, savouring Phaedra's horror "They do not belong to you, no matter how many times your filthy, unworthy hands have held them" But then she paused, her eyes narrowed to two dark slits, focusing on a point on Phaedra's chest. As if in response Phaedra's stomach began to churn, her insides rebelling as though the Githyanki's fearsome gaze conspired to part them under it, to reveal something even deeper. Phaedra's hand ran upwards to where that gaze focused to a needle-point, attempting to shield her pounding heart from the intense scrutiny. As she did so she knew at once that Zeeaire was staring intently at the place where the scar from before she could even remember marred her chest. "Odd" Zeeaire sounded puzzled, an odd note of curiosity in her hard voice "I have taken all the shards you possess…but I still sense…" She made a vague, considering gesture with one hand, though her gaze hadn't left Phaedra for one instant.

At once something in her chest gave a violent lurch, but that was only the beginning of it. Before she could even react, or steady herself, it was followed by a stab of pain that exploded into her thoughts, a sharp, stabbing, insistent pain from within her own chest, from the scar! She gave a halting gasp, grasping at the scar, but it only continued beneath Zeeaire's narrowing gaze, another stab of pain, and another, each one growing worse, building to the heights of agony, a searing agony as though something were boring through her ribs from within. Her legs collapsed, unable to hold her up beneath the weight of the inward assault, all her muscles gave way at once. She fell to her knees, she couldn't bear it a second longer but still it continued, a piercing stab that ripped through her chest, she gave a sharp cry of agony…

"Phaedra!" Casavir was instantly beside her, stumbling to his knees on the stone next to her, his arm fell about her shoulder to support her before she fell back completely. Her hand seized his wrist, her nails scraping across the cold steel plate of his armour. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, but each time she tried to breathe it was stayed within her churning chest. Her head snapped back, her chest was pulled forward by an inexorable force, pulled towards Zeeaire so that her whole body arched against her knees. What was the Githyanki doing to her? She was suddenly aware that Elanee was there too, and pulling at her other hand, which was grasping in vain at her chest. Phaedra let go, and Elanee tore her fingers from the scar. The instant she did so, she gave an awed gasp of shock, which even Phaedra heard through the searing pain. She paused, and managed to look down to her chest… "By Tyr" Casavir gasped, his grip across her shoulders loosening for a moment as he too gazed with uncomprehending astonishment at the place where beneath her robes lay the white scar. For…beneath all their eyes, through even her robes, through her skin even, there was a shining light, a burning, radiant well of silver streaming from inside her own chest…motes of silver danced under her gaze, swirling within the central blaze of silver that flashed across her gaze…

"You have a piece of the Sword inside you" Even Zeeaire sounded astonished as she voiced what Phaedra's thoughts had snapped to in the instant before, a shard…inside herself? Inside…the scar in her chest? At once the pain ceased, as suddenly as it had begun, and the silver light faded to nothing, leaving no trace of its astounding existence. Phaedra's gaze swept to Zeeaire, who had lowered her hand and stared with incredulous hatred at the target of her wrath. Phaedra was breathing heavily still in the aftermath of what had happened, but without that awful pain to deal with she was well equipped to begin this fight. The question of the shard would have to wait until Zeeaire was finished with "Very well, I shall cut it from your corpse!" Zeeaire snarled. At once an arrow cut across Phaedra's vision, aimed straight at the Githyanki leader's head…Bishop. But Zeeaire's arm snapped up, her sword moved so fast it could hardly be glimpsed in the swinging, arcing motion of a circle, catching the arrow the instant before it hit her and scattering it from its intended path. Phaedra leapt to her feet as Zeeaire lowered her sword once again, her gaze, hate-filled, swept over Phaedra and all her companions one last time "Kill them!" She snarled…

The sanctum exploded into combat. Zeeaire's minions, that deadly set of Githyanki warriors, the lithe, deadly females, the scuttling males, hissing denunciations, their swords blazing. Phaedra pulled up her bow, in a single fluid motion she nocked her arrow and let fly, cutting down one of the closest of the males. He fell mid-stride, gurgling on his own blood. As two of the females, as harsh and as deadly as their mistress with swords as swift, ran for her, she and Elanee fell back quickly in concert. Casavir pulled in front to engage them, his hammer swung, shining up above him. As their swords swung, deadly-fast, he was quick to counter, catching one with the hammer, the other with his shield. Phaedra quickly fired at one of his foes, the warrior pulled back, giving Casavir a second's advantage which he seized, his hammer slammed into her head, blood sprayed and she fell screaming to the dusty floor. Bishop, coming to Phaedra's side, fired from point blank range, silencing her in an instant. Zeeaire's hiss of rage brought Phaedra's attention instantly to her. The Githyanki leader still crouched behind her vast portal, but her whole body arched towards them as though she yearned to fling herself into the fray. With Khelgar, Casavir, Neeshka and Bishop taking on her minions, very much gaining the upper hand, it was up to Phaedraa to take down the portal…to slay Zeeaire once and for all!

"No!" The monster screamed, her voice ragged and harsh "What are you doing? Get back here, defend your mistress, or I shall kill you a thousand times over" But it was too late, her minions, led by the silver female who had spoken up about Zeeaire's treachery before, were scattering back for the portal, attempting to flee before they threw their lives away for the treacherous Sword Stalker.

"Aim for the joints lass!" Khelgar slammed into two fleeing Githyanki just by Phaedra. In passing he saw her gaze upon the portal and roared his own advice out "It's weak at the joints…take them out…"

"What?" Zeeaire recoiled, her gaze swung to Phaedra, she drew breath sharply, suddenly realising what the true target of this attack was to be. She snarled, an alien screech of rage, but Phaedra was already delving deep within herself…her magic was exhausted, almost entirely burnt out from her duel with the fearsome Sword Stalker lieutenant, but she had power yet, if she could only reach it. That fearsome tumult from before, that incandescent storm of pure magic…it had come to her aid twice before, if she could harness it now, it would sweep aside this Githyanki entirely. Whatever the risk was, she had to take it, she had no choice. Delving deep within herself, she fixed her gaze upon where Zeeaire stood. The Sword Stalker was a figure marked out in the swirling light of the portal, railing against her confinement like a caged beast, her mouth open in a scream of impotent rage. As Phaedra stared at her steadily, willing that awesome magic to reveal itself, she suddenly pulled something upwards from her belt, an ornate dagger…with a defiant shriek she pulled back her arm to cast it forth straight at Phaedra's head. Phaedra flinched, knowing that she could not avoid the throw, but at the last instant an arrow slammed into Zeeaire's side, an arrow Phaedra knew at once. Zeeaire gave an awful scream of pain, pain she could not have felt for centuries and the dagger clattered to the floor. The Sword Stalker clasped at her side, gasping, her chest heaving, as blood dripped upon the stone at her feet, fear flashed across her iron-cold features for the first time, a fear that Phaedra could not help but find herself relishing, that the Githyanki monster should have at last received a taste of what she had inflicted upon so many. She glanced back to where the arrow had come from momentarily, and met Bishop's satisfied smile, his eyes gleamed with exhilaration. He had saved her again, Gods he was going to be insufferable about this…

"Do it girl" he said simply, and so she did. She found it in that instant, with a surge of her will that plunged to the very depths of her magic, and drew from it the burning strands of that fearsome power. She drew back her hands, bringing the power to bear, and magic, fire, burst into life within her fingers, running down her hands and winding around her arms, it rose up to her shoulders, wreathing her head in a crown of fire and toying in the strands of her hair. Her robes whirled about in a spectral wind, as she forced the fire to bear, forced it to direct itself against Zeeaire, as she had been able to against Ajah and the necromancer. Unbelievably, shockingly it immediately resisted the surge of her will…the power itself…seemed itself to resist her. She instantly realised that this was something different, something far more dangerous, than had ever occurred to her before, as the power span itself into a magic far more powerful than she had ever intended. The flames that poured from the air around her burst into a conflagration so intense that beneath her feet the delicate glass imbedded in the mosaic melted to burning streams. These were not the silver flames of pure magic she had wielded before, oh no…these were a huge burning inferno, fire so hot that it burned blue around her body, its tongues of gold and yellow and red arcing towards the ceiling itself. Quickly, frantically, she made a move to control it, bending the errant strands of flame to her will, although they fought like a thousand winding snakes to break free of the bounds she attempted to impose. It even felt different now, the hint of which she had felt once before Ajah, now multiplied into a thousand tongues of fire, huge, and hungry and ravenous, for freedom, for destruction…it yearned to break free of her, to control her…itself…

"Phaedra!" At once Neeshka turned, her face, alight in the fire that burned around Phaedra's body glowed with a hellish light as she staggered backward from the blistering heat now filling the chamber "Tymora protect us, you feel like…" She did not finish but Phaedra knew well of what she spoke. She had only just felt infernal magic for the first time within these very caves, but there was a taste of the Hells themselves in the magic that even now broke free of all bindings to tear up against the ceiling in a tower of fire. Could it be that her magic had been tainted by the infernal traces that lingered from the passing of that fearsome warlock? Or had she invited this in herself by seeking that incandescent storm?

"You came from him!" Zeeire gasped, staggering against the pillars of her portal, blood dripped across her hand that was clutched hard to her chest "I feel him in you!"

"Enough!" Phaedra screamed suddenly, slamming her hands to her sides, and clenching her fingers, she would control this! She would master it! If only to burn this Githyanki witch to death as she deserved! The fire poured from her, it was more, far more than ever she could have summoned, ever she could have imagined, a vast firestorm sweeping in great tides around her. But her rage gave her strength, and focus. Her will slammed into the errant power like a vast wave and adamantly drew it back towards her, drew it back to the bounds of what she knew. Oh how it resisted, oh how it fought her tooth and nail, but she fought back with all she could muster. She reached out slowly, tongues of fire leaping around her fingers. Zeeaire screamed suddenly, a scream of sheer anger and despair. At last faced with her own death she could not bear it but if that were so Phaedra could easily force her to glimpse it more closely! At once she poured everything outwards, slamming all that power out towards the figure standing before her wreathed in her portal, giving it the release its existence demanded, but forcing it down as narrow a channel as she could, all flooded towards Zeeaire. Flame, a great wave of fire, washed out from her towards the portal, a tide so intense that it seemed like that river of fire in the Hells. Her companions threw themselves from its path, but Zeeaire, pulling back at the last second, could never have had the time to escape. The portal screeched in protest at the heat, its metal spikes strained outwards like the opening petals of a gruesome flower, barely holding on to their fragile balance as their joints melted under the impossible heat. And the sphere at the centre, that piece of the Astral Plane, the wave of fire enveloped it, surrounded it. Its surface burned with agitation, as though it were a drop of oil that was set alight upon the surface, though within the disturbed clarity of its centre Zeeaire was still visible, falling to her knees and screaming silently, her hands clasped to the side of her head in agony. Crackling electricity danced amidst the flames, snapping against the collapsing sides of the portal, the steady rotation of the globe thrown off as the great streams of light began to spin faster and faster beneath the fire that wreathed it in a terrible halo. Phaedra stared at it in horror, and at once the power vanished from her grasp, retreating back to that place within her beyond her reach now. She let it go, staring stunned at the portal…what had she done? The fire, which had seemed in those last moments to be of the substance of the Hells…was reacting to the Astral energy…two opposing planes, brought into contact…oh Lathander…

At the last moment she flung herself to the floor, then the portal gave way metal restraints crashed to the floor, dust burst into the air…stone smashed, and the light of the portal blazed for one last second, hot, white and bright, then the orb at the centre exploded. White light seared across her vision, a burst of heat, a wave of force slammed into her a second later, and she was hurled into the ground, the whole room rang and shook, the ceiling giving a yawning protest, but then as fast as it had begun it was done, and silence fell across the room once again, silence and stillness. A moment later, her head ringing, she found herself lying on the floor, her hands clasped to her head. As she moved to kneel upwards, her gaze fell on the ruin of the portal, the great metal pylon of the once-fearsome construction were scattered across the sanctum, curling upwards like skeletal fingers. She winced with horror, seeing one of the Githyanki guards crushed underneath. But thankfully, as she glanced back she saw that the others had been out of the reach of the fearsome blast and the fire she had made. Neeshka and Elanee had both been flung into the corner. The elf was helping the tiefling stand, her fingers, alight with healing power, lightly traced the air above Neeshka's wounded arm, but both were staring in disbelief at Phaedra. They knew; they had felt a power of the Hells…in Phaedra herself. And they were as shocked as she was, shocked and horrified. But…Casavir, even as she turned to look back towards him, she felt the pressure of his gaze on her neck. Was that a chill of icy accusation running from him to her, or was it simply the shame she scarcely understood but was just beginning to feel trickling down her back? As their eyes met, though, she saw no condemnation in his eyes, he was not that kind of man …instead there was only confusion, confusion made all the more terrible by the sadness beyond it. She could have stared across the distance between them for ever, trying in vain to explain without words what she didn't even understand herself, but her thoughts suddenly flashed to the centre of the explosion, where once the sands of the Astral had been stirred by an otherwordly wind…Zeeaire, if anything of her had survived Phaedra knew she had yet to abandon all thought of that hellish visitation and face the monster once again…

At once, almost in answer to her thoughts, there was a stirring there, at the centre of the toppled arches of the portal. A large sheet of metal, once itself a part of the portal stirred, shaking insistently. Phaedra gasped, clawing herself back along the floor…it couldn't be! But suddenly the metal sheet was flung aside, and Zeeaire leapt from the midst of the destroyed portal, her own ruined lifeline, screaming a harsh, ragged scream of rage. She landed right in front of where Phaedra was pulling backwards, her sword was gone, a wound in her skull bled ferociously, but nothing deterred her. Her hand slammed forward, and caught Phaedra's neck. Phaedra cried out, instantly silenced, as the Githyanki's bony, harsh fingers crushed into her windpipe, Zeeaire wrenched her upwards by her neck, so high her legs dangled from the floor. Phaedra gasped, her fingers went to Zeeaire's, prying at them desperately, but at once, even as the others ran to her, something happened. Zeeaire's face began to age, wrinkles formed suddenly, her cheeks and chin sagged, her fingers became weaker, even more bony. Even as she screamed harshly in Phaedra's face her teeth rotted. By the Gods so Mephasm had been right.

"Stop…!" Phaedra cried, she pulled at Zeeaire's hand one more time, and the Githyanki's grip suddenly gave way, to Phaedra's horror her fingers snapped like twigs under her own. Zeeaire, hissing, staggered back, her breaths hollow, ragged. Blood was seeping from the wounds in her side and her head but still she aged. Every part of her withered, her lean muscles giving way to stretched skin hanging from her body. As she fell back, leaning heavily against one of the pillars of the portal, Khelgar raised his axe, scowling down at her "No don't kill her, not yet" Phaedra stepped forward, rubbing her raw, painful neck with one hand. There was still a chance Zeeaire might reveal something, even if this spectacle, the Githyanki ageing before her eyes, was horrific to watch she had to hear what Zeeaire could say…

"You fool, do you truly think this is over?" Zeeaire hissed, her voice was weakening fast, but still she held herself together by sheer force of will…a will which strengthened her voice momentarily "You have killed me and slaughtered my people, but in doing so you have only…harmed yourself…and all those upon your wretched world…"

"Let's just kill her and be done with it" Bishop snarled impatiently, but Phaedra shook her head, moving in closer to catch Zeeaire's every dying breath…

"We were never your enemy Kalach-cha…" Zeeaire gasped raggedly "Never the true enemy. We sought the Sword, yes, but only to defeat a greater evil than…you could ever have imagined. You should have let yourself die here willingly…it…would have saved…your race, for we…sought to slay…for ourselves a doom that would destroy us both"

"What doom?" Phaedra gasped with shock.

"The…Sword…is the only thing…which can defeat it…" Zeeaire choked, her lungs were collapsing in her chest, but still she forced herself to speak, with such awful bitterness "The…King…of Shadows…" She gasped, a last, long, rattling breath, her eyes fluttering "I…will see you in death Kalach-cha. I do not think…I shall have…long to wait…" Then her eyes closed, and she fell back against the metal, her whole body went limp and she died. But even then, the horrific course of decay continued: her eyes shrivelled, her skin turned to dust, her bones, bare and cold rotted within her even as the flesh peeled away from them. At last, everything, everything was gone. Her ornate armour, her pouch, her swords and dagger clattered to the floor and all that was left, within her gleaming armour was a fine grey dust. The process of decay was entirely complete, as though a hundred or more years had passed within the space of moments. Horrified Phaedra turned away for a moment, clamping down on the bile rising in her throat, even…with all Zeeaire had done it still sickened her to see all that remained of the proud, fearsome Githyanki warrior and still she heard the venom of her last words resonating in her mind.

So…the Githyanki had not sought the sword as a token alone. They had meant to use it as a weapon against the King of Shadows. He had returned then, how, why, she could not tell but the Githyanki's sheer fear of him hinted that his power was more than she had even imagined. But right now, there were other things that must concern her: the shards and Shandra, not to mention what had occurred with her magic in those fevered moments. She glanced to where Zeeaire's body had been once, the proud articles of her leadership scattered across the delicate mosaic. There, the pouch in which were Zeeaire's shards and Phaedra's own. Carefully, avoiding touching any of that awful dust over everything, she reached for it, delicately holding it between two fingers. She didn't want to touch anything of Zeeaire's really, even holding this made her feel slightly sick and she opened it with care. Within were her own three shards. She carefully removed each one. Now at last, the strange familiarity these shards awoke made some kind of sense, for she had borne one all her life with her, though why she had a piece inside her own body was still a mystery. But there was more, she could yet feel it. As she reached into the pouch once again her hand closed around something much larger, she pulled it out, and gave a gasp of awe…

A golden hilt…the hilt of a swords, its handle was curved like a crescent moon set with a large, gleaming ruby in the pommel. It was extremely ornate, expertly forged, the gold crafted along its hilt to gift it both striking beauty and to fit it to the hand of the wielder, a woman, most likely, such as Zeeaire herself, for it would have been too small for Casavir say, but formed to Phaedra's own hand perfectly. This, then, had to be the hilt of a Silver Sword. To reforge it, as Zeeaire had no doubt intended, this would have been required. There was also a fourth shard in the pouch, a larger piece of the flowing silvery metal. It burned as she held it, with the others in her other hand, this one was thicker, and longer, the largest of the shards she had found so far. She wondered briefly where Zeeaire had acquired it, somewhere in the Mere perhaps or had she simply torn it from some innocent? And how far afield had the shards even spread from West Harbour? Mystery still surrounded these silver pieces, and with the Githyanki gone, well…she wasn't quite sure what she ought to do with them. But, what mattered now was getting Shandra back to the Sunken Flagon safely anyway. She stood slowly, brushing her robes down, holding the hilt tight in one hand, in the other she held onto Zeeaire's leather pouch, and slipped all four shards into it. Well, with her own pouch ruined she might as well use this for now.

"Wow, look at the gold on that" Neeshka gasped, eyeing the hilt with shock

"Aldanon was right it seems" Elanee nodded "Now I finally see how these shards might make the fearsome weapon he spoke about"

"Hey…" Shandra called across the cavern "Could…you let me out of here now please?" Phaedra hurried over, flushing. She'd been so focused on the shards, the dizzying new information and the implications of what had happened that she had left Shandra too long. She should have gone to free her first of all. From close up, the girl looked pale, her eyes heavily shadowed and reddened, though she had not actually given the Githyanki the satisfaction of tears. Her wrists were rubbed raw from the bounds she must have worn, though these had now been removed. Nonetheless relief flashed across her face, and a slightly hesitant, though quite characteristically blunt, smile touched her lips. "Thank the Gods you finally got here. I…never thought you'd make it" she gasped, as Phaedra tugged at the lock, it gave way almost right away, scattering a rain of brown rust, and the door swung open. Shandra stepped forward, she looked as dirty, and exhausted as Phaedra herself felt. "I am getting so tired of this" She groaned "You have to let me rescue you sometime or I'm never going to be able to pay you back" She shook her head, brushing her clumped hair away from her forehead

"Oh there'll be plenty of time for you to pay us all back on the way to Neverwinter" Bishop drawled as he and the others joined Phaedra in front of the cage. Phaedra winced, the last thing she'd want to hear after being rescued was Bishop…

"You all put me in danger!" Shandra snapped indignantly, if she was surprised to see a new face among them she didn't show it. Clearly she could hold her own against Bishop, or at least she thought she could. So had Phaedra, a few days ago. Now she wasn't so sure. "I'm not paying you a single coin!"

"No?" He looked her up and down with shocking directness, then gazed at her straight in the face with a leer "Well, you'll be paying me another way then. My bedroll's a little cold at night, I'm thinking you can fix that" Even the seemingly worldly Shandra blanched at that…oh Gods, what was he doing? No doubt the whole disgusting exercise was simply to tell Shandra to stay away from him.

"Bishop!" Phaedra nonetheless hissed, with a sudden exhausted anger "For the Gods' sake leave Shandra alone! Hasn't she been through enough?"

"Never took you as the jealous type, fair leader" Bishop smirked, disgustingly self-satisfied "Let's not forget, you owe me too. I'd happily take my payment from both our lovely ladies, get me really warmed up tonight" Phaedra gave him a scowl, but even so she couldn't stop the heat rising to her cheeks. Though she was well aware his intention was solely to belittle her, as well as Shandra, and antagonise Casavir too, he still managed to get to her every time, it was so annoying. Just because she'd been raised in a village where everyone said exactly what they meant and meant exactly what they said, she found him very hard to deal with. One moment, he wanted her to trust him to watch out for her, the next apparently she had to learn to deal with everything herself, the next she was simply a woman to whom he was quite prepared to be utterly outrageous. So…which was it really? What did he really see when he looked at her?

"Enough Bishop!" Casavir snapped harshly "We've all endured your words patiently this far, but the time comes near when we shall part ways. Do not force me to make it any sooner than I must" After so long trekking, after these two awesome duels with her two most feared enemies, and after the all-too recent shock of the infernal magic, Phaedra found she suddenly scarcely cared that he was leaping to defend her once again. Things had grown so complex as to leave her little naïve plan to become more of a leader far behind her…

"My, paladin, so quick to jump to the girl's defence! From the look of her, I guess you can be forgiven" Bishop answered languidly "But don't forget that I'd happily leave you behind. I'd like to see how far you'd get in Luskan with only your self-righteousness for company"

"No one is being left behind" Phaedra hastily admonished

"If that's what you really want let's get out of here before I'm tempted" Bishop nodded curtly, all business once again, though he couldn't resist such small jibes still "Now that we have our precious little treasure over there, I don't see anything holding us back"

"I've had more than enough of this place" Shandra whispered, drawing her arms around her body.

"Right" Phaedra instantly agreed, at the look on Shandra's face. They should just get out of here as soon as possible, for all their sakes. Everything else, including the manifestation of infernal ability and its implications, would have to wait… "We've got to go…"


	45. Chapter 45

_This is it, the final chapter of Act I. Sorry once again for the length, I really just wanted it to be finished this chapter, partly since 45 seems like a nice sort of round number to round things off for Act I._

_Firstly, thanks so much for reading this far. I appreciate my style isn't always the easiest to digest, so thanks for putting up with me. If you've read this far, this might be a good time for a review of everything that's come before, any thoughts that occur to you in this important milestone which might be relevant for the whole story going forward as well as looking back. Before I start on Act II I might briefly go back over what I've written for minor corrections (including the multitude of important grammatical and spelling points given by Gaspode throughout) so any help and suggestions would be great. If you didn't already know, I had a framework for Act I written down already, but Act II's going to be completely from scratch so we have a chance to start afresh. Chapters may take a bit longer to be updated but I'm looking forward to the challenge..._

_This chapter was one of the toughest to write. There's a lot of feeling going around, and Phaedra's in a not so happy place right now. I apologise if I rather ladled on the angst but it seemed right to me. I promise that when we start Act II and things will get a little better once again. One of the main things I wanted to look at was something the game didn't necessarily focus on, which is why a character like Phaedra would even let Bishop come along and what everyone else would think of it. I've sort of extended and augmented what the game has, so let me know if it works for you._

_All that's left to say, I guess is...enjoy!_

Even with things as they were, in Luskan's territory or no, Phaedra managed to wrangle from Bishop a night's rest in the mountains. Everyone was feeling the strain of so long travelling, followed by their vicious, arduous duel with the Githyanki under the mountain. And there was much to speak of, some of which Phaedra was reluctant to approach. What the defeat of the Githyanki, something so momentous that Phaedra was still struggling to comprehend it, meant for their quest was an obvious priority, but the return of the King of Shadows, and their encounter with him, would also merit some serious concern. She knew she could not run away from that incident…the infernal magic she had conjured there either, clearly it reigned foremost in some of her companion's minds. But as they settled to eat the meagre supplies they had left, it was clear that no one was prepared to confront the issues at hand, instead an awkward silence of things left unsaid settled over everyone as they sat down…

The meal was sparse…and uncomfortable. Khelgar alone seemed unaffected by the atmosphere, downing some ale he'd stored goodness knows where, he celebrated their victory with indomitable enthusiasm. Of course, of all of them, he'd been unable to sense the infernal presence within Phaedra, and no one had seen fit to mention it to him. Neither had Bishop of course, but as ever he seemed to know more than he was letting on. He didn't eat much or speak either, standing in the shadowed hollow behind them with the stillness of a hunting lynx, the flickering flame would cast him in its light for one instant, then withdraw it the next, but his tawny eyes were always visible, and nearly always seemed to be on Phaedra. Neeshka's silence was even more worrying, though less intimidating. She was on edge, more obviously than anyone else, her movements were tense, the slightest sound made her jump. She'd had a lot to deal with, a revelation of her own ancestry as being of Devil kindred, the warlock whose power she must have felt in a different and perhaps even more potent manner than even Phaedra had, and the encounter with Mephasm, who had seemed to single her out in a strange way. Yet it was clear Phaedra's magic had unnerved her most of all, she would glance nervously at her leader but then quickly look away, as though afraid that any minute Phaedra would begin to burn once again. Elanee was more poised, too poised in fact, when she spoke it had the halting, nervous quality she had long ago left behind with her companions, everything seemed…too calculated, too forced, it was clear her thoughts weren't on the meal or the conversation. She was still on edge…there was a lingering unease in her words, a tightness in the line of her smile that could only be related to the infernal fire Phaedra had accidentally conjured. Phaedra remembered well her reservations about the incidents prior to this one, where her magic had roared from her pure and uncontained. But what had happened in the caves was different to that, wasn't it? Casavir was grim and forbidding, he seemed closer to that grim and silent captain they had first encountered in Old Owl Well than the man she had come to admire so much. He could almost have been carved from stone, austere and monumental. Shandra hung near him once again, obviously she couldn't have understood the source of their unease, but she shared it, glancing between them all as though wanting to speak but not daring to. She was still exhausted, but it was clear she was perceptive enough to sense that something was wrong. Did she see the difference between the company she had met first and what she encountered now?

All in all, it was a drab picture of what should have been a moment of momentous relief. They had vanquished the Githyanki, had they not? Everything should have been solved, but that was part of it, since the aftermath of Phaedra's display was probably not the only cause of everyone's discomfort, it hadn't. And no one, not even Phaedra knew what was to come next.

"We need to talk…" Neeshka said abruptly, shattering Phaedra's thought as she laid down her plates with a rough clatter upon the stone. Everyone looked up at her. It was rare for Neeshka to take charge like this, normally she seemed content to slip into the conversation with her own wisecracks, leaving serious planning to others. "About what happened back there…" Her eyes gleamed red in the firelight…and turned to Phaedra first…

"I agree" Elanee spoke up at once, as though she had been just waiting for someone to bring it up… "I always knew your magic was dangerous, but even I didn't suspect…"

"No, elf, not this time" Neeshka snapped suddenly and with venom, a venom that Phaedra had been so sure they had all left behind "Oh…I'm sure you caught a little bit of what happened back there, and now you're sure you know everything about it, like you always are. But this time you don't…" Elanee went white, and instantly fell silent "I'm the one whose part-devil here, and I felt what happened back there, I felt what she did" The tiefling nodded to Phaedra, anger was passing from her voice now… "I felt it more than you can possibly imagine…"

"What did you feel?" Phaedra whispered, her voice so soft it barely stirred the chill air, but a silence had fallen over the little group so absolute that it nonetheless seemed to echo within the vaults of their cave…

"It's like an ache…somewhere…" Neeshka looked down into the fire, her normally open and exuberant features turned to a quiet thoughtfulness "At least at first…but you know what it means, somehow, because it speaks to your blood, you feel that. Phaedra…you think you channelled the Hells, so does the elf, but you're both wrong, or at least you've only got the half of it. Yeah, Baator was in your magic, you tore into it easily enough, but so was the Abyss…and I've never felt anything like that…"

"What, Neeshka…?" Phaedra gasped, pulling her cloak closer around herself as she leant forward with trepiditon "The Abyss, it can't be…" The Hells, or Baator to give them their proper name, were as distinct and opposed within their substance to the Abyss as were their respective inhabitants, the Devils to the Demons who claimed the Abyss as their own. To channel both…at once, should have been near-on impossible…and yet it made sense, only that explained the fierceness of what had begun as her own power but had evolved into something completely different…

"Ha…you think that's the worst of it" Neeshka gave a bitter laugh "You're wrong, Phaedra…because they're still inside you. Since we left the caves, since you did whatever it is you did, I haven't stopped feeling them. Every time I look at you, every time we're close enough to each other, I feel them. You awakened something, Phaedra…and it hasn't gone…"

"No…" Phaedra leant back against the stone, utterly staggered, utterly unable to believe what she was hearing "No…it can't be…" Her thoughts were in such turmoil that it took a moment for her to fix on the calm she needed to probe her magic for herself. It took far less time to ascertain for herself what Neeshka had said…her magic was still almost entirely burnt out, a glow of mere embers that she could scarcely feel, but lying at its centre, like a diseased tumour within herself, the searing rawness of infernal power. It seemed frighteningly strong and virulent compared to the majority of her magic that yet remained pure and whole. Had she been irrevocably tainted? Would it continue to grow, invade her further? And if it did, what would happen, to her, to magic? It defied her closer analysis, slipping from her grasp like smoke to retreat deeper within before it would yield anything to her. Opening her eyes once again she met the gazes of her friends…

"It's true, isn't it?" Elanee whispered with desolate despair "Silvanus preserve us all…" She lowered her head "I tried to warn you, Phaedra…I knew something like this would happen the moment you began to dabble in the darker side of your magic…"

"You think I did this on purpose?" Panic seared up Phaedra's throat, her voice sounded shrill and accusing, even to her own ears. Oh Gods, she was just so exhausted, her head was ringing and she felt almost close to tears. After everything that had happened she could scarcely hold herself upright. She longed with such a fierce longing to let it all go, but now, knowing that not merely was she somehow tainted by an infernal magic, but also beginning to understand that she was irrevocably bound to the shards, that she could lay down those she held, but could never escape that one in her chest, she was just realising that she didn't have a choice, that she had never had a choice! "You think I made this happen?" She gasped, clenching her fists with the anger that was really nothing but panic cloaked. "For the love of the Gods Elanee…I did not make this happen!"

"No, of course not" Elanee looked up, and there was sadness in her eyes "But you were so angry back in those caves, you weren't yourself…"

"Didn't I have a right to be?" Phaedra snapped, each instant of knowing that she was invaded by forces she couldn't control, and she had never invited…brought on another mounting wave of hysteria. Her head knew that she was behaving like a child, and that Elanee really had done nothing but help her, and did not deserve this from her, but she was so tired of always doing the right thing, of just accepting every blow fate flung at her with another gracious, beatific smile. "You…how can you understand, how can you even know what they did to me?"

"I know Phaedra…" Elanee said softly "I know what they did." And there was something in her voice that quietened and calmed Phaedra for a moment, a certainty that made it clear that, though she really couldn't possibly know as she claimed, she did understand.

"Okay…this is really far beyond me, and I know I'm not one of you yet" Shandra leaned forward tentatively, but she spoke with a firmness that reflected the good practicality of a farmer's upbringing even applied to otherworldly forces "But maybe you're looking at this the wrong way. I mean…whatever this thing is that happened to you in there, I don't think you really have the time, or the opportunity to wonder where it came from, or what caused it, especially if you think it's dangerous. What you really need to be thinking about now is how to get rid of it…"

"And for that we must understand it…" Casavir said unexpectedly. Phaedra's weren't the only eyes that shot to him immediately, although unlike Shandra who gave a little gasp and nodded forcefully, she gave no indication of her shock and the conflicting thrills of intense relief and anger that rushed through her at the sound of his voice. Oh so it took Shandra to make him speak, an astonishingly bitter and cynical voice she had never heard before whispered close to her ear, but at the same time she was so desperately grateful that he was still going to help her, even though she had wielded an evil force, even for a second, that he must have felt almost as badly as Neeshka had. "An understanding…" He continued, his stunning ice-blue eyes flickered past Phaedra, a brief touch that she nonetheless felt so deeply that her exhausted body almost swooned before him…he would save her…he could save her, her wounded heart whispered but her thoughts still raged…she had not asked for this, the least he could do was speak to her directly! And look at her…oh Gods, please look at her again… "That none of us here is capable of giving…"

"Then we find someone who is bloody well capable!" Khelgar roared, since it had become clear that Phaedra had conjured infernal power, he had sat back stunned and silent, an understandable, if abnormal, position for the normally irrepressible dwarf. Now that a clear path had been set out, he typically seized upon it…but there was something deeply touching and relieving about his unshakeable support nonetheless. Then the idea that Casavir had spoken touched her mind too and she found the solution at once…

"Sand…" She gasped "Sand, the wizard from Neverwinter." At the very least he'd shown some expertise at scrying, he could discern something of the nature of the repulsive infection within her magic, and he might even be able to have some answers for her, some way to purge this parasitic contamination. "He must know something…"

"More magic?" Elanee sighed, laying her hands upon the stone beneath her as though to draw strength from its stability "Is that really the best way to fix this?"

"It's the only way" Phaedra lowered her head, her golden hair falling over her cheeks "We don't have a choice…I don't have a choice…."

"Very well, it seems we have a path to travel yet" Elanee conceded "Sand seemed trustworthy I suppose" Her gaze, sympathetic but firm, settled on Phaedra again and it was clear she had more to say "I think it would be best, in fact I strongly recommend, that you do not use your magic until we are sure that this is done with"

"Elanee…" Phaedra gasped, glancing up immediately "You know that isn't possible…" How could she defend herself without magic? Without it, she was simply another country girl, of course she had some skill with her bow, but nothing like enough in this situation…

"Hang on elf" Khelgar glared at Elanee "You can't be making decisions like this for us. Her magic's the only reason we've got this far…"

"Yeah, I don't like this any more than you do…" Neeshka nodded "But what if we're in danger again?"

"From whom, exactly?" Elanee argued "The Githyanki are defeated now…in fact the strongest danger we're facing right now is from you, Phaedra…"

"Khelgar, Neeshka…" Phaedra raised a hand before they could continue "It's my decision" She closed her eyes, trying to gain some focus, but all she could find was the heated, hated poison inside herself. "I can't promise that I never use my magic, Elanee…nothing's certain, and Luskan and the Shadow Priests are still out there, but I will try my hardest…"

"Power's power" Bishop's intervention was even more staggering than Casavir's, seeing as he had supposedly no stakes in the outcome of this discussion, but as he leaned forward, and spoke to Phaedra, and Phaedra alone, she once again sensed that he regarded their, or at least her, path as very much his to decide "You really think that man, old tattoo-face back there, is going to be too afraid to use it if he catches up with you again?"

"This isn't a game Bishop…" She said exhaustedly, as the others shifted distastefully…but no one bothered to answer him…

"Exactly" He grinned "Nobody else is playing by your rules, and the sooner you understand that, the longer you'll survive" He shrugged, and crossed his arms across his chest "The way I see it, this power of yours let you kill that Gith hag back there. She's dead, we're alive and that's all that matters…"

"I didn't expect you to understand" Phaedra lowered her head so she didn't have to look at him. It was a lame answer, but she didn't have the energy to debate with Bishop again. They had more important things to consider, and like the others she'd probably be better off just ignoring Bishop until he'd gone. He only muddied the waters further, confusing here even more than she could afford right now. But at least, glancing around the fire once again, she immediately saw that discussing what they'd seen openly and deciding on a clear course to counter the malign influence within her had somewhat lessened its hold over the party. Even Neeshka and Elanee looked a little less tense, and Casavir had shifted in his seat so somehow he seemed more open and approachable. Shandra obviously sensed it too, for, as she packed a couple of their dishes she quickly raised her own most pressing question…

"I hate to ask, but what happens to me now?" She said "I can't go back to my farm, ashes and all"

"You could travel along with us if you like" Phaedra suggested, glad to have something else to think about "I mean, I'm still not sure what we can do next but I have a feeling we might need your help again"

"Why?" Bishop clearly wasn't finished, but at least his attempts at humour were slightly less disagreeable than his ideas on morality… "Because we need someone who's easy on the eyes? That's what I'm here for, I believe"

"Please Bishop, don't say anything unless it's actually useful" Phaedra sighed

"The Githyanki may be dead, but I am not sure the danger is quite passed" Casavir glanced at Shandra. If he continued to ignore Bishop like this, at least things would be smoother for the days to come until they returned to Neverwinter, but it was only with supreme effort that Phaedra suppressed the observation that he was speaking only to Shandra once again. "It would be better for you to stay with us for a little longer, at least"

"That's decent of you" Shandra seemed a little lost for words "I mean I've lost everything, but at least I'm still alive. Right now, your offer seems like the best thing for the both of us…"

"I'm glad to hear it…" Phaedra sighed lightly. The sturdy farmer's practicality reminded her of her Harbourman roots. She and Shandra were going to get along fine, if the girl ever took her eyes off Casavir.

"And, if my grandfather fought the King of Shadows…" Shandra did at last glance away, looking down into the fire with a pensive air "Maybe I should do my bit too…"

"Sorry lass, but are you sure you can handle it?" Khelgar asked sceptically "I mean, we can't keep rescuing you all the time"

"Rescuing me?" Shandra looked up, instantly indignant "I can rescue myself sometimes, when there aren't too many Githyanki about anyway. I mean this won't be my first time travelling. I used to bring my crop past Ember, and I knew how to guard it too. I'm not bad with a short sword…"

"You sure lass?" The dwarf frowned "There's a hell of a lot of difference between following a caravan and what we do out here"

"I have some familiarity with the sword…" Casavir offered "Perhaps I could help you Shandra. I am sure there will be a spare moment in which to train once we return to Neverwinter" There was an instant, Phaedra was sure, that had anyone been looking at her they would have seen her smile shatter like glass but her demeanour was mended by the next…

"Oh, thank you" Shandra said hesitantly, as before around Casavir she was different, less confident and sarcastic. She seemed, as Phaedra had once been, almost intimidated by the strength the paladin radiated. From a purely practical point of view, which was all Phaedra was allowing herself to consider right now, the idea was clearly a good one, as well as helping Shandra defend herself and thus aid the group further than she was able right now the familiarity of training would surely help the girl ease into her new circumstance. Clearly her relationship with Casavir was really her own business, and not Phaedra's…for goodness' sake it wasn't as if the paladin belonged to her just because he'd shown her some kindness, kindness he clearly showed to every woman in distress he encountered.

"It's settled then" She nodded, her glacial outward composure gave no indication of the continuing turmoil within "Okay…I think it's time we all got some sleep anyway" She stood quickly, brushing down her robes from the detritus of the days before, but she could not rid herself so easily of what she had just learnt, of what she had just felt "We've got another long day ahead of us…" Perhaps, in dreams, she would have a moment's relief, but her heart ached so that she knew it was a false hope…the shard in her chest, the infernal magic festering in her spirit, they would pursue her wherever she went…

ooooo00000ooooo

Another day, another night, and they left the Luskan territories behind, much to Phaedra's relief. Too many dark things had come from that city for her to be at all at ease travelling beneath its shadow. This time Bishop had led them along a different, more direct route, they passed Ember by though he only saw fit to inform her of this when it was already too late to turn back, something she found she had mixed feelings about. On the one hand, she wanted to see how the villagers were doing but on the other she was truly afraid of what she might find there. Within Neverwinter's boundaries once again, the pace of their journey quickly relaxed somewhat, even Bishop seemed to realise that, without the relentless pursuit ahead, they could afford to slow down the last leg of the journey towards the city. That night, their third of travelling, they had a camp in the bounds of the Neverwinter Woods, an opportunity to rest, and speak once again. Normality had almost settled over the group once again, with the exception of Shandra's presence of course. It was surprising how quickly she seemed to belong alongside them in fact. Though her wry, sardonic comments quickly became a contrast to Khelgar's frank directness, and Neeshka's bright humour in the conversations the three shared and she spoke most of all in fact to Phaedra, conscious perhaps, as Phaedra was, of a growing friendship between them, her focus would be almost always quietly drawn while she was still and silent to Casavir. The paladin was the one upon whom the shadow of the caves seemed the most heavy…he had barely spoken since they had left Luskan, he simply sat there alone on the other side of the fire, clearly sunken deep in heavy thoughts, and Phaedra simply didn't know what to say to him. Even Elanee had not been able to speak to him for more than a few murmured words just before they had descended from the Spine of the World. Her silence as they sat around the fire was of its usual, meditative quality, where Casavir's had a grimness that was almost frightening. Bishop too had been almost silent, though how she was to take that was perhaps a more pressing anxiety. She met his gaze momentarily across the fire knowing it had hardly left her this whole time, what exactly was he planning once this journey was done?

She sighed, leaning back and taking her gaze from Bishop and closing her eyes…killing the Githyanki should have finished things, made everything so much more simple, but instead she was now faced with a dizzying array of complexities to consider There was still this King of Shadows, and whatever the Luskan faction wanted, and if the Silver Swords were truly the only thing that could defeat the mysterious warlock…then even bearing the shards might still be a danger, to her…to West Harbour. Would he come to search for them himself, she shuddered at the merest whisper of a memory from that man who she had encountered so briefly in the caves. And it seemed he had done something to her…or at the least simply meeting him, seeing him, had contaminated her somehow, to add to the weight she bore now. Here, alone, in the swirling chaos that her thoughts had become she could admit for a moment that she still…did not quite know what to do. Her friends still looked to her for leadership…but could she truly provide it? What…exactly would happen once they returned to Neverwinter?

Suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder, her eyes snapped open and she glanced back, knowing the strong grip…Bishop. The ranger was standing just behind her, one leather-gloved hand grasped her shoulder. Catching her gaze he smirked, what exactly did he want now?

"We need to talk, girl" He said before Phaedra could open her mouth. At that her gaze automatically went to Casavir, but the paladin wasn't looking her way, and the others seemed engrossed in a conversation of their own "Not with them, just you and me"

"Well, alright" Phaedra nodded after a second's hesitation. He was right, they did need to talk although she had a feeling that whatever he wished to speak of might be different to her own concerns.

"Come, let's take a walk" As she stood, his hand slipped down to grip her arm in a possessive clasp she found faintly disconcerting. However she let him lead her out away from the fire for reasons she could never afterward fully explain, he could be dangerously compelling when he wanted to be. By the time she suddenly realised that walking out alone into the forest in the dark with Bishop was probably not the best idea, the firelight had already faded behind them, as had the voices of her companions, and she stood with him in the midst of a copse of trees, thick and dense, a place which she could not have picked out from anywhere in the forest…

"That's far enough" She wrenched her arm from his grasp, this was his territory now, his place and she would never feel quite comfortable in it "What did you want that was so important anyway?"

"Like I said, we need to talk" In the dark, with the shadow heavy upon his face, he looked lean and dangerous "We get back to Neverwinter tomorrow, that's the way I planned it and before we do we're going to have to settle something, you and I"

"Settle what, Bishop?" Phaedra stiffened. This was not the way she wanted the conversation to be going, not at all…

"What happens now" Bishop replied "See, I don't think we're quite finished yet…"

"By the time we get to Neverwinter, your debt to Duncan will be over" Phaedra turned away from him stubbornly, folding her arms "You won't have any reason to stay with me any longer"

"Now that's where you're wrong…" He stepped over, circling around her so that he stood before her again, in a manner that was strongly reminiscent of a hawk circling its prey

"Oh really? Do tell me then" Phaedra raised her head, meeting his gaze with what she hoped was undaunted strength of will.

"Are three good reasons enough, my stubborn leader?" Bishop grinned, then taking her silence as assent he quickly began to speak "First, travelling with you is the most fun I've had in years. I've had free reign to slaughter Githyanki and demons, pretty good bargain, wouldn't you say? And I'm not quite ready to give that up yet." By the Gods, he really was a barbarian "Secondly, I'm thinking you and I have something in common, and I'm willing to put up with the rest of them to find out just how much and third, let's not forget that you still owe me"

"Really Bishop, if that's all you want I'll pay you gold for the dagger right now" Phaedra sighed, latching onto the only reason she really understood; the second, well, there was no way he really believed that, did he?

"Oh, and if that's not all I want?" He gave a soft bark of laughter…

"It was all I promised you" Phaedra answered firmly

"Really?" Bishop smirked "As I recall it, you said you'd pay me back, it didn't have to be in gold."

"Then what do you want?" She retorted, tossing her hair. Why did every conversation with Bishop seem to become some kind of power play, and why did she always feel like he won?

"Well, now that's the question isn't it?" He answered "Why don't we travel together for a little while longer, then maybe we'll both of us find out"

"Letting you come at all would be payment enough" Phaedra shook her head. However much he wanted to explore debts and suchlike, she certainly didn't have any taste for it.

"It's a start anyway" He agreed, with a curt nod "But I also saved your life twice, and I'm still waiting for some kind of thanks"

"Well, thank you" Phaedra scowled "But, that still doesn't mean I'm having you along. None of the others would accept it…"

"Why don't we convince them, together?" Bishop leaned in toward her, making that little request sound not only secretive but also deeply intimate "It's not hard to see your group's a little short-handed, and some of them are definitely out of their depth. I know how to track, and I can kill fast, I'm a useful man to have around, wouldn't you say?"

"Bishop…" Phaedra sighed, she was tired, and she wanted to go back to the fire and sleep. The last thing she needed was a difficult decision like this, and him constantly getting at her like this wasn't giving her any kind of respite either.

"I helped you, without me that farmgirl wouldn't be sitting by the fire back there let's not forget that" Bishop continued relentlessly "And I did it because I had to, because your uncle made me. Just think what I can give you once I'm with you because I want to be." He crossed his arms across his chest "Besides with things as they are, I'm not sure you can afford to let me go" That was true enough, she supposed…of all he had said…things were bad, worse than perhaps anyone else realised. With that in mind could she afford to turn any help, even his, away? And he had, as he had said, saved her life twice, nothing had made him do that. What happened if she needed him again?

And glancing up at Bishop she knew at once what she should say here, right now, what she should do. But she'd learnt now that things were never so simple, it had taken far too long, but now she knew. It would have seemed scandalous in West Harbour, what would have made Bevil, or Retta, shocked, that she should consider this, consider letting a man so clearly dangerous so near to her, but this wasn't West Harbour anymore. And what had mattered in West Harbour, what was proper, what was appropriate for a young lady, it couldn't matter anymore, because out here her decisions made and ended lives. She had already killed, something she could never have imagined back home, and she had killed so many times and in so many ways that she could no longer even feel the disgust of earlier days. It was past time to learn to make hard decisions, decisions in which propriety had no place, no matter how much she longed for the comfort of innocence past. She could not protect herself with what was proper, but Bishop, no matter if he fought only for himself, no matter if he had some motive she could not yet perceive, he could protect her, and he had. And, also, no matter how crazy it might seem, she did trust him in a way. She trusted that he had done as he had because, somewhere in him, something knew it was the right thing to do. She trusted that he was telling her all this because he truly believed that she needed his help…and why should she turn him away now? Well he wasn't exactly a friend but she knew they did share some kind of connection…and she wanted to understand him, to understand what it was.

"Alright" She said quietly, at last, and raised her head "You can come, I won't stop you, and neither will anyone else"

"That's it, you know how to do things out here after all" Bishop laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment in what might have been a companionable gesture, but it lingered just a second too long for that… "And as for the rest of them, where you go, they'll all follow." He stepped back, lowering his hand to his side "You'd best get back now. The fire's over there, if you were wondering"

"Where are you going?" Phaedra asked.

"I'll just have a last look around" Bishop answered, the shadows thickened around him as he stepped back into the trees "Don't worry, I'll be back for you" He smirked, and the flicker of moonlight glinted in his tawny eyes, then he turned away and walked out into the trees, the darkness closed in around him. Phaedra blinked, quite unsure of how to react. He was gone so suddenly, leaving her to begin to consider what she had just let herself into. She had agreed to allow Bishop along with them, that had seemed right, it was right, but…how had he made her agree to it so easily? Her thoughts went to the fire, to the others to…oh Gods, Casavir. Oh Lathander…he would never forgive her…

ooooo000ooooo

The first step upon the Flagon's rough, ale-stained wooden floor, the first breath of its warm, stuffy air with that so familiar but suddenly strangely comforting smell of ale and sweat, the sounds of the warm crackling fire, as she stepped into the tavern everything she felt awoke in Phaedra such a warmth, such a shockingly intense rush of feeling, of homecoming, that she almost stopped mid-step, gasping with the intensity of it all. This place, it had so quickly become a sort of home for her, she had hardly realised how much, on the awful driving journey on to the Spine but she had truly missed it. Now, returning, her unease briefly lost some of its weight, and she felt a rush of warm content, although that painful ache of sorrow still lurked in the farthest reaches of her thoughts. But, of all of them, the thought of Bishop was the most persistent. Almost all of the trek back here, her thoughts had chased themselves around in circles about him, partly so she didn't have to focus on heavier burdens, though despite that she had made no decision over what to do. Of course, she still had her supposedly good reasons for agreeing in the first place, and she still agreed, but somehow there had not seemed to be a moment that had been right to tell anyone else about that agreement. She had tried a few times, mustering her ideas, her arguments, but then she had to look at Casavir and the words stuck in her throat, her thoughts paralysed. Even now, as she knew that that she would have to say soon or else Bishop would no doubt turn it to his advantage, she found she could not even begin to speak. Frustrated with herself, she distracted herself looking around the Flagon once again, no one could have guessed that it had been the site of a battle, it was once more arranged in that distinctive manner of ordered disarray, aside from a few scuffs on the floor and walls that were almost invisible, it seemed back to normal. Clearly Duncan had been hard at work from the moment they had left, perhaps, she felt with a sudden ache, trying to distract himself from worries about his niece. He would want to hear everything that had happened and she would tell him after, her thoughts suddenly darkened, he told her about the shard in her chest…

"By the Gods!" At once he appeared, framed by the doorway to the rooms in which he must have been just wandering, the same old Duncan, his stained leather apron and white tunic, straggly brown hair, warm brown eyes, his whole face lit up with warmth, such clear, simple joy in her presence that she suddenly yearned not to ask him that fateful question, but she knew she had to. Before she could speak, however, he had sprinted right over to her and wrapped her up in his strongest, warmest embrace. She returned it as best she could, though it was almost suffocating, before he stepped back, and surveyed the whole party, his warm smile broadening "I can't believe you got back, and all in one piece no less"

"It's wonderful to see you as well" Phaedra smiled back, delaying the inevitable for one more precious second "And, we're done. It is over, at last"

"So I see" He glanced at Shandra, nodded respectfully to her "Anyway, you look exhausted. Come, sit down, and tell your old uncle everything…"

"Wait, Duncan…" As he turned away, gesturing hopefully to the table nearest them, she reached forward and lightly laid a hand on his shoulder. He stopped, and glanced to her, confusion beginning to appear in his eyes, clearly he heard the gravity in her request "We…need to talk…"

"About what lass?" He asked slowly, her reticence must show…

"Duncan…" She lowered her eyes, words coming slow and hesitant "I…under this scar in my chest…Duncan there is a shard in my chest. There is a shard inside me…" There, she had said it now, it could not be unsaid, but it was a long way before she could even begin to accept it…

"What?" Duncan looked incredulous, but nowhere near as surprised as he should have been. She knew it, he did know something, he had known something all along. She quickly outlined the events in the caves, Zeeaire's staggering revelations, all the while watching his reaction, it was clear to her that he had, if not exactly anticipated such a thing, but he had suspected that it might be the case. "A shard in you chest?" Duncan rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably once she had finished "Inside the wound in your chest? That means you've been carrying the shard around almost your entire life? I…we had no idea…"

"Ah, notice the stumble in his words" Bishop was enjoying this, no doubt "Your uncle's been keeping secrets, I think"

"Silence Bishop" Duncan snapped, but then, his heavy thoughts so clear upon his face, he glanced away, swallowed. Was that a glisten of tears in his eyes? "Lass, would you sit down here please?" He gestured to a table, away from the door, empty, and out of hearing of anyone else "Please, I…think you'll need to…" Phaedra looked back, glancing over the others for a moment, didn't they deserve to hear as well?

"It's okay" Elanee laid a hand on her arm softly and comfortingly "Go, you should hear this yourself first of all"

"Alright…" Phaedra sighed, and she stepped, with Duncan at her side, over to the empty table, and sat. Duncan breathed heavily, leaning on the table for a moment as if mustering his strength, his reaction, this was worse, more painful than she even had imagined. What, truly had Daeghun kept from her all these years?

"I…don't know if I'm the one who should be telling you this" Duncan began hesitantly "But…if you really do have a shard inside you, you have a right to know about it"

"The whole story, please" Phaedra whispered. She had to hear this, she had to be strong enough to hear this…

"Daeghun probably already told you this, but when you were an infant West Harbour was the site of a battle, a terrible battle" Once he had begun Duncan couldn't stop. He couldn't even look at her, but he kept speaking "It was that warlock, he led an army there himself against the Neverwinter army which had gathered in the village. West Harbour was struck suddenly, without warning. There was panic, confusion, the villager fled anywhere they could…" He paused, his hand clenched into a fist on the table "But your mother, and Daeghun's wife Shayla did not" Oh Gods, of course it was her mother, of course, only Esmerelle could have roused such feeling in her uncle.

"Duncan…" She breathed, but he hardly seemed to hear.

"They…stayed behind to save you, to try and save you" He went on regardless, as though he were caught in a violent torrent of remembering and could not let go even if he wanted to "As demons and magefire struck the village, they fought to reach your crib. By the time Daeghun even realised they were missing, it was too late. He could only watch from a distance as the village was consumed in the battle"

"She died?" Phaedra gasped, she was too shocked even to feel sadness for a moment "They both died?"

"Aye" Duncan gasped, his voice cracked, breaking on that word, but still he went on relentlessly "When we came back to the village, oh Gods I can't ever forget it, your mother, she was lying there and there was so much blood. You…were clutched in her bosom, there was a deep wound in your chest. She'd tried to shield you, but…" He raised his eyes, there were haunted, deep pits of pain and sorrow, in answer Phaedra felt her own throat clench with anguish "The shard must have cut through her, and into you. And Shayla…Shayla was lying next to you killed. I'll never forget my brother's sorrow at that moment. He's…never been the same since then"

"They said she died in childbirth, Daeghun always said " Phaedra shook her head with disbelief, Daeghun had kept this from her, all her life? Why, she thought tearfully? Why had he done such a thing?

"It wasn't my decision to keep that from you" Duncan moaned "I…couldn't take it, any of it. I left you behind with him, no one thought you'd survive but, I heard later that the wound just sealed itself, leaving the scar you now bear. Gods I shouldn't have left you with him. He was a broken man after that, broken inside…"

"He lied to me" Phaedra gasped, a broken man? Daeghun was a corpse, a living corpse! Had he ever felt anything for her at all? Oh, every day in that village she had excused his neglect, sure that somewhere in his ruined soul he might value her…but now she knew the truth. She'd been such a fool!

"He just wanted to protect you" Duncan answered "He thought it would all be too much, I guess. We didn't talk much after what happened"

"And, the shard?" Phaedra whispered, she didn't want to think about Daeghun again but thoughts of him seared through her nonetheless, protect her? Oh he hated her and now she knew why. She'd caused the death of his wife…and he had never stopped blaming her for it. Every time he'd looked at her he must have thought of Shayla, no wonder he'd hated her. Oh Gods she felt suddenly an ache of such intense loneliness that she could scarcely bear it.

"I swear we didn't know" Duncan shook his head "We found the shards afterwards, I took one and Daeghun the other, but we never dreamed your wound might be from one. If it is, I just don't know. I'm sorry Phaedra…I'm all out of answers…"

"And you never thought to tell me all this?" She raised her head, tears glistened in her eyes, her thoughts were in turmoil. Even Duncan had been part of this conspiracy of silence that had surrounded her every year of life, she'd been lied to all along… "Never?"

"Daeghun, he thought…" Duncan swallowed "Look I'm sorry…so sorry. I just never thought, you would need to know…"

"Why the long faces, you two?" Bishop's mocking voice tore through the moment, but Phaedra was suddenly glad of the distraction. "Somebody die? If so, seems like a cause for celebration to me" Phaedra looked up, the others were moving over as well. Her responsibilities returned, she felt an ache of staggering exhaustion…

"Bishop…" Duncan sighed, collapsing back into his chair "You've done your duty, our debt's off so I don't even know why you're still here and I don't care. Get out of my inn, right now"

"Oh, but Duncan…" Bishop drawled "Your niece and I have made a little amendment to our agreement haven't we?" It took Phaedra a moment to realise everyone was looking at her, she opened her mouth, to try and explain her supposedly good reasons for letting Bishop come along but still, even now, nothing came "You aren't going to tell them the good news? Well then, I will" Bishop smirked, moving over to stand by her chair "Looks like we're not quite finished yet, the girl and I decided it's in both our interests if we stay together for a while longer"

"Phaedra, is this true?" Duncan looked shocked. Phaedra felt the blood drain from her cheeks, as every one of her companions looked to her. Oh Gods, she had really been meaning to tell everyone, there just hadn't been any time and this wasn't how she'd wanted it to be…

"Enough, this is a farce" Casavir pressed forward "We don't need any more of your help Bishop…"

"Ah…why don't you let our leader speak for herself, paladin, without you speaking for her eh?" She barely felt Bishop's arm slip round to lie over the back of her chair, just touching her shoulders… "I think you'll find she disagrees, don't you?"

"I…" Casavir's eyes were like burning shards of ice boring into her skull, how could she think, concentrate, make the arguments she'd so carefully constructed? She swallowed and tried again "We still need him…" But before she'd finished, Duncan collapsed against his chair and she fell silent. He was stunned, oh Gods, she hadn't even considered how he, with his long standing antagonism for Bishop, would react…

"There you have it" Bishop was smug "From her own mouth"

"I won't have you manipulating her!" Casavir roared, his voice echoed through the tavern, Phaedra flinched, oh Gods…she had never truly seen him this angry …what in the name of Lathander had she been thinking? "Get away from her, now!"

"I'm not manipulating her, no one is" Bishop answered with satisfaction "Unlike you, I believe she can think for herself…"

"What have you done to her?" Casavir snarled, he wouldn't even look at her. This was horrible. "What hold do you have over her?"

"Casavir" Elanee grasped his hand suddenly "Casavir, enough, please" For a moment her eyes flashed to Phaedra, was that…an aching disappointment in them? What had Phaedra thought she was doing? These were the people she was supposed to be holding closest…

"Maybe it's not me who should be saying this…" Shandra put in, though she nonetheless seemed confident expressing her opinion "I mean…I don't know any of you very well, but it seems to me that you've trusted Phaedra's judgement so far…"

"But, Phaedra, I'm not sure you understand…" Duncan began, finally finding his voice…

"And that's more than enough from you Duncan" Bishop cut across him "I did what you wanted…it's over for us" Duncan slumped back in his chair defeated…

"Look, we're all exhausted" Elanee stepped forward, ever the peacemaker "And, I don't think this is the best time to be talking about this. Why don't we all get a rest, then we can come back to it tomorrow?"

"I've heard more than enough" Casavir snapped, for the one last instant his gaze travelled from Bishop to Phaedra and she saw in his ice-blue eyes a great storm of emotion and, oh Gods, beneath, there was such despair. She began to stand, reaching for him, unsure exactly what she would do, but then he turned away and walked out of the common room, clearly unable to bear the sight of her any longer…

Everyone was silent then. Phaedra sank slowly back into the chair, a choking gasp escaped from her throat, the only sound she could make and she laid her head in her arms, screwing up her eyes against the remembrance of what she had seen in Casavir's gaze.

"Well…" Elanee said at last "We will talk again. Right now, Phaedra, you should really get to bed perhaps, and think this over" Phaedra hardly heard her almost silent steps away from the common room. As always, she found herself accumulating the blame of other's like tar upon her heart, blaming herself tenfold, but there was a part of her that simmered beneath all that, and raged. Hadn't she blamed herself enough? Didn't she have a turn to blame someone else? Like Daeghun, who had fed her blame from the cradle? She had been through so much, couldn't anyone see things from her point of view? And Bishop…Casavir and Elanee hadn't even tried to see why she'd done as she'd had, making assumptions right away as they always had where he was concerned.

"Why so gloomy my new comrades in arms?" He spoke suddenly in that all too familiar mocking tone. Well clearly he wasn't sorry at all. "Crack open a barrel of the Flagon's finest, let's drown the place in wine" No one answered. She could only imagine the frosty glances Bishop received, even Khelgar, never one to miss such an opportunity, didn't move "No?" Bishop continued, regardless "Well then I'll drink by myself, never was one for company anyway, Duncan, hop over to the bar why don't you, and get me something strong?

"Bishop…" Duncan sighed exhaustedly

"What? Get going barkeep" Bishop commanded scornfully "You promised you'd look after her companions didn't you? So, I'm saying I want something strong…" Duncan stirred, even not looking at him, it seemed to Phaedra as though he'd aged a hundred years. Bishop took the opportunity to take his place in the empty seat next to her, he leaned back casually, giving him space to place his booted feet on the table in front of him, no doubt a calculated gesture of disrespect to Duncan. She had made this, done this, on his behalf…and though at least some of her still thought that was the right decision, she still didn't want to sit next to him, since his presence there only roused troubling associations that made her question her own ability to make decisions where she was concerned. And she'd still rather have Casavir next to her than him any day. She could bear it only for a second, so she leapt up from the chair, and without looking at him, but feeling his gaze upon her, she began to move away, back to her room, as Elanee had suggested. Shandra, Khelgar and Neeshka were still hovering by the table. She met their three gazes and almost flinched, but there was no anger, only sympathy and confusion in their eyes…

"Phaedra…" Shandra stepped forward first towards her, but she found she could not bear to stay here a second longer. She needed to be alone right now, so badly!

"Sorry" She gasped out, and fled from them, staggering away from the common room and into the dark corridor. She hardly knew how she made it, but in the next instant she had flung herself on the bed in her own, small room in the Flagon and was crying desperately into the pillows, weeping for the shard in her chest, for the horror of knowing she was possessed by an infernal magic, for Daeghun and his lies, for her broken innocence, and most of all for what she had seen in Casavir's eyes. She grasped at the blankets with her hands, digging her nails into her palms…and…this…after what she had already heard about her mother. She carried hurt like the shard in her chest, first her mother and Shayla, then West Harbour, and Amie, and now…would Casavir ever want to speak to her again? By the Gods, would he leave? No…he couldn't leave, she couldn't go on without him! She couldn't…Casavir…she wanted him here with her suddenly and desperately…she needed him so much, needed him to support her, be with her, now more than ever. Oh Casavir…if he understood that she had only acted as she had because she had wanted to be a leader he could respect…or at least at first, then how had it come about that she was so prepared to do something that would hurt him so badly? Bishop…no it was impossible to blame him, he had done as he had done, but in the end it was her who had made the choice. All those arguments that had seemed so convincing to her then were nothing if she lost Casavir, she understood that now. But how…how could she ever convince him to look at her with the old steadfast faith in her once again?

She lay back upon this bed that still could never feel like her own, drowning in her sadness and confusion. Ah Lathander, oh Morninglord, she cried out silently to the pitiless night. Please, if you ever watched over me, if you ever guided me, guide me now. I can't lose him…but, with a stab of pain, the realisation that Lathander would never bless her now, burdened by infernal magic, traitor to her most valiant and steadfast friend…she hardly knew herself anymore. In the darkness of a night that was awash with pain, it seemed as though His dawn was so far away as to be untouchable…and she was for a moment, utterly, entirely alone...


	46. Chapter 46

Ah...so here we are, Act II at last! Thanks for being patient with the longer than usual update, apologies once again for the length of it. Just let me know if you'd like my average word limit for chapters to come down a little bit, okay? Otherwise I'll just have to assume you're okay with it!

_Anyway, I have updated Act I. The changes are largely cosmetic, but there are a few places you might want to look over again if you want the new perspective on things._

_Chapter 34: Bishop and Phaedra's first conversation. I mainly made the tone of this more in character, I expect. Most of the changes are just in Phaedra's thoughts..._

_Chapter 36 and the fight with Ajah, where I made it clearer that Phaedra's outburst of magic against him was infernal without revealing it yet. That was a later adaption so I've kind of placed it backwards in the story now._

_Chapter 40: This was Bishop's first chapter where I made most of the changes. I made a small and rather insignificant Casavir conversation that came before the bit from Bishop's POV longer and more significant (since it gives Phaedra another reason to seek out Bishop like she does) And I almost completely re-wrote Bishop's POV bit. I decided to make their relationship a little slower._

_Chapter 41: This develops Phaedra attempting to be more of a self-reliant leader to impress Casavir, part of the reason she approaches Bishop like she does. Mainly in her interactions with Bishop across this chapter I've made that clearer._

_Chapter 44: I made the infernal magic coming bit a little more interesting. _

_Chapter 45: Bishop and Phaedra interaction midway through is changed, so are Phaedra's thoughts at the end of the chapter._

_Anyway, I've stuck very close to the in-game story so far, but that's about to change. Not in this chapter, probably not in the next but it will start soon! Be warned! _

_NB: If there are any male readers, my apologies for the rather girly Shandra/Phaedra interaction! Phaedra needed some love, come on!_

* * *

As Elanee would no doubt have said, had she been there with Phaedra, the passage of time was a thing of Nature and did not cease or slow for the anguish of mortals, no matter how desperate and intense these feelings may seem. So, after a night of utter darkness, dawn did come eventually, and it was as delicate and lovely as ever the city dawn had been in Neverwinter, rose and silver ran across the horizon and the rays of the rising sun burst in through the clouds in a thousand streams of sparkling light. And when it did at last come, and seeped in through the single window of the easternmost room of the Sunken Flagon, sending motes of light scattering across the rough wooden walls and upon the white linen sheets upon the small bed, it found Phaedra dressed in a plain linen gown sitting at the small table directly below the window, and watching the sun rise through the clouds, from across the shining silver sea. Lathander, her God…God of the Morning Sun. After so long in the dark, the dawn had come…and yet, the shadow of the night still clung so heavily to her, and she felt a weight upon her heart as light flooded the room, falling over her, a touch as beautiful yet as ungraspable as Lathander Himself. For a moment, last night, amidst her own darkness, she had lost something. She didn't quite know what it was, but something had changed, and her heart felt cold and heavy in her chest as she beheld Lathander's light. Once she had greeted each dawn with a sense of joyous renewal, of hope, but today, it was different, today she felt nothing but a heavy sadness, as though deep in her heart she knew that what she had lost could never quite be regained. And Lathander felt as far away as ever. At once, staggered by that thought, she leapt from the chair, how long had it been exactly since she had last done her Morning Devotions? So many days, so many dawns, something had always seemed to intervene…no wonder she felt so lost, so cut adrift. Brother Merring would be ashamed of her…

She stepped over to the centre of the room, to where the dawn's light fell brightest. Carefully, positioning the woollen rug there so she could kneel there without being bruised by Duncan's ill-maintained flooring, she lowered herself to her knees to begin. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, softly…trying to find some kind of peace within so she could focus, trying to bear through all the storm of anguish and pain and confusion, trying to simply open herself to her God's will, to His unfailing love. It didn't matter what she was, if she had faith Lathander would accept her, and she could be whole again. The familiar words came to her lips easily, and yet she waited just one moment to begin, just one moment more, in case she felt something then…just in case Lathander spoke at last…just in case…

Suddenly there was a soft, hesitant knock on the door. Phaedra's eyes snapped open, and she looked up instantly, the contemplative peace she had sought vanishing like mist between her fingers. She felt a moment of desolate frustration as she gazed up at the door, what was it now? Who was even coming to her door, who even cared enough to come here? But she let it go, there would be another dawn, and whoever it was it was past time she faced up to what had happened. Perhaps it would be easier to find Lathander's guidance again if she accepted what she had done, and found a way to make it right. And she was, despite the interruption, actually glad that someone had come at last without her having to make the decision to leave the safe confines of her room herself, maybe it would be Elanee…standing quickly, she stepped over to the door and seized the worn brass handle. The door squeaked a bit as she pulled it open, to see…oh right…it was her…

"Phaedra…?" Shandra leaned inwards into the room the moment the door had opened, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. The moment the door had opened and she had seen Phaedra standing there before her, surprise had fluttered across her face, but it was quickly replaced by a cautious smile "May I come in?"

"Of course" Phaedra stepped back to let her in, giving her as much of a smile as she could manage back, but then she remembered that Shandra had been the only one who had actually spoken up in her defence during the disagreement about Bishop, so she let the smile become more natural. At least, someone had come…though she wasn't sure how Shandra could exactly help her…

"Thanks…" Shandra glanced quickly around the room "Duncan put me in the one across the hall again, if you were wondering. It's a little bigger than this, but…you've got the best sea view…" Phaedra stared at her, unable to hide her shock; surely she hadn't come here simply to talk about their rooms? So why, then, had she come at all? "It looks lovely…" She glanced up again at Phaedra "I used to see the sea every morning from my fields. It makes me feel at home, I guess…" She fell silent a moment…

"I never saw the sea until I left home…" Phaedra answered slowly, still a little stunned to be even discussing this right now, but finding that it was oddly comforting nonetheless.

"Right…you came from a village in the Mere, didn't you?" Shandra nodded lightly "That must have been a tough place to grow up…"

"I guess so…" Phaedra looked away a moment. Somehow, she never really thought of it like that…West Harbour had been all she'd known for sixteen years.

"So, Phaedra…" Shandra cleared her throat abruptly, so that Phaedra glanced back at her right away. Somehow she seemed herself once again, no longer as hesitant as she had appeared at the door, was that a mischievous smile lurking at the edge of her lips? Why? What possible reason could there be for mirth? "Before we do anything else, did you know that your hair looks like a complete mess?"

"What?" Phaedra's hand ran to her hair instantly. She was so utterly shocked by the question that she almost fell back against her bed, but even so she found her fingers clutching instantly at the knots and tangles that were completely embedded within the strands of her hair. She'd spent so long in furious pursuit that right now she must hardly look the epitome of half-elven grace, but still…what in the name of the Gods did her hair have to do with anything?

"Yes, before you leave this room we've got to sort it out! You look like a haystack!" Shandra was smiling openly now, and Phaedra simply stared at her aghast as she seized the rough wooden comb from the pack on the side of the bed. "Come on" She ordered, gesturing insistently towards the bed "Sit down, we've got to get this done quickly"

"Shandra…you really don't have…" Phaedra began hesitantly…she'd been prepared for condemnation, for sympathy, for just about anything…but her hair…?

"No, I insist" Shandra tapped the comb impatiently "Come on, here on the bed…" Too shocked to even shake her head in disbelief, Phaedra came and sat down next to Shandra, who lifted the comb and took a clump of particularly knot-ridden hair between her fingers. "It's a crime for hair so lovely as yours to be so poorly maintained, adventurer or no, that's absolutely no excuse" The farmgirl chatted brightly as she teased the comb into the filthy mass of golden strands… "Really, Phaedra…"

"I didn't exactly have much chance" Phaedra frowned, a little piqued. Though she hardly gave much thought to her appearance, back in West Harbour her hair had been widely admired and she had tried to take care of it, at least until all this intervened. "Seeing as I was rescuing you this whole time…"

"That was a low blow, Phaedra Blake" Shandra said archly, and, as if in vengeance, tugged the comb through a particularly stubborn knot "Couldn't you have asked Elanee to do this for you once in a while? Or at least Neeshka, give her hands some honest work for a change?" Phaedra blanched. Neeshka would just laugh at her no doubt, considering her eminently serviceable cropped hair, and as for Elanee, would Elanee ever do anything so humdrum? Somehow she just seemed to emerge effortlessly from any encounter without a hair out of place. "It is very lovely, you know, I'd give my soul to have hair like this" Shandra said, somewhat more gently

"No…" Phaedra turned slightly, glanced at Shandra "Yours is just as beautiful…" Shandra's hair was pale as spun gold, shorter than Phaedra's but purer; it did not have that gaudy red streak shining through it…

"Please, every girl needs to know she has something up on the competition" Shandra snorted "And you have this…so be glad of it" They were both silent for a time, but it didn't feel at all awkward. As Shandra managed to tame more of Phaedra's hair, the combing became more rhythmic and strangely, quietly relaxing "So, where do you get the colour from anyway?" Shandra said lightly, after some time "Is it elvish?"

"No, my mother was a Sun Elf, so she'd have been completely blond, or silver-haired" Phaedra answered, for perhaps the first time in her whole life she felt at ease speaking about Esmerelle "It's probably my father…"

"Was he the one related to Duncan?" Shandra asked

"No, actually I'm not really related to Duncan at all" Phaedra explained "Duncan's the brother of my foster-father, Daeghun…"

"Oh right…" Shandra nodded, understanding "That's strange. You and Duncan seem just like father and daughter to me"

"Yes…" Phaedra murmured quietly "I couldn't imagine doing this without Duncan, or Casavir…or Elanee, or any of them…" She gave a heavy sigh, but with Shandra there somehow she didn't feel as though the thought would make her cry, as it had almost through the whole night…

"You're very brave, I think you could manage just about anything" Shandra answered. She paused a moment, letting the comb fall still, caught in Phaedra's hair, then she sighed lightly before continuing "They're all waiting for you, you know, outside…"

"Even Casavir?" Phaedra whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. She almost couldn't bear the thought of what the answer could be…

"Yes…" Shandra replied "He's out there…"

"Oh…" Phaedra lowered her head, could she bear to see him again, knowing she had failed him so badly?

"He's not angry, you know…" Shandra said comfortingly "He was just shocked, and scared, and worried about you, everyone was. No one cares about everything else that happened, they understand that it's not your fault. It's Bishop, Casavir, Elanee, and the others, they just want to know why you did it" Phaedra froze, her shoulders stiffened and her throat tightened "It's just an explanation they need, that's all…"

"Shandra, I don't know" Phaedra looked away. What to say? If she couldn't find a way to say this to Casavir, to Elanee, last night, how could she find it now? "I just thought Bishop deserved a chance…"

"A chance?" Shandra paused a moment, she sounded surprised "But, Phaedra, don't you see, even if Bishop wanted a chance, even if he deserved one, you can't feel like it's your responsibility to give it to him. You already saved me, and I'll always be thankful for that but you can't take the suffering of the whole world on your shoulders. Sometimes you just have to let it go…"

"It isn't that simple…" Phaedra shook her head

"Of course it is" Shandra laid a hand on her shoulder "Bishop, he's not good for you, or anyone else. So just let him go…" Phaedra closed her eyes, deeply in thought, could she just truly make Bishop leave, no matter the reasons she had given to herself to let him come with them, no matter the promise she had given him, simply to preserve the unity of her group? The way Shandra put it, it sounded so easy… "Give it some thought" Shandra said at last "But right now, I think you should come out with me and tell the others what you just told me, okay?"

"Shandra…" Phaedra caught her hand, as she moved to leave "Thank you"

"You know that Elanee suggested it was me who come, right?" Shandra looked away for a moment, but a smile lightened her features…

"Yes, I know" Phaedra smiled back, she had guessed a little while back that Shandra had come here on the elf's urging but as always Elanee had things completely right. Shandra was the only one who she could have talked to like this, just two girls, maybe even two friends, the kind of talks she and Amie had always had. It had been so long since she'd been able to…and in fact, after last night when it had felt like everything had spiralled out of her control, it was just what she had needed, a moment's quiet, where things were simple again. Shandra's practicality had given her a new way of looking at her predicament with Bishop too, as always she had hopelessly complicated the issue, but when it came down to it…maybe Shandra did have it right. And yet…

"Good…" Shandra nodded, turning back towards the door, and Phaedra stood to follow her, knowing that it was time. Time for her to go back to face what she had begun, but at least Shandra would be with her, she couldn't quite do it alone…

They were, of course, all there…as Shandra had said. Duncan, standing fidgeting behind the bar, he looked up with worry the moment she and Shandra entered, all the anxiety vanished from his face and shoulders and he gave her a wonderfully bright smile. Khelgar and Neeshka looked to have been snapping at each other all morning, by the rather combative positions they had adopted on either side of the bar, but Neeshka waved cheerily, and Khelgar raised a full mug of ale in salute, to the both of them. And Elanee…Phaedra's gaze found her right away, in her usual quiet corner by the fire, where she was just standing to move over towards them. She didn't look at all surprised to see the two of them emerging at last, but then again she rarely did, and Phaedra returned her smile gladly, Elanee had still been watching over her after all. And Casavir…it was almost shocking to see him still here, standing by the door amidst the Flagon's dull, ale-stained walls in full arms and armour, as though he had been shocked into stillness in the midst of pacing up and down the common room. His head was turned towards her, his icy blue eyes caught her there, and there was a spark of something, of feeling within them that she had never before seen…otherwise his austere features were, as always, almost impassive, and yet Phaedra saw the tension across his shoulders, the long hours of waiting…the worry for her. Last of all, Bishop, where was he? Well, this would be far easier without him, without the feeling of having betrayed him, whether or not he deserved it. She let him fall aside from her thoughts for a moment, unexpectedly difficult though it was, but by focusing once again Casavir she managed it…

"Casavir…" She said softly, and though the paladin couldn't possibly have heard her all the way across the room, something seemed to change, the tension seemed to vanish, and instantly he moved with none of his usual measured calmness across the room. His steps, instead, seemed to be almost unsteady with emotion. She felt a pang deep in her own heart in response, how could she ever have thought that he would leave her? How could she ever have given him cause to?

"My lady, let me apologise" He began swiftly as soon as he had reached her. Shandra gave a light, satisfied smile and stepped back somewhat to give the two of them some space…as Khelgar, Duncan, Elanee and Neeshka walked over and joined her… "I should not have…"

"No, Casavir…" She raised her hand and he fell silent instantly "If you were wrong, I certainly was." She paused, gave a heaving sigh "Let me explain, at least…" Could she do it, somehow make him understand? Right now, in the swell of hope that his presence, and that he was just speaking to her at all, brought, she found she wanted to explain…and confess, everything. If only she could find the words…

"There's no need" Casavir bowed his head "It was wrong of me to act as I did last night, it was a betrayal of the trust you have placed in me, and the trust I have in you."

"Casavir…" She breathed

"I do not need you to explain yourself" He continued formally "I know you acted as you thought was right. I hope you will forgive me…"

"Forgive you?" Phaedra stared at him for a moment, astonished, after all her agonising about her own wrongdoings all of last night, after her despair that he would abandon her, he asked her to forgive him? "Casavir, of course I forgive you…"

"Thank you, my lady" He nodded distantly, and for a moment then their eyes met, in a way that only seemed to happen between them, where his stunning icy blue eyes seemed to touch a chord in her heart, and envelop her, draw her in towards something else deeper within she had never quite grasped, a hint of an abiding sorrow that was so distant to be almost unreachable. And yet this time, there was a guilt there, he thought he had let her down, and as a kind of penance, he was letting her closer than she had been ever yet. He would not look away this time, that she knew. And yet, at the thought…her own guilt seized at her throat, as she remembered, with a sudden, striking bitterness, her petty jealousy of him and Shandra, her foolish wrangling over whether he respected her as a leader, her anger, such anger, when he treated her less well than a mean-minded and jealous part of her thought was her due. How then, could she be worthy of such forgiveness, such acceptance, such trust? If Casavir knew the truth…At the thought, she couldn't bear to hold it any longer, and at once she automatically looked away, bending her head to look to the floor. Would things between her and Casavir ever quite be the same? Could they be? Or would this distance, now she knew what she was capable of, always rise between them? He gave no sign that her reticence disappointed him, but it must have…instead he stepped back slowly, and the others began to move over, so that he quickly turned to the necessity of their journey "We have one overriding priority, then" The paladin began "And that is to understand, and to of necessity contain, the infernal power that somehow entered you in the caves…"

"Sand…" Elanee nodded as she stepped up to join them along with the others

"He'll be at shop right now" Duncan said, clearly the others had filled him in on the events in the caves "Never leaves the place, practically…" He looked desperately apologetic, still floundering in an attempt to justify his silence by being as useful as he could. Phaedra gave him a brief, fleeting smile…though she could not forget or understand why so much had been kept from her, she would try and forgive it.

"Good" She glanced around to each of them in turn, letting them know, as best she could, that she was back, and she would let herself be so distracted by despair again. It had been selfish and foolish, she saw that now. The best way to combat these events that now seemed so out of her control was to take action, any kind of action. "Then we have our way forward"

"Finally" It was astonishing just how quickly everyone reacted the moment Bishop stepped through the shadowed doorway that led back to the guest rooms, presumably in which he had been lurking up until now. After the accepting, almost light, atmosphere which had greeted Phaedra's entrance, despite all of her own mistakes, the tension that ran through almost everyone as the ranger made his way toward them, a sarcastic smile on his face and the ring of mockery in his voice, seemed all the more harsh and unforgiving. And yet even Phaedra couldn't stop herself from drawing back towards Casavir, just as the others imperceptibly closed ranks around her, nor could she keep the smile on her features, or stop her shoulder from tightening. It was more the thought of having to face her own decision now than his presence which so unnerved her, and yet, despite his clear indifference to it, she couldn't help but wonder which had come first, Bishop's own lack of concern for the feelings of others, or their rejection of his own. "Where to then, princess? Need someone killed yet? Or maybe you just want your favourite tracker by your side for this one?" And despite his casual tone, his careless step forward, Phaedra glimpsed a hint of almost imperceptible strain…it was something in his eyes, a barely restrained anger…or frustration. But he kept it so well hidden that she doubted anyone saw it but her. Did he know, had he guessed that she had so closely considered, as Shandra had put it, letting him go? She felt…uncomfortable at the thought

"Bishop…" Slowly she stepped forward, taking her linen gown in hand to walk to meet him. What could she say? Did she have the courage to force him to leave? Did she have the courage to allow him to stay? Before she moved any closer, though, Casavir's gauntleted hand fell upon her arm and caught her just one second longer. She started at his touch…

"Do what you feel is right" The paladin murmured softly, so softly that only she could have heard, then he let her go. She stumbled a little on the first step away from Casavir's support, but drew up to her full height to face Bishop where they met just across the threshold of the doorway, a little away from everyone else.

"We need to talk…" She said quietly, gazing up into his face, trying to make it clear somehow that, whatever she said here, whichever way she decided in this decision of which she wasn't even sure herself, it wasn't because she thought of him as the others did.

"We had a deal" He muttered dangerously, his tawny eyes smouldering like the hidden ashes that could ignite a forest fire. Phaedra swallowed uncomfortably, trying to sort out what she should say. When she was alone, it was easy to forget just how compellingly dangerous Bishop could be. She tried to sort through her thoughts, tried at this her last chance, to make the decision that had always been so far from her grasp. Could she allow things to be as simple as Shandra had said? How, when so much was at stake? Or was it…truly, did Bishop really matter to her so much that letting him go should be this hard? But it was…despite herself, despite the short time they had spent together, he had made his mark, could she truly simply let go? And she did owe him…Casavir had said do as she felt was right. She closed her eyes a moment, running a hand through the rough linen folds of her gown. Always she tried to over-think things, let herself be paralysed by the thought of the consequences. This time…let it be simpler, Phaedra. Do what she felt was right…no more trying to justify one position, no more fighting with herself…feel it, Phaedra…

"Bishop…" She began slowly, and she opened her eyes again to gaze deep into the tawny fire within his own. He did not look away, his eyes seemed to invite her, brazenly to fall into him, as though he found even this smallest of moments a trial of his own strength against hers. Bishop, what did she truly feel? And in that moment, in a sudden, almost surprising, answer to the question she had let float upon her suddenly calmed thoughts, she knew what she would do. Slowly, without looking away, she opened her mouth to speak once again…

Suddenly, and almost entirely without warning, the door to the Flagon was pushed open with the air of sophisticated entitlement that it was hard to imagine it ever before experiencing, a touch so forceful and yet so precise that it flew back on its hinges with all the dramatic effect of a theatrical entrance, yet fell still the moment before it slammed into the wall next to it. Everyone froze and looked up to the door at once, the all-important words died in Phaedra's throat, not merely because it was only an hour or two after dawn, not merely because Duncan hadn't actually opened the Flagon to customers yet, but largely because something in the way that door was opened implied business, official business. And when the caller stepped carefully, precisely, almost disdainfully, into the Flagon's ale-stained, brawl-scuffed floor, any lingering doubt that this was perhaps a normal customer faded right away, and Phaedra took a step away from Bishop, knowing at once that this could not be good.

"Am I to understand that this is the current residence of Lieutenant Phaedra Blake?" The man whose footsteps were almost as light as the steps of a dance said cautiously as he made his way towards them, his gaze, a decidedly official gaze, with the perceptive sharpness of a hawk's eyes, swept the Flagon in one quick swoop, then settled back upon the eight-strong crowd by the bar, all of whom were returning his gaze with shock, confusion, or in some cases outright distaste. He was as slender and slim as a swan, his tanned flesh smooth and clean-shaven, his brown and golden hair trimmed utterly precisely. And yet beneath the clear trappings of the nobility, that curt precision of his every mannerism was honed to be as sharp as a rapier blade. Even were it not for the blue surcoat over shining chainmail, she would have recognised that this man was a warrior. And even were it not for the emblem marked out in white upon the front of that surcoat, she would have understood that the combination of eminent noble breeding and a formidable warrior's training would have made him one of Neverwinter's foremost knights. As it was, she knew the marking instantly…it was the same eye motif that had emblazoned Callum's surcoat, back in Old Owl Well. This man, stepping into the Sunken Flagon, looking for her, was one of the Neverwinter Nine…

"Yes" Slowly she stepped forward, Casavir moved aside for her, but fell in quickly at her shoulder. The rest of her friends moved to settle in alongside her, even Bishop took his place at her left, his gaze was pure venom, his hands settling openly upon the short sword at his belt. "I am Phaedra Blake…" Her voice sounded hesitant, even to her own ears…and why not? This did not seem good, not at all.

"Well met, my lady" The man bowed swiftly, formally, but despite the courtesy of the greeting, no trace of welcoming entered his chestnut eyes, which were awash with an ominous sense of turmoil "I am Sir Nevalle. And I come here with gravest news"

"Just when we thought things had finally settled down" Neeshka murmured, but even her usual glibness was dented severely. It didn't take someone of her skill at piecing things together to realise that something terrible must have happened…

"The City of Luskan has accused you, Lieutenant" Nevalle continued, if he had heard Neeshka's comment, he gave no sign of it "Of murder, no less, and this is no trivial matter we can explain away. An entire village lies slaughtered, and they hold you firmly responsible." Oh Gods, no… "You have heard of Ember, I presume?" No, Phaedra felt something sharp and cold clutch agonisingly at her heart. Ember…Marcus' prophecy…

"Ember?" Shandra pushed her way forward, aghast with horror "You said…Ember?" Phaedra herself could not have spoken, even had any word come to her mind above the ache of anguished sorrow that swept in icy fingers through her thoughts; Ember, they had been there only a week ago, how had this happened? Why? And to blame her, Luskan had done this…why?

"I did" Nevalle gave her a curt glance, before turning back to Phaedra "Unfortunately there is no doubt in the matter…Ember is destroyed, its people slaughtered. We had to confirm it ourselves…but…" He spread his hands helplessly, as Phaedra felt her knees crumble beneath her. It was only with a supreme effort of will that she even kept herself upright. Shock, it was the shock of it, above all. She could not even begin to feel the horror and sadness she knew would come.

"Wait…" Duncan raised a hand, his features alight with rage, as Shandra fell back once again, staggering against the pillar nearby. She looked sick, her features ghastly pale, her eyes sweeping over Nevalle again and again, as though she could hardly believe this was real, that it wasn't a nightmare "You can't believe this!" Duncan snapped "It's nonsense, it's ridiculous! My niece has been framed…I'm a Neverwinter citizen! We demand our rights!"

"I've scraped things off my boot I respect more than Luskan" Nevalle snorted "But unless we find some way to clear you of this charge, I am afraid we have no choice but to surrender you to them…" He swallowed, glanced away for a moment, looking, for the first time, uncomfortable to be delivering such news "It is a treaty, we have signed with them. The crime was committed upon their soil, therefore they have the right to dispense low justice…"

"No!" Duncan roared, slamming his fist into his palm "That's not good enough! Isn't it obvious what this is? She's fought them, she's with the Watch! Doesn't that mean anything to you? They just want to get rid of her, this is a plot!"

"I do not believe the charges" Nevalle said slowly, with grave solemnity "I have read the reports on your actions, Lieutenant Blake. You were until recently a valued member of this City's Watch, you have done more than anyone in these troubled times to advance Neverwinter's cause, including specifically striking against Luskan, and in particular the Ambassador Torio Claven, who is the one who brought this to our attention. It is obvious what Luskan's plan is, but we cannot simply ignore it nonetheless. There will be repercussions if we ignore the terms of the Treaty…"

"Damn politics!" Duncan snarled "You can shove that treaty…!"

"There is another way" Nevalle's voice rose slightly, but the moment it did Duncan fell silent, gasping to draw in the air he seemed almost unable to find, as though the reality of this and all its horrific implications was only just beginning to catch up with him. "Though our hands are tied, there is a way to give you more time, time that might well prove your innocence and discover the true culprit…"

"What do I need to do?" Phaedra murmured, her voice hoarse as though she had already wept, but no tears seemed to come…

"Luskan is responsible for Low Justice, but there are alternatives" Nevalle explained "If you were a member of the nobility, then you could only be tried under High Justice, here, in Neverwinter…meaning you would at least have a chance to prove your innocence…"

"A member of the nobility?" Phaedra gasped, shocked despite herself.

"Yeah, they have different rules to us common folk" Neeshka nodded at her side "At least that works out for us this time…"

"Specifically a squire, the lowest rank of the nobility but the only one open to us right now" Nevalle nodded "You shall be sworn to a knight of Neverwinter, but at least it gives you a moment's grace. Under our laws, you shall at least have the chance to argue your case, and you shall have access to legal counsel." He sighed deeply, ran a hand over his immaculate sleeve "There is a knight, fortunately, who will follow Nasher in this." He continued "This evening, just after sunset, report to the City Watch as usual. Do not give any indication that anything is amiss, Luskan is almost certainly watching. There, you shall meet with the man who will accept your service…"

"Sir Nevalle…" Phaedra whispered "I can't…" She paused, swallowed her words and the hysterical sob that almost cracked through all her self-control. After everything that had already happened…after all she had already fought and killed, for this…Luskan to attack her in this new and insidious way. And they, she had no doubt it was them who were responsible, had slaughtered Ember, slaughtered their own people…simply to get to her.

"Lieutenant, there is no choice" Nevalle straightened "Neverwinter cannot lose you." He paused a moment, and looked a little reluctant, even hesitant to continue "Nasher cannot help you any more directly, but there is one more thing we can do…" He said "I have sent word to a…friend of mine to assist you. He has proven invaluable in such cases in the past, his expertise may be what saves you in the end. He should be arriving shortly" The knight stepped backwards, back towards the door "There is nothing more, I cannot linger here lest Luskan catches wind of my movements. Be warned, though, that Nasher has barred the city gates to you until this is resolved." He nodded briefly, and turned to leave "Luskan has accused you, Lieutenant…" He said, with a last brief glance back at her "I am sorry, there is no one else save you who can stop them" With that, Sir Nevalle of the Neverwinter Nine stepped abruptly through the open door of the Flagon, and was gone into the mists of the morning upon the Docks with another careful, measured step. The door swung shut behind him…and silence fell upon the inn's common room…

Phaedra stepped back slowly, she felt sickened; Ember, all those people, dead, solely to get to her. Luskan, she had slain Ajah, but for her to ever be so important to that dread city that this plot would swing against her, against her personally. It seemed impossible, utterly impossible. She could hardly believe it, and yet she knew she must, or else Luskan would have her, they had done all this to get to her! To her! Oh Gods…she steadied herself upon the table. All of this…for her…

"Phaedra, listen, listen to me…" Duncan moved over, laid a hand on her shoulder. No longer vehement, his voice was exhausted but stubborn, yet his eyes were still utterly shocked and disbelieving "There's no way in the Hells I'll let this happen. Those Luskans are not getting a single hand on you, my girl…not one"

"They…destroyed Ember" Shandra moaned, raising a hand to her head "It was them, it was Luskan. Oh Gods, Alaine…everyone…"

"Be strong, Shandra" Casavir stepped over, the news, the terrible news, had touched grim severity across his features, but he moved over to support Shandra nonetheless "There will come justice for Ember's attacker, in this life or the next, but for now we must look to Phaedra…" He turned to her next, his blue eyes held her own with indomitable strength "We all know you are innocent, my lady, I swear I will fight to the death to prove it" She nodded weakly in response. There was some support in his words, and yet…they were still so distant, when all she wanted was to be held and told as though it were true that nothing would happen to her, that he would protect her…

"I can't believe what those Luskan dogs did" Khelgar snarled "Won't even fight us in open ground, trying to sneak in from behind like…like…skulking docks rats, and burning down that whole village…" He shook his head, inarticulate with fury "It's too much, even for Luskan…"

"Is it?" Bishop spoke up, running a hand along his bow as though the very thought of Luskan made him yearn to murder "Clearly you don't get Luskan yet. Clearly none of you do." His tawny eyes blazed, settling upon Phaedra. Never had she seen him this bitter, but it hardly mattered right now. Right now only one thing ran through Phaedra's mind…Luskan, he knew Luskan… "If you have something Luskan wants, they'll burn down a whole city to get to it. They just don't care…"

"Silence Bishop" Duncan breathed hoarsely, raising his hands helplessly "You're not helping her…saying that…"

"Oh so you think it'll help her if she doesn't understand how far they'll go to get her?" Bishop snarled "Duncan, you're more of an idiot than I thought. She needs to learn this, or else they'll have her in a second…" If Luskan would go this far, they would do anything…he was right…but before Duncan could respond…

"Wait…" Elanee came forward suddenly, with a step that was as light as a whisper. She had rarely if ever looked quite so strained as she did now, her green eyes touched Phaedra's face for a moment, alight with shock and disbelief, as a druid how could she understand the subtleties of politics that saw a whole village destroyed simply to get to one woman? How could Phaedra understand that? How could she fight it? Such dark, such subtle forces…things had moved to another level now, the level where her bow, her magic were as nothing. But again she asked the mounting panic in her head, why her? Why her alone? What had she done truly to attract such dire attention? "You have another guest, Duncan…" Elanee murmured. Everyone turned at once to the doorway, which had somehow been opened with such silent delicacy as to almost mask the noiseless entrance of the second unexpected guest at the Flagon…

"As if the day couldn't get any worse" Duncan snapped, upon seeing his newest caller. "What do you want, Sand?" And indeed, shockingly, it was the wizard who stood now by the door to the Docks, his arms folded, his gaze where it fell upon Duncan narrowed somewhat. He was clothed in his usual mage's robes, and in that disdainful elegance which was so personal to him. But Phaedra saw too the sheathed dagger that was now hung in a prominent place at his belt, the intricately cut leather and cloth pack slung over his shoulder. She saw also that his robes were a kind she had not yet seen him wear, open from the belt downwards where he wore tailored silk trousers and high leather boots, a much more serviceable outfit than his usual billowing robes. Sand meant business, that was clear from the start…

"I am here to help you and your kin actually" The wizard said, and there was no sarcasm lacing his deadly-serious tone. Phaedra moved over…he was the one sent by Nevalle? Well, he had worked with Cormick before, to warn her of Moire's vengeance. What, she wondered, made Sand, ostensibly simply another hedge wizard, so wound up within this kind of politics? Then she remembered something else; that he had taught her to guard against Hostower magic before she had fought Ajah…what had he said? 'Here, alone in this city, can I teach you the knowledge you require'. She gave the wizard a considering glance…who was Sand, really?

"Oh really," Duncan, who clearly hadn't realised yet that his friend must be working with Nevalle, said with the usual contempt that met Sand here, although this time it was weighted down by his own exhaustion and worry. "And what's the price? If it's more than a half-copper, you can see yourself out"

"No…" Sand murmured "I seem to have been given an ultimatum" His light blue eyes, so light that they in fact turned to a smoky grey in the Flagon's murkiness, travelled at once to Phaedra "I have heard of your troubles with Luskan…" Duncan's jaw dropped, as he realised what had struck Phaedra only seconds before. "Miss Blake, you are in a dire situation. Know that if you are sent to Luskan, you will be killed"

"Yes…" Phaedra gave a quiet nod. There was no other outcome, the motive of this conspiracy had to be her death, all this elaborate subterfuge, schemes simply to get her out into the open so Luskan could get to her. Ajah had failed them, brute force had failed them, so now they turned to politics, and to law, or at least their twisted version of it.

"At best, they will put you on trial, or at least what seems to be one" Sand continued distastefully, running a hand over the other "Then they will execute you. At worst they will dispense with that, and execute you the moment you set foot in the city." He paused a moment, his eyes two pinpricks of sharp crystal "And…Miss Blake, this will be no clean chop of the headman's axe. The Luskan courts have a multitude of inventive ways for executing prisoners that it is best not to sully our ears describing…"

"Sand…" Duncan whispered helplessly "No…"

"No, Duncan" Phaedra raised her hand to quiet her uncle "I need to hear, I need to know what's at stake." She turned once again to Sand "Sir Nevalle sent you, correct?" She said "How can you help me?"

"Sir Nevalle" He spoke the name with distaste, as though the knight were an unwelcome pest he disliked invoking "As is the manner of the noble knights of Neverwinter, longs to preserve above all, the appearance of clean hands in matters of High Politics. If you fail, he would rather not have his name directly linked to such a gambit as this. I am a discreet manner of aiding you without such a calamity occurring" Sand's tone made well clear what he thought of that, but why then would he be involved with, let alone obey, Nevalle? "Nor would you expect one such as Nevalle to have any useful talents, now would you?" Sand continued, just as acridly "No matter how this goes, you shall face some kind of judgement. If we are fast, and clever, it shall take place in Neverwinter where you will be afforded the service of an advocate. I would be far-better equipped to undertake that role than Sir Nevalle, I assure you"

"An advocate?" Phaedra stared at him "You mean a lawyer?"

"You…a lawyer?" Duncan's jaw dropped, clearly he was having his fill of surprises about his friend this morning.

"Yes, Duncan" Sand snapped "Me, a lawyer. Unlike certain others who misspent their youths blind drunk in gutters up and down the Sword Coast, in my time I have acquired expertise in a number of disciplines above and beyond my considerable talent as a spellcaster; right now law is the only one that need concern you. Technicality, a misspent word, the most minute flaw in evidence…all are weapons that I will employ if and when you require them. In addition, Nevalle requested…" Again the sarcasm suggested that the request had been anything but "That I accompany you while you investigate this atrocity. I have a talent for spying when things are amiss…"

"I hate lawyers" Neeshka muttered darkly, to no one in particular "And he's sure full of himself…"

"Fortunately for you, and your leader, tiefling" Sand whirled on her instantly, though he had been halfway across the Flagon and Neeshka hadn't spoken in anything more than a whisper "Among my talents is the ability to know when to keep my mouth shut. I suggest you learn the same, and quickly…" Neeshka leapt back as though stung…

"Damn, he's good" She complained

"You should learn that too, my dear" Sand nodded briefly "It might help you one day" He turned to Phaedra once again, and glided across the common room floor towards her. She had a moment to consider how strangely reassuring his presence was before he reached her. His confidence in his own abilities was comforting, and at least he had a clear plan, some route to follow, where she could react, strike back, not simply passively await her fate. She was glad it was him too, someone she knew, in whose hands her fate would lie. And…a hesitant thought crossed her mind, she had planned to seek his expertise with regard to the infernal magic she had manifested. Not now, but if there came a moment, when the two of them could speak freely…she intended to do so. "According to Nevalle we have the rest of the day to prepare." He said, once he had reached her "Rather than allowing yourself to dwell upon what has occurred, I would suggest that you take this time to begin your preparations, and I should like to know the details of your involvement with Luskan, if you would. If things go according to plan, I intend to see us on our way to Ember to carry out our own investigation" Ah…of course, if the trial in Neverwinter was to be fair clearly she would have opportunity to gather her own evidence. She glanced back at Bishop for a moment, saw his eyes upon her, and knew that he was thinking the same as she was. He knew Ember, its area, and he was an accomplished tracker, if they were to return to the village, she would need him.

"Alright" She glanced back at Sand quickly…they had until dusk, then "I'll tell you everything, if I could have a moment first to prepare things first…" She so wanted a bath, there hadn't quite been time since she had returned last night, and she'd need to pick up her Battle Robe too, perhaps Sand would be able to mend it if she showed him the damage…yes, actually, Sand was very right. Focusing on such mundane preparations, on things she could easily control, on the simple motions as were almost the matters of the everyday, they helped ease her panic, ease the thought that everything was entirely out of her control…

"That is fine" Sand nodded compliantly "Take as much time as you need, my dear. There is much yet for me to go over, I can collect testimonies from those of your companions who are willing, perhaps…"

"Could I come with you?" Shandra murmured weakly, staggering from where she stood, wracked by shock and disbelief, although Casavir had managed to calm her as much as he could. Phaedra felt a stab of guilt, and of sympathy, Shandra had known Ember, known its people…how must she be feeling right now? This wasn't merely a matter of Phaedra's fate… "I just need to get to my room too" She said "I…want to be alone a moment"

"Of course, Shandra" Phaedra stepped over, to take the older girl's hand comfortingly in her own. Shandra had helped her, the moment she needed to talk, Phaedra would be there, but she understood Shandra's desire for a few moments alone too. She would have as long as she needed to help her get through this…

"I will escort you" Casavir quickly joined them by the door. Phaedra glanced at him, certain he must have something important to say to her, and alone, if he had approached her with such an offer. So she nodded quickly, and together the three of them stepped quickly out into the corridor, leaving Sand back in the common room to make his preparations. He made a beeline straight away for the only other elf, Elanee, which seemed to say something for his ideas on the relative reliability of certain other members of the party. She seemed ready enough to accommodate his questions, after shooting Phaedra one last glance before she was gone which said that she too would be ready if Phaedra wished to speak of this horrific new development…

"Um…here we are" It had taken only a few steps to reach Shandra's door, and she spoke immediately once they had, her voice quiet and hoarse "Just…give me a moment, okay? I'll be back out…soon…"

"As long as you need" Phaedra said gently

"We shall find a way to solve this crime, Shandra…" Casavir lowered his head towards her, quiet, calm and utterly convincing "I swear it, and Ember shall be avenged…"

"I know…" Shandra breathed, gazing up with shining eyes at him "I know…you will" Then it seemed too much to bear, and she at once pushed open the door behind her and slipped inside. Phaedra heard the crack of a sob the moment before it was shut behind her. She shifted uncomfortably…should she truly leave Shandra like this?

"She needs a moment" Casavir murmured softly to her "But she knows she is not alone, she knows we will be waiting for her, so you need not think that she will feel as isolated as you did last night." Phaedra glanced up at him, shocked that he would mention that once again… "Come" He took her arm in an infinitely gentle hold, as though they were going on a stroll down Neverwinter's most peaceful boulevard, and not simply the corridor of the rather dingy tavern which had so strangely become home and together they walked. Phaedra felt for a short instant, suddenly at peace, as strange as that might sound given the dark forces gathering around her, the horrors of what had just been revealed to her "I believed we might have had a moment's peace after we defeated the Githyanki…" Casavir spoke suddenly, as they passed his own room "A moment's peace we could use to sort things out, you and I. There were many things I wished to discuss with you. But now…these Luskans…they use a perversion of justice, a foul plot of murder and deceit, to attempt to ensnare you. We no longer have the time…" He gave a heavy sigh, paused a moment, before continuing "Phaedra, may I ask you one thing?"

"Of course" She started, astonished at his words "Anything…"

"You were going to follow my advice, with regards to Bishop…" Casavir said slowly "If it is not too bold of me to ask, were you going to allow him with us, or not?" Phaedra blinked, paused herself, as they came to her own door at the end of the corridor…after all that, it was Bishop he asked of?

"Casavir…" She sighed

"Phaedra, I understand that if we are to do as Sand suggests, you likely think it is in our best interests to allow him to stay along with us, at least until we have scouted Ember" Casavir continued. As always their thoughts had been attuned, but how could it have been Bishop that was most important to him, of all the things that he had spoken of, the things he wanted to sort out with her. Why was it Bishop once again? "I agree with you, it is the lesser of two evils, for now. I would rather endure his presence for that time rather than we miss a clue which may keep you from Luskan's hands…but before I endure his presence for that long, I would wish to know, Phaedra, did you intend to allow him along with us before you knew of Ember's fate?"

"I…Casavir" She lowered her head, so much for accepting her choice, that bitter voice whispered. She knew Casavir would give no outward sign of his approval, or disapproval, no matter what she said, but it would affect him nonetheless, no one could pretend it would not. She opened her lips… "Casavir…" She turned to him, looked up at him steadily "I was not going to allow him to go along with us"

"Thank you for telling me" His grasp on her arm tightened just a second, before he let go of her. "I appreciate that I do not deserve the forbearance you have given me…so thank you" As he spoke, he opened her door for her, and she gave him a grateful smile in return "I am…be patient with me Phaedra" He murmured. Then at once, the moment she froze mid-step across the threshold in shock at that astonishing request, he turned and walked away. The echo of his plate metal boots upon the wooden corridor flooring reached back towards her, the last thing she heard before, just as suddenly, he was gone behind the wall back into the common room. She waited there until the corridor was silent, waited frozen with one foot lifted up to step across the doorway…shocked and shaken to the very core. But once it was, she managed to gather herself, stepping through that doorway, and glancing back just once at where he had gone before she closed the door behind her.

The sun still streamed in its beautiful, ethereal rays, silver, white and golden depending on where she looked at them, through the cracked panes of the window just above her table and filled the room in an ocean of light. Dawn was fading now, the light was stronger, approaching morning's and the zenith of midday…as she gazed up through that window to the sun that embodied the blazing splendour of the God she worshipped…a tear slowly tricked down her cheek. She didn't bother to brush it away, knowing that more would come…

"Casavir…" She murmured, in a voice that was nothing but a mere whisper, as soft as the sunlight around her "I'm sorry. I lied…"


	47. Chapter 47

_A brief apology, I tried to write Sir Grayson Corrett in a number of different ways but he always turned out like a caricature! Guess he was just made that way_

_I'm putting this up very quickly so no extended message. I don't really need to extend this chapter anymore though!_

_Thanks to rianess and dragonsrain for reviews and alerts/favourites from before!_

* * *

Dusk descended upon Neverwinter, stunning red and ochre bled into the soft grey and deep, fathomless blue of the sky at twilight. Above the shadowed hills that cloaked the horizon in a velvet darkness, this red and golden flood seeped almost like blood over the sky. A red sky…she almost heard Retta's soft, rasping voice, heavy with its proverbial wisdom…blood had been spilled. And there was no doubt that, for once, this age-old adage rang grimly true…Phaedra shivered a moment at the thought. For most of the day she and the others had been entrenched within the Sunken Flagon alongside Sand, hour after hour discussing Ember, and Luskan's plot. Even once Sand had gathered what he deemed adequate testimony from all concerned, actually some near-on five scrolls of his cramped writing, and even with his consistently and unfailingly methodical approach to the evidence they had gathered, they learned little new.

Sand deemed it 'highly likely' that the plot originated within the same rogue faction in Luskan who had sent Ajah. He had originally found it surprisingly hard to countenance the existence of such a rogue faction at all, but once Phaedra had relayed Ajah's last words he conceded that there was little doubt the mage had been lying. The key, as he put it, was Torio Claven, Luskan's ambassador. He confirmed it was she who had first accused Phaedra, as Nevalle had seen it anyway, and, Phaedra remembered, she had been the one behind Ajah's entrance into Neverwinter as well. Clearly she was neck-deep in this rogue faction's politicking, a puzzle, since, according to Sand's rather curious knowledge of the workings of Luskan, the position was one so important that only a person backed by the greatest mages in the Hostower could have received the commission.

The wizard was also able to relay what Nevalle had told him of what seemed to have actually occurred in Ember, according to Neverwinter's scouts sent there to confirm the report, and it was what he had told her then which made Phaedra shudder as she recalled Retta's proverb. The village had been put to the torch with brutal efficiency, a band numbering twenty or more had swept in in the early hours of the morning, perhaps the second dawn since Phaedra's own visit there. While the people had been slaughtered and the village looted, to the accompaniment of, as Sand put it rather delicately, 'the usual brutalities', the scouts had uncovered no coherent reason for the attack. Nor any survivors either, but the attack had clearly been planned that way. Sand had confirmed too that there was no reason as yet to suggest how Luskan planned to pin the blame on Phaedra. But they had to have some way to back up their accusation. It was simply a matter of when they chose to reveal it. That was no doubt what Sand would be pondering now, as she had left him back in the Flagon while she headed to the Watch. He had said this was a precaution in case she was being watched, as Nevalle had feared. Aside from Shandra, who had elected to stay in the Flagon a little while longer to sort things out, and Bishop, whose unannounced and unexplained absence was something more of a concern for her, everyone else had left the Flagon with Phaedra to travel to the Watch Headquarters and find this knight into whose service Phaedra would soon be sworn…

"There…" Elanee said softly, as the Watch Headquarters suddenly loomed above them, dark, foreboding and austere as the enveloped the city around it. There were only one or two lights burning amidst its many windows which were almost all cold and dark

"Let's hope that knight of yours came through" Khelgar grunted.

"He will" Casavir confirmed gravely, but he did not elaborate. Phaedra gave him a brief glance…if he had been in Neverwinter's service and a noble, as she suspected, it was likely he had at least known of Nevalle. But Nevalle had not seemed to notice, or recognise him back in the Flagon…if it was indeed the case.

"Hey, Phaedra…" Neeshka caught her attention before her thoughts returned, as they had so many times, to the lie she had told, a lie to save Casavir's good opinion of her, which had only confirmed to her that she did not deserve it. "You're sure about this…right?"

"It's the only way" Phaedra nodded heavily, she felt such a weight upon her shoulders "I will do all I have to do to stop Luskan…"

"Yeah, I get that" Neeshka muttered "But once you're sworn to Neverwinter, it's not going to be easy to go back…there'll be consequences. We've just got to make sure we're not in too deep here. I mean, what goes on in the palace, it makes the Docks look like child's play, especially when Luskan's involved…"  
"You think Sir Nevalle's after something from me?" Phaedra glanced at the tiefling questioningly. Court intrigue, she hadn't even begun to consider how it might affect her case…

"Maybe…" Neeshka shrugged "Or maybe you're just a convenient way for him to get another rung up the ladder. Either way, there'll be some lords who take exception to that. You can be sure Nevalle has enemies…are you really ready for that, Phaedra?"

"We don't have an alternative" Phaedra answered firmly, almost turning away to continue onwards.

"According to Nevalle…" Neeshka said quickly "I'm not saying we should necessarily abandon his plan, but…maybe we should just consider our options a little closer while we have the chance, and right now, without that wizard peering over our necks the whole time."

"Consider our options?" Khelgar tapped his axe, he looked more tense than anyone, as though knowing that the Luskans were fighting now in a way which couldn't be countered with a swing of an axe was making him feel worse. "Are you talking about running away? After what Luskan did? No, never, not in a million years, and not for a Hell-spawned, thin-blooded…"

"Khelgar!" Phaedra gave a shrill snarl, her eyes blazing. Anger rushed through her every vein, white-hot, and she clenched her fists so tight that the nails dug into her palm. She just felt so on edge, so tense, her nerves were taut and drawn as thin as a knife's edge. Oh Gods…she felt a wave of shock and horror at the strength of her own anger…what was happening to her? But at least Khelgar had the grace to look shame-faced, which mollified her somewhat. After all this time, would he ever progress on these Trials which were apparently so important to him? But that was his own matter now. Stay calm, Phaedra, she breathed slowly, deeply…then at once Neeshka started up on it too…"Let's just go" She said dully "And Neeshka, I'm sorry but I've already decided. There isn't another way, there never was. Luskan will pursue me, no matter what I do. And the people of Ember deserve some kind of justice…" But the words seemed hollow, a mere shell of words…and what feeling she felt there should have been simply would not come…

ooo0000ooo

How many weeks had it been, since first she had stood here, in this austere, immaculately arranged office while the flaming evening sunlight bled through the windows and set the room afire? A month and a half, maybe less, and yet so much had changed. She seemed…to have become so much older…or had the world around her simply become harsher, less comforting, less familiar? As she stood before Captain Brelaina, Marshal Cormick, and a man she did not know except that he was clearly Nevalle's knight, her knight soon, she hesitated to speak, lest she break the silence, and the flow of memories that it awoke.

"This…is the Lieutenant?" The knight said slowly, after a moment's silence, and there was surprise in his voice, a kind of polite surprise, she found it almost distasteful in its oblique courtesy. He was a handsome man, with his smooth, flawless features, his large dark eyes, and a crop of thick black hair which flowed over his forehead, and obscurely that made him somewhat more disagreeable to her. She tried to reason through her feelings, he had none of Casavir's aching melancholy, or Bishop's compelling wildness, nor the sense of strength present in either of them. He was simply a handsome man, in a suit of splendid plate armour, polished to a sheen of flashing brilliance, and wearing a long blue cloak. "This woman?" He glanced confusedly to where Captain Brelaina stood behind her desk, a pillar of quiet, formidable strength.

"This woman…" Cormick snarled savagely "Has single-handedly defended Neverwinter while you self-important nobles have cowered behind…"

"Marshal!" Brelaina snapped "Hold your tongue!" Cormick stepped back, all barely restrained fury and resentment, his fists clenched at his side, anger carved into the harsh contours of his face. In contrast to Brelaina's serenity, Cormick was more restless than ever she had seen him. He was unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, his posture so tense it seemed almost as though he were about to strike out at something close to him. Phaedra glanced at him, and he looked away, shame-faced. Had she done this? Was it her? She had to speak to him somehow…

"I meant no offence…" Then the knight spoke again, seeming somewhat bewildered by Cormick's violence, as though he could not countenance someone taking issue with his position

"This is Lieutenant Phaedra Blake, sir" Brelaina nodded to him respectfully, as though nothing had happened with Cormick.

"Well met, my lady" He turned to Phaedra, and there was kindness in his eyes. Phaedra felt a twinge of confusion at her previous resentment. Why had she felt such an aversion to this man? Was it simply because he resembled so her childish ideas of knights and nobles? Ideals she now knew could never be real? Or was it because he had, after all, belittled her in that polite manner of his? "I am Sir Grayson Corrett. My sword is sworn to Nasher, to Neverwinter and to Tyr" He continued, oblivious to her heavy thoughts "As shall be yours, once we are done here…"

"I am to be your squire…" She said softly

"Indeed" Grayson gave a brief nod, and a fleeting smile "It is a noble obligation, to serve our great city and our righteous lord. As you no doubt have already learned…" Yes, Phaedra thought with a twist of aching bitterness, she'd learnt that Luskan would burn a village down to accuse her of murder because of that 'noble obligation' "But to enter the ranks of the nobility is to bear even greater responsibility, to lord and land alike. These are unusual circumstances, of course…normally my squire would be drawn from the youngest sons of our noble families, rather than…" He paused delicately…rather than what? Phaedra gazed at him, her eyes cold and hard as emerald. Rather than a swamp-born adventuress, perhaps, or an arcane witch, or an alleged murderer? "A person of your circumstances" He finished "Normally, also, we would have some few months of more direct service, grooming my horse, cleaning my shield, suchlike…You…might as well be glad to have escaped that at least…" He coughed uncomfortably "However if you are to be my squire, in name at least…you shall have need to learn a little of what it means to serve…there is a code, the knight's code, the solemn duty of a knight and all those who serve them. Are you prepared to hear it, to learn it, and above all to follow it, Phaedra Blake?"

"Yes" Phaedra whispered. A code…Nevalle had said nothing of such a thing? She felt a moment's discomfort…what would she be tying herself to? Up until now, she had been free to follow her own path, to do what she thought was right…but, like she had said to Neeshka, really there was no choice anymore, the path was narrowing now.

"Excellent" Grayson nodded "The code is at the heart of who we are. Listen well, Phaedra…" He spread his hands, his features taking on a grave solemnity "To be brave and valorous in battle against your enemies. To show no fear in their presence" Well, she had fought her own battle against fear, so many times. But courage was not knowing no fear, but winning against it "To be just and righteous, to embody and uphold the laws of your lord and land" Greyson continued after a suitably heavy pause. This time, he glanced at Phaedra, as though waiting for her assent.

"And if your lord orders you to do something unjust?" She asked instead, thinking of Casavir, who had seen his city let people suffer, and renounced his own allegiance. That took so much more courage than the blind obedience Sir Grayson seemed so accustomed to.

"Obedience to one's lord is justice" Grayson seemed surprised by the question "That is the law of Tyr. And our lord, Nasher, is just…" To her shock, Cormick, who had stood in the shadows, restlessly fidgeting as Grayson spoke the solemn words, gave a loud and all too obvious snort…

"Marshal!" Brelaina whirled on him, her agate eyes blazed suddenly, hard as crystal. Grayson flinched, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. He suddenly looked angry…

"He's using her!" Cormick pointed unsteadily at Phaedra, his words slurring. Oh Gods…she suddenly realised that he must have been drinking, and heavily… "Nasher's using her! And you both know it! Our 'just' lord is throwing her out to the wolves, using her as the bait to draw out the Hostower…"

"Fetch up your sword!" Grayson snarled, and steel flashed as he drew his sword openly "And I shall teach you not to speak of Nasher like that!" Phaedra gave a hoarse gasp, glancing at the knight with horror. Was he mad? And this…the man upon whom her fate depended. And Cormick…

"Think you can teach me anything?" Cormick snarled, and his hand fell to his own sword, gripping the hilt so hard that his knuckles were white against the veins that stood in sharp relief across his hand. "I'll carve your precious justice into your gullet!" Phaedra drew back her hands…even through her alarm, she was quite prepared to use magic to part them, if she had to…

"You shall do no such thing!" Brelaina stepped between the men, utterly fearless, utterly enraged "And Grayson, for the Gods' sake remember why you are here!" Grayson stepped back, glaring at them both, but he pushed his sword back into its scabbard. "This is my Headquarters" The Captain was incandescent with fury "And there is to be no open steel shown here!" She turned to Cormick, who sullenly let go of his own hilt and faced her "Cormick…there is absolutely no excuse for treason!" She snapped "Nor for threatening one of Nasher's knights! How dare you disgrace yourself and the Watch like this! If Phaedra's fate matters to you at all, remove yourself from this office!" Even back in those early days, when the fire had consumed the Docks Headquarters and Lieutenant Roe, when the Watch was knee-deep in corruption and crime, Phaedra had never seen the Captain this angry. And clearly neither had Cormick…

"Captain…" He breathed hoarsely, he stumbled on his feet, unsteadily trying to justify himself "I…you see it, don't you? It's a lie…none of them really care about her…"

"Go, Marshal" Brelaina pointed at the door, suddenly not enraged, but cold and hard, and distant "Wait outside, we shall discuss the recent inexcusable lapse in your discipline once I am done here." Cormick swallowed heavily, and began to walk to the door without another word. As he passed Phaedra, though, their eyes met…and she saw the savage grief and longing in them once again. Her heart froze, knowing all at once that she was the cause, the only cause, of all of this, and then he stepped past her…and was gone through the door… "Forgive us, Sir" Brelaina turned once again to Grayson once his footsteps had faded "The Marshal was once one of our best, but there have been…incidents lately. I never thought he would go this far, though." She shook her head curtly "I will speak to him…"

"Captain?" Phaedra stepped forward slowly "If you would, let me speak to him first…"

"Of course" The Captain looked at her strangely, did she guess? It was impossible to know, past that impassive exterior, whether she knew the true reason behind Cormick's restlessness "You have always shared a connection…"

"If you are to take the matter in hand, then" Grayson straightened, coolly collecting himself as though nothing had happened "The Watch has made many strides lately, but a man so disrespectful of authority within your ranks might well undermine everything you have achieved" He turned once again to Phaedra "Now, shall we leave that unpleasant business behind my lady and continue?" Phaedra tensed, though he scarcely noticed. He was patronising her now, he had just clashed with her friend, Cormick…she struggled to keep her distaste from her face "We shall return to the code…our code" He said "The code stands between us and savagery, remember that…" He breathed out deeply "It continues thus: To be respectful to your enemies, and kind to your fellows" Kind to your fellows? Casavir had fled persecution in Neverwinter, Grayson had just drawn a sword on Cormick… "And lastly, to protect the weak and those who cannot defend themselves" She could do that, at least, she had always tried to. She wondered briefly, though, what Bishop would say to that…what would be his answer to the code? Somehow she imagined that it would be more honest than Grayson was…

"I see" She lowered her head, her golden hair brushing past her face. She was not going to give Grayson the satisfaction of anything else, though. His code was his own… "Is that all?" Was becoming a squire really that easy?

"Well…" Grayson raised a gauntleted hand to his chin thoughtfully "In order to truly become a squire, there is one more tradition to be observed. A night-long vigil, a contemplation of all that you are and all that you are to become before you leave your old life behind to become a servant to the people…"

"Can we not ignore the Vigil this time?" Brelaina folded her arms "She will be vulnerable in the Glade…Luskan is sure to see an opportunity"

"No we cannot, it is a requirement of the law here" Grayson answered "And remember that Luskan's case counts on showing they weren't involved in Ember's destruction. They will likely not risk destabilising their case by attempting something so obvious as assassination…" That still wasn't all that reassuring, Phaedra thought, but she wouldn't exactly be entirely vulnerable. She had her magic after all… "The vigil takes place in Solace Glade, a sacred grove that lies just beyond the city walls." Grayson said to her "Once the night of watching is done, you shall be my squire, and safe from Luskan's schemes for now…."

"I understand" She said…a vigil, if the place were as serene and sacred as Grayson seemed to think it would be, perhaps this ritual would give her some time to think over what was important, time she had been without for so very long. "And this will happen tonight?"

"Yes" Grayson answered "Luskan must not catch word of this before it is too late for them to protest. Otherwise it is possible they have a way to force my lord's hand" He glanced out of the window towards the streaking evening sun "The hour approaches, but the Glade is not far from the city walls. I shall give you a little time to explain to your companions the circumstances…"

"And you may speak to the Marshal as well, should you wish" Brelaina said, giving Grayson a tense glance.

"Indeed" Grayson nodded distantly, with what might have been construed as benevolent regard, but which came across to Phaedra as something rather more condescending "The Captain and I shall take the time to discuss a few matters the Council wished to bring to her attention, you may return here when you are ready, then I will guide you, alone, to the Glade. Remember, only you may take the Rite…no other is to accompany you"

"I understand" Phaedra managed a somewhat stiff curtsey for Grayson. She gave a briefer, less formal, nod to Brelaina who gave her a strained smile in return, then she turned on her heels and slipped out of the office as soon as she could. As the door closed behind her, she knew she had a lot to think about: Grayson, his code, and what becoming a squire would truly mean for her and for her quest, somehow she doubted it would be as simple as Grayson and Nevalle had suggested. But right now, Cormick…

"Phaedra…is that you?" She turned slowly at the sound of his voice, rough, slurred, hoarse. He was there, in the shadows of the antechamber in which she now stood, a figure in darkness, he looked…deflated…a mere shell of a man, the harshness of his features sculpted even harder, hard as rock.

"Cormick…" Slowly she stepped over to him. He was even more of a mess this close up, his armour was scuffed, his cloak stained and torn. His eyes were unfocused, even more bloodshot than she'd thought, and he stank…the sharpness of alcohol overpowered the heavy stench of sweat, but only just. She felt a stab of grief, and guilt…what would everyone in West Harbour think if they could see him now? He'd been so much of a hero back there, everyone had looked up to him… "What are you doing?"

"I wanted to warn you…" He breathed hoarsely, staggering over to be closer to her "They're just using you, all of them and if Luskan gets you, they don't care at all. It's just politics to them" Phaedra frowned, he thought Nevalle and Grayson were looking to their own advancement, it echoed what Neeshka had said. She needed to know what was really going on here. "Don't let them do this…" He groaned "Don't become like them…"

"You know I have to" Phaedra murmured gently "Luskan's after me. They want me so badly, and I don't even know why…" She couldn't stop a hint of her fear, her horror, escaping before him, which was really a mistake…she thought, considering how things had gone between them…

"Damn Luskan!" Cormick slammed his fist into the wall "Doing this, trying to get to you like this, but we don't have to let them! It's obvious you're not guilty, Neverwinter doesn't have to play by these rules. Damn it, we could just tell them to try and take you…" He somewhat unsteadily straightened "I'd kill a thousand Luskan dogs to protect you…" He said, with a drunken sentimentality "You know that, Phaedra, right?"

"Cormick…no, not this again" Phaedra tightened, stepping back a little bit "Can't we just go back to the way things way were?"

"How?" Cormick raised a hand to his forehead "Tell me how, damn it" He breathed deeply, hoarsely "I can't stop thinking about you…every night I dream about you…you float just away from me, like you are now…and I can't reach you."

"So you do this?" Phaedra sighed "Drink? Argue with Brelaina? Cormick, this isn't like you"

"Why shouldn't I do it?" Cormick glanced at his empty hands, as though he felt the very absence within them as something deeply physical "Do you remember when we first saw each other again, back in Fort Locke?" He looked away into the shadows, but beneath the returning moroseness, there was something harder now "And you refused to go with me to Neverwinter, you took your own way. I lost you then…if only you'd come with me…" He looked up to her "Phaedra…don't you feel the slightest kindness for me? Don't you pity me at all?"

"Of course I do" She knew well what she should do, snap at him, push him away, but with him in such a state, she could not manage it. So she simply made her voice as distant as she could. "It's because I'm your friend…I can't pretend I feel something for you I don't. I'm sorry…I can't…"

"Why?" He looked up to her and suddenly he was changed. His skin was flushed, the tendons in his necks stood out…his eyes were dark and wild, his voice rough with a sudden, rising anger "Why can't you love me?"

"I don't know…" She stepped back again, she heard the rising shrillness in her own voice, the shrillness of self-justification, of a slight panic, because he wasn't in control of himself right now. "Cormick, I don't know…" Was it something that was wrong inside her? Was it Daeghun's doing, had he made her in his own image? But she knew she couldn't…

"It's because of him, isn't it?" Cormick's fists tightened at his side "That paladin…" He spat the word "Driving me half-mad wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to aim higher, get one better than a Watch Marshal…Lucky for you there's another self-important noble in there just waiting for you. Why don't you get back in there and charm him too…you don't need to be out here with the trash like me"

"I'm out here because I want to help you Cormick" She snapped "And I'm not leaving you like this! You're destroying yourself…you've got to stop!"

"Why shouldn't I?" He challenged, anger warring with despair in his voice, coiled in the tightness of his clenched muscles "Why shouldn't I just do as I want? I've been strangled by duty for so long…" He stepped up to her "Look at you…you're so cold, you're like your father…" She gave a short, sharp gasp of pain at that, the one way he could ever truly reach her. For he knew West Harbour, he knew Daeghun, it was the one thing that still united them, but he knew too, whether consciously or not, her weakness, that, however much she could pretend to be her own person around those who did not know it, with him she could not but know how the village, how Daeghun, had marked her "You always thought you were better than us, just like him…"

"That's enough Cormick!" She cried, scarcely recognising her own voice "That's enough!" Finally the anger she needed to push him back had come, that he would be so selfish and controlling, that he would act as though he had some right to own her, simply because he had obsessed over what he thought she was for so long. Cormick…this man who stood before her, harsh and blighted by drink and wasted desire, she hardly knew him at all… "This has nothing to do with Daeghun!"

"Oh…there's some anger now" Cormick snarled, with a bitter laugh "Did you love him, Phaedra? Or did he hurt you too many times?"

"Cormick!" Phaedra cried harshly

"Look at you, Phaedra" Cormick drunkenly raised a trembling hand "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen…but inside…I think he broke you after all. I thought once…that you'd saved yourself…but now I know better."

"What do you want from me, Cormick?" Phaedra asked bitterly "A lie? I don't love you! I never could"

"Because he made you that way!" Cormick answered "Well now you got what you wanted, you're going to become a noble, squire Phaedra Blake. Won't Daeghun be proud of his little girl now?"

"I didn't want this!" Phaedra gazed at him aghast "How dare you…?"

"You can't lie to me anymore" Cormick roared drunkenly "I know what you are now! A cold-hearted bitch, just another lying whore…" He fell silent then, suddenly realising that he had gone too far by the look in his eyes, by the freezing of his shoulders, by the flush that slowly begun under his neck and spread up to his ruddy cheeks. Phaedra gazed at him, silent too…and knew her gaze would look as cold and empty as ice, as the ice that seemed to move slowly, as she stood there and stared at him, up into her heart. Cormick…this was over…she could not bear to stand here another second. After everything, after she had patient, had tried so hard to make him see…after she had even blamed herself for his suffering it was clear where they stood now. Was this, then, all that come of his love, of his promise? Bitterness, a gall so poisonous that it parted them with nothing but emptiness between them, a venom as heavy as the words that seemed to still hang in the air between them. And him, a mere wreck of a man… "Phaedra…" He reached up, his hand froze, trembling in the air before her, and there was such pain in his features, and such shame "I…I'm sorry…I didn't…." But she couldn't…she couldn't bear to…give him the words he longed for. Slowly, silently she stepped back away from him. He did not move to follow, "Forgive me…" He breathed roughly "Oh Gods…forgive me…" She was silent, no word would come, as she stepped, though she could not turn away, back up to the door opposite to the one she had entered the room from, the door which would lead her to where her friends were, and she grasped the handle behind her with one hand. "Phaedra…" He moaned, and tears filled his eyes, spilling over onto his cheeks. But there was nothing else, it was over now. All that could be said had been said…Cormick. She could not but glance back at him once more, and in her own eyes she felt the stinging heat of tears…but they could not go back, she saw that now, and nothing she did or could possibly do would make things the way they were before he loved her. His love would always ruin them…both of them, she had to leave. Slowly, silently she slipped through the door and left him standing there in the shadows and dust. He did not follow…oh Cormick…

ooo0000ooo

There had been a time when Phaedra had feared the night…the aloneness, the darkness that pressed so close to her bedside that, as a child, she had curled herself up in her blankets and sometimes wept silently with the terror of it, always making certain that Daeghun would not hear her. And there had been times even now, on this journey, when she had held herself close against the pressing darkness, and clasped down on the lingering terror in her heart. But now…she knelt amongst the dry, crackling leaves scattered over the ground within this Solace Glade, dressed in the simple white dress of a supplicant, and she felt a strange, solemn peace descend over her. Perhaps it was the chance to escape the pressing reek of Neverwinter…if only for one night, and bathe herself in the clear, calm, clean peace of Neverwinter Wood. Or perhaps it was this place itself…a grove, surrounded by a copse of tall trees, the net of their shadowed branches sweeping over above her, the ground beneath her knees smoothed by the tread of many feet. What was it Grayson had said once he had guided her here? 'Upon this sacred earth, each knight of Neverwinter has raised prayers to the divinities. To Tyr, Torm and Tempus, these trees have heard the noblest of us all, the heroes of ages past, speak the words of supplication and know service'. She felt the weight of those prayers, somehow, in the still air around her. Even thinking of Grayson brought little resentment, as it was. There was no place for such things here. She bent her head, and breathed in the darkness around her…a hale, clean darkness…like it had been out in the Mere in the days of her childhood, not slick of the smoke of torches and oil.

She was to be a squire…to serve, but perhaps if she made the right choices she would not end up serving Sir Grayson, or Neverwinter's politics, or its warrings, perhaps if she made the right choices she could serve instead an ideal…as Casavir had chosen to. Justice…no, it was not justice…she could never be as strong as Casavir was. Then what? Her mind slipped silently through her journey thus far…and she knew, with an ache of sorrow, the pain she had caused…Ember, West Harbour, Cormick. She had to believe that one day she could make West Harbour safe. She had to believe that she could find some way to avenge Ember and expose its true destroyers. But it was so hard to believe now that what she had done had been right. She raised a hand to her heart, felt the hum of the shard beneath her skin…she knew it was there. Had she truly been doomed from the start? No matter what choices she had made, did it matter at all, the shard would still have been hunted, she would still have been hunted. Was everything she had done, all the sorrow she had made and felt, inevitable? She glanced up to the stars above her…and her mind formed a prayer to Lathander, but it was not the time now. It was not yet dawn. In the night, in this darkness…this was the time for her…to think

"Are you here?" She started suddenly, her eyes snapping open, at the sound of a familiar voice. "I can barely see anything…" Out there in the trees, a shadowed figure was making its way through towards her, stumbling over roots and branches, crunching leaves underfoot. Even had she not known the voice at once, Phaedra would have easily recognised the characteristic confident forward stride, softened by a natural, almost effortless, grace. It was Shandra…

"Shandra?" She breathed, shocked to say the least to see her friend out here "Shandra? I'm here!" She stood slowly, brushing the dry leaves away from her white gown…

"Ah…right" Shandra strode over quickly, and emerged finally from the shadows beneath the thick canopy into the streaming silver moonlight that filled the empty Glade. Phaedra couldn't stop herself staring the moment she stepped into the light, aghast, Shandra, her friend, was wearing not merely full armour, somewhat dulled metal plate but clearly newly forged and fitted perfectly from her thin, graceful shoulders to the metal greaves upon her narrow shins, but also her old sword at her belt, scabbarded now in neat leather and a round, wooden shield hung across her back. "Do…you like it?" Shandra asked quickly "Casavir…found an armourer in the Merchant District…"

"It certainly looks impressive" Phaedra murmured, unsure of what exactly else to say. She was just too surprised…

"You're…not laughing at me, right?" Shandra clasped her hand at her side with the other "I mean Neeshka laughed the moment she saw me."

"No, I'm not" Phaedra insisted, a smile touching her lips, then she breathed out deeply and felt the weight descend upon her again "What are you doing all the way out here Shandra?"

"Come on…" Shandra answered firmly "You know as well as I do, why I'm here. If Luskan's coming, I'm not leaving you out here by yourself all night."

"But the Vigil…" Phaedra protested weakly, although somehow she did want Shandra here with her. "Sir Grayson will be back this morning. I'm supposed to be alone when he comes…"

"I can leave way before that donkey shows up" Shandra snorted "Besides I know that you don't care about all that, don't think I didn't hear about that knife Neeshka slipped you" Phaedra flinched back, feeling the metal cold and accusing down her bodice. Neeshka hadn't been prepared to take Grayson's assurances seriously either, given that Phaedra had to surrender her bow before entering the sacred grove. Just before they'd parted for the night, the tiefling had slipped her one of those deadly daggers she carried, and she'd hastily had to conceal it in the folds of her dress. "It's just a precaution, just in case, okay?"

"Okay" Phaedra nodded, slowly she sat down once again in the midst of Solace Glade, and Shandra slowly joined her, moving somewhat unsteadily in the new heavy armour.

"Thanks…" She said, as she sat "The others wanted to come too, you know…but we couldn't exactly have all of us camping out here. Then even Sir Grayson might notice something was wrong…" She sniffed, clearly the others had filled her in about Sir Grayson, and the rather brusque and condescending manner in which he had approached her just before they'd left. "I left on my own actually…" She admitted after a moment, clearly longing to fill the dark silence around them with something "They were still arguing over it, but I just slipped out…"

"I guessed that" Phaedra replied "Casavir would never have let you leave on your own"

"Yes…" She glanced up into the moonlight, silver streams falling around her golden hair and the pallour of her face "You're very lucky, Phaedra…"

"What do you mean?" Phaedra breathed

"They'd do anything for you" Shandra continued pensively and Phaedra remembered the isolation of her home in Highcliff, and how the Elder of the village had regarded her with the kind of bemused curiosity Phaedra remembered all too well from West Harbour. "I never really had friends like this in Highcliff…" Shandra went on, her thoughts mirroring Phaedra's "Outside, Alaine maybe…but still it was different…" She glanced at Phaedra, and the shadows under her eyes were as dark as bruises, and her eyes reddened with tears…Alaine…

"I'm sorry Shandra" Phaedra murmured, looking up into the slightly taller girl's face "I really am…"

"I know" Shandra breathed "And it isn't your fault…so you never think it is, okay?" She shook her head, as though to scatter her thoughts, and a smile touched her lips at last, small, hesitant, but there "Let's talk about something, Phaedra. Would you tell me about West Harbour? Your home, a little bit"

"Of course" Phaedra smiled back "If you tell me about Highcliff too"

"It's a deal" Shandra nodded firmly "But I asked you first, so you start"

And so Phaedra did. As the hours of the night slowly drained toward the absolute darkness of midnight, she started by describing the village, nestled in the Mere, as her words wove the picture that was so clear in her head, she could almost imagine she was there now. And strangely, even as she began to speak of Daeghun, Bevil, Tarmas, Brother Merring, Retta…even Amie…there was no sadness, or at least it was there, but it was deep and almost untouchable. Instead she only felt grateful that she had such memories to sustain her in this darkness. By the time she'd started on Georg's wild stories of the great swamp elf, she and Shandra were giggling like little girls in the midst of the sacred grove. In return Shandra told about her little farm, her father, who had died when she was very young, more of a blur than a memory, had raised it himself from the unyielding ground beneath Highcliff Castle. And her mother…Shandra's blue eyes glistened in the moonlight…her mother. Shandra described her so movingly that Phaedra could almost see her there, a tall woman, graceful and slender, more so than any of the other farmer's wives in Highcliff, with dirty blonde hair she wore in a city style. Shandra laughed through her tears as she described the way a fierce stubbornness had lurked beneath her deceptively frail, waif-like beauty. As Shandra told it, it was only that which had kept the farm afloat when her father died, and this remarkable woman had raised Shandra too. But it had taken its toll… when Shandra was sixteen, she'd sickened with a bad marsh fever and died while her daughter had sat at her bedside. "You learn to deal with it after a while…" Shandra said, glancing away "But…you never knew your mother at all, did you?"

"No…" Phaedra breathed heavily "She died to save me…when West Harbour was destroyed…" It was something she was still struggling to deal with herself…

"She must have loved you very much" Shandra gave her a sympathetic glance "You know that…" Suddenly there was a crunch, of a leaf, or a twig broken underfoot and instantly both Phaedra and Shandra looked up into the impenetrable forest. "You heard that?" Shandra's hand went to her sword

"Yes" Phaedra clasped at the side of her dress, scanning the trees before them. There had been definitely something out there…an animal? No… a cold, creeping fear, entirely instinctive, ran down her back…it was something else…

"Well, boys…" At once a voice emerged from the shadows, a voice that was cold and hard and cruel "Looks like we've been spotted…" Phaedra's eyes swept to the place, and suddenly she picked out a shadowed figure against the trees, and it was moving…no, there was not only one, another had joined him, and another. Three in all…she felt the danger right away, heard it in each measure step…in that voice… "Well I think I prefer it this way" The first figure continued as he stepped out into the glade "Getting down and dirty with our two lovely ladies…" He was a slight, stocky man, with the bronzed skin of an Illuskan, marked on either side of his face by gruesome tattooes in warlike designs, an ink so dark it almost appeared like dried blood. He wore full armour, and carried two vicious blades, a sword and dagger, at his either shoulder there were two others, both brutes who looked like they had orc blood, flat-faced, with tusk-like teeth, and sunken eyes. Assassins…Phaedra stepped back, raising her hand to cast the spell which would obliterate him… "Didn't expect there to be two of you though" He continued darkly "The squire's the one we're after, although I'd be happy to handle you too…"

"I'm right here" Shandra snapped, drawing her sword across her body, and lifting her shield to her shoulder "Why don't you try?" Phaedra slammed her hand forward, but somehow, entirely without any warning, she grasped for her magic and fell entirely short. The spell escaped her lips but nothing happened…her power simply wouldn't come…

"Ha!" The assassin gave a harsh laugh "So you're the one, then." He raised his hand to his neck, where a familiar silver chain hung "We're Luskans, of course we know how to deal with mages…" Phaedra felt a stab of panic, but she fought it down as she could. This time she wouldn't simply stand here…as she had when Lieutenant Vallis had pulled the same trick, this time…she would fight. She drew the dagger from her dress, brandished it in one hand…she would fight! "Isn't that cute?" The assassin smiled coldly "Well, shall we get on with this?"

Shandra leapt forward in that moment, she engaged the first of his two half-orc bodyguards harshly, swinging her sword with surprising accuracy, countering with her shield when he struck back. But it was clear that he was a trained soldier, where she was only self-taught, and it was starting to show. And there were still the other two, the leader watched for a moment in amusement, but he was about to attack. Phaedra ran towards him, crying out, pulling back the dagger. His sword swung out, she caught it on the tiny blade, the impact was enough to send her staggering, which meant she just managed to avoid the downward sweep of his own dagger. He grinned harshly, pulling back the two blades, his steps careful, cautious…circling her, predatory. Her breaths came ragged with fear, but she faced him nonetheless, in nothing but a white dress, with this tiny dagger, as Shandra sparred with his bodyguard's vicious axe just by them.

"Phaedra!" Shandra suddenly screamed, though she was caught up in her fight. Oh Gods; the second bodyguard. She swung around…an axe blow swung just inches from her arm, and she stumbled away. The half-orc looked wild with blood-lust, swinging, staggering, his huge blades slammed into the earth at his feet. And there was still their leader, that deadly assassin…a frantic impulse to flee rose in her, but she couldn't leave Shandra, she couldn't. Slowly she stepped back towards the forest, glancing desperately between her two advancing foes…there had to be something she could do, there had to be something. She swung her dagger, panicked, over and over again in the space between them…but they were still coming and she was stepping back, come on Phaedra, it couldn't be like this! She couldn't let it…she tried again to cast a spell, but once again nothing came…oh Gods….

The half-orc gave a roar and leapt for her suddenly, that axe swung down and on a desperate impulse, on nothing more than instinct, she threw up the dagger and flung herself back, the axe fell glancing into the blade of the knife, and tore it instantly from Phaedra' hand, sending it scattering into the leaves. She gasped out desperately, more scream than gasp…no, no, it couldn't be. She flung herself back, but there was no way she could escape them, not without Shandra. Never without Shandra, who was desperately trying to fend off her opponent, and screaming out Phaedra's name. She stood, the wind brushing her golden hair against her face, the white dress fluttering against her legs. She was empty-handed, it was all done. Her magic had failed her, she had failed…she would die. But at that word, she felt a rising panic, her whole body trembled, her heart ached with a terror that was so intense that it felt like an aching pain. No, no, not now…she tried to hold onto an image of something to give her strength…her friends, Shandra, oh Gods please let her be okay, let her escape this, Casavir, Elanee, Duncan, Khelgar, Neeshka…and Bishop, where was he, had he left her behind after all this…his face flashed through her mind, she clung to it, to all of them. Her eyes opened, and she faced her death, this assassin, cruel and cold…it was over. After everything, after all that she had done, it was over. "Ready to die, darling?" The leader hissed.

The half-orc ran for her instantly, she stumbled back frantically, throwing up her hands and giving a pitiful scream. His axe swung back, her eyes snapped shut…her whole body tightened, in anticipation of a blow, of the pain…which never came. Suddenly there was a twang, a dull thud, both she heard as loud as the scream in her own mind, and there was a wet gurgle, a cough…slowly her eyes fluttered open and she saw the half-orc standing before her, his mouth open in a dull gasp, his sharp teeth glinting. And he was standing perfectly still…the axe held loosely in his limp arm that fell to his side, then he dropped the huge weapon, and a low, keening groan escaped his lip…and slowly he fell to his knees. Phaedra gasped out with shock, and blood, a great, seeping dark stain, was draining through his rough tunic. Then he collapsed at her feet, and she saw the shaft protruding from his back, exactly where his heart would be, an arrow, an arrow she knew at once…slowly she looked up, into the darkness of the forest around her. "Hells!" The assassin leader reared back, looking as shocked as she did. "Archers!" He glanced to his last bodyguard, who looked up instantly, but the moment's distraction was all it took and Shandra smashed her shield into his face, then swung her sword and struck his neck, he fell instantly in a spray of blood.

The leader swore, as Shandra balanced herself quickly, then glanced quickly up at him…swinging her sword again experimentally. Phaedra simply stood where she stood, breathing heavily, there was only one now. An arrow cut suddenly across the still air of the grove once again, it was aimed unerringly at the leader, but clearly he'd been anticipating it, and flung himself from its path. But his goal wasn't merely to escape the arrow, he landed just inches from Phaedra, using his momentum to stab at her. She pulled back, gasping desperately, but the dagger in his hand cut across her side, the dress ripped into ribbons of white at her side and dark drops of blood sprayed into the night. For a moment, though she had felt the blade in her, there was no pain and, though, the shock ran up through her whole body she managed to lunge for her own dagger in the leaf-strewn earth, grasp it in one hand and fling it forwards at him in her hand. He was wild, his sword and dagger trailing from his own attack, and somehow the dagger, her desperate strike slammed into his neck. The dagger sunk in, she pushed it deep as she could, blood drenching her hands, spurting onto his armour and the knife, flowing in streaking rivulets of blood down the pale flesh of her arm. He gave a hollow, rattling gasp, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell…with a crash of armour to the floor…

"Phaedra!" Shandra ran for her, she felt the burning in her side, but the pain was less than it should have been…it was…her hand clasped to the cut, felt blood spilling over her fingers…just a surface cut, oh thank Gods. It stung though, an odd prickling stinging…and though she had felt pain far worse, never had it quite felt like this. But it was already fading, as Shandra clasped her by the shoulder…

"I'm okay, Shandra…" She breathed hoarsely "It's okay…"

"We should get that bandaged" Shandra gasped, she leant over to glance at the wound "And quickly…before…" She grabbed at Phaedra's blood-sodden sleeve, ripped a piece of it free and pressed it to the cut. "Hmmm…" She breathed, lifting the piece of material away "It's stopped bleeding already…" Strange, as far as she knew, however small it was, it should have bled longer But perhaps it hadn't been as bad as it had looked. Shandra dabbed away some of the blood, but seemed satisfied at just that.

"Elanee can heal it if there's anything left by tomorrow when I get back" Phaedra nodded. It didn't even hurt anymore, well except there was a strange sort of numbness that seemed to seep from the wound itself.

"What in the name of the Gods happened?" Shandra lifted her head, glancing at the corpses strewn upon the floor of Solace Glade, she looked a little sickened. "Who are they?"

"You heard him…" Phaedra nodded to the leader's corpse "They were Luskans…" And skilled assassins, skilled at killing mages. She shuddered at the aching emptiness that still rose in place of her magic, she could never be so sure of the advantage it gave her again. Never again could she surrender her bow as she had, to Grayson…

"Hey, look at that…" Shandra gasped suddenly. She quickly stepped over to crouch down close to the corpse of the assassin leader. She grabbed his limp, blood-stained hand in a fleeting grasp, and pulled from one finger a small item which Phaedra realised instantly was a ring. Then she let him go and stepped back quickly, looking pale and revolted. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" She held the ring between two fingers and up to Phaedra who stepped over quickly to give it a closer glance. It was covered in blood, dripping over Shandra's gauntleted fingers, but she could discern that it was tarnished silver, and carved round its edge with a strange pattern of interlocking shapes, it looked like teeth, or perhaps spikes, or blades perhaps…

"No I haven't" Phaedra shook her head, reached up to touch it a moment "But it looks like some kind of emblem…"

"Could be evidence" Shandra shrugged "Maybe you should hold onto it for now" She handed it to Phaedra, who took it in her hand, closing her fingers around it slowly. It was cold, and sticky with blood. But she was covered in blood anyway. "Do you think Bishop's still out there?" Shandra murmured suddenly and Phaedra started, glancing at her. "Yes, I saw what happened…that was him, wasn't it?" Her eyes glinted in the moonlight.

"Yes" Phaedra nodded "It was him" She glanced back out into the night-drenched forest. Bishop, was he still there? Yes, no doubt he was…watching her, or maybe just watching over her…

"Strange" Shandra breathed "Of all people…" She shook her head "Okay, maybe you were right to give him a chance, but just one."

"Shandra, I'd be dead without him" Phaedra smiled distantly

"I guess" Shandra looked even more confused "How long do you think it is until dawn?"

"Maybe another hour" Phaedra glanced up at the sky, it was lightening already, slightly, the deep blue draining towards delicate silver. "Sir Grayson should be here then…"

"Perhaps I should leave then…" Shandra shifted from one foot to the other "I don't want to get you into trouble. I mean, the Luskans could say your vigil was invalid" She swallowed "But I don't want to leave you alone…"

"I'm not alone" Phaedra answered distractedly "Not anymore…" She felt strangely light-headed, her limbs were heavy as she stirred from where she stood, and the numbness in her side seemed to be spreading. Tiredness, perhaps?

"Phaedra, you're very pale" Shandra's eyes glittered as she glanced inquisitively at Phaedra "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes…" Phaedra breathed softly "I am now, I think"

"Okay, if you're sure" Shandra nodded "Just, I don't know…call out if anything happens." She stepped back slowly towards the forest behind her "See you back at the Flagon." She swallowed heavily "For the Gods' sake I better see you back at the Flagon"

"You will" Phaedra answered heavily. Shandra walked gradually away then, she kept glancing back but in the end she simply vanished into the darkness of the forest that surrounded them. She was gone…a dizzy spell shook Phaedra suddenly, but she managed to stagger over to the tree farthest from the bodies that lay there in the midst of the grove, bleeding away their dark seeping blood into the leaves. She lowered herself to the ground, her vision span, but slowly it settled once again once she was still. Just another hour more, Gods she needed to sleep… "Bishop…" She breathed suddenly, hardly daring to stir the air around her "Bishop, are you there?" The stirring of trees in the wind seemed her only answer...and then the howl of a wolf nearby. He was there...

She lowered her head heavily against the rough tree behind her, a cold chill seemed to sweep through her, seeping down into her very blood and bone. She shivered, grasping her hands to her side. She felt sweat suddenly on her arm. Was she getting a fever? Suddenly she wished Shandra was still here with her, she wanted someone else to be near, but Grayson would surely be back soon. She just needed to hold on for a moment longer. She forced herself to breath, in and out…through teeth that suddenly shook and clicked against one another. The Vigil had to be finished. She held onto the precious warmth at her core…oh Gods, please let it be finished soon. It was almost done…she breathed, hold on Phaedra, no matter what it took. She would hold on…oh Gods, a lurching rush ran through her head but she held herself steady once again. The wound was stinging again…it was about all she could feel now…the numbness seemed to be touching at her deeper, clawing her open, and her head was aching now, and burning. She wrapped her arms around each other and breathed in and out, though suddenly even that seemed to be an effort. It was almost over…please dear Gods let it be over soon…her vision blurred, her head burned, and slowly she fell back into the tree again. She tried to push away, but her body would not obey her, it hung like a dead weight. Her thoughts seemed to slow, grow sluggish, and her vision blurred, fogging up. Was she sick...the wound, oh Gods, it stung so much. And then...something moved before her, under the trees in the shadows, a shadow itself it seemed in her fogged mind. She struggled to raise her head, fighting through disorientation and the haze before her eyes...it was a man walking toward her. Another assassin? She couldn't even be terrified, she could only lie back drowning in her mounting sickness. Then he came closer and suddenly she saw the bow across his back, and the glittering tawny eyes, oh thank Lathander, she felt an inexplicable but staggeringly powerful rush of relief, it was Bishop.

"Hells what's happening to you now?" He reached her in a moment. His features swam before her as she staggered towards him, in a tide of nausea and a surge of gratitude she couldn't explain and his voice roared in her humming head.

"Bishop..." She murmured breathlessly, swaying alarmingly on her feet with happiness that was almost child-like. "You saved me" She barely knew what she was doing or saying anymore, only that the darkness was closing in around her and she needed to say this to him before...before...her head ached agonisingly, Gods she couldn't think.

"Yeah well, not so that you could go crazy on me" He muttered darkly. She giggled helplessly, why was he so prickly all the time? He didn't have to try quite so hard. "I think someone should take a look at that wound" He reached for her, and suddenly it hit her again, another rising wave of nausea that almost felled her. She staggered, unable to stand anymore, retching emptily as her stomach churned, her legs felt impossibly weak all of a sudden, and then Bishop caught her. She was too disorientated to be surprised, or horrified, but her heart seemed to beat faster in her chest as he wrapped his arms around her, supporting her failing muscles. There was a heat running through her flesh where his hands held her neck, or was that just the sickness? He swore close to her ear. "Gods damn it" The swearing continued as he dragged her limp body gracelessly over toward the closest tree. "Poison, you've been poisoned, some jumped-up assassin with venom on his blade" He cursed again, he seemed more furious than worried about her, she thought distantly. It was as though he saw the idea as a personal insult to him.

"Grayson...can't see you here" She grasped at his sleeve in a moment of fleeting lucidity, coughing out the words. "He'll...I have to..." She couldn't say anymore.

"Yeah well, he's taking his sweet time" Bishop growled. He lifted Phaedra effortlessly, shifting her back towards the tree. "Hang on, I'll see if I can't get his ass moving" Phaedra fell back limp in his arms, her head swam, every move sent a jolt through her her whole body. Total darkness was mere moments away, but she held on, grasping Bishop's armour with one limp hand. She clung to him, and to her halting breaths, the only sign she was still aware. When he laid her down, crouching brusquely and depositing her against the vast looming tree, the shadows of its branches swimming and shifting and blurring above her head, suddenly she could barely hold on.

"Don't leave me..." She gasped, holding onto him ineffectually, drowning in her sudden weakness. He looked down at her again, and in her blurring, failing vision she thought she saw a harsh sneer on his features. And then he stood, a vast shadow looming over her. For a moment he looked as cruel and terrible as the wilds from which he came, and grasping through her sickness she shrank back against the tree in a sudden shock of fear...of Bishop.

"No, not this time, princess" He said softly, and she wondered if he'd seen her shrink away from him, and was that a glimmer of satisfaction in his tawny eyes? "I'll get your knight for you, but the rest is up to you. Fight if you can, you might just live" And then he was gone, and the shadows closed around him. Phaedra swooned against the tree, fighting with every ounce of her strength against the darkness closing in around her. But her weakness rose and the sickness, and an insidious numbness that seemed to spread from the wound in her side until she could feel almost nothing except the burning swell of pain within the cut. She was alone, so alone. And she couldn't tell how long she lay there, floating in her rising nausea, and the darkness that slowly wrapped about her. And then across the grove a man appeared, another vague shadow, but she saw the glint off his splendid armour as he paused there, and looked across the grove in shock...and she knew that Sir Grayson was here, that somehow Bishop had got him to return to the Grove, by guile or some trick, she didn't care anymore. Only that he was here...and somehow she could let go. As Grayson ran towards her, and his voice, calling her name, rose in the well of her mind, her last vestiges of thought gave away, and she vanished into a blessed, painless darkness. It was done.


	48. Chapter 48

_Hi, sorry everyone, this was a very fast update! You may have to read back over the last chapter too if you're here again after a couple of days. Basically if you know about Solace Glade and Sir Grayson Corrett, you can safely read on, if not, look back to Chapter 47. I'm afraid you've got quite a read before you though..._

_A second apology, this chapter ends with something that you might really want to read about what happened next very soon. Unfortunately, I'm going away for two weeks from tomorrow so you're going to have to wait for that long to find out what really happened. It's a bit of a pain, I know, I'm the one writing it, but I will be back eventually and I will continue where I left off. I will also have internet (hopefully) so please do review and I'll try and get back to you ASAP._

_This chapter was interesting to explore how some characters interact between themselves without Phaedra, I found it interesting anyway. Hope you enjoy looking at Elanee/Casavir and Bishop/Neeshka from new perspectives. It's also mainly in Elanee and Bishop's points of view. My usual Bishop watchers (you know who you are) please do let me know what you think. I am, as ever, open to suggestions to improve!_

_Bye for now!_

_A.A_

* * *

The ebb and flow of Nature's heartbeat, a timeless measure of the earth's immeasurable capacity to grow, to adapt, Elanee had long learned to measure her own life by the passing of tides, the flow of the winds, the pulse of the earth which a druid should have felt so clearly at all times. But it had been a long time since she had heard the earth's song now, and her own fate felt anchorless without its whisper to guide her. Here, in this city that crouched like an obscene parasite upon Chauntea's face, the reason was a simple one, Nature had lost dominion. It had been hard thing for her to accept once. She'd been raised, after all, by the Circle crouched in its splendid isolation. They'd spoken of these upstart humans often, and their cities, whenever their bitter, martyred selves had felt that they needed yet another reason to feel the keen sting of self-gratifying superiority. But always, always they had claimed that these cities would pass, that the Mere would outlast them. That the Circle would outlast them. And Elanee had believed…once. But Neverwinter was so vast, and everywhere, so many of these people…and within her walls, Elanee could not feel her own connection to nature. The earth had been smothered, silenced, as though a great hand had been pressed to stop its very lifeblood. Even if these cities ever fell, as the Circle had preached, this place would take a thousand years to recover, if it ever did. But what right did she, did the Circle, have anyway to conjure the phantom of this supposedly inevitable doom, to work even, as once they had, to bring it about? If nature had taught her anything, it was that there was a place for a thousand songs, a thousand lives lived differently, not merely one Circle's dogmatic, vicious vision. The Circle was her family, but she knew now they had been wrong. Phaedra, of course, had taught her that. And now the Circle was gone, and she felt more alone than ever. Only Phaedra held her in place now, only Phaedra anchored her, Phaedra was the daughter she would never have…and that daughter now stood in some mindless mockery of a vigil away from all safety and comfort to save herself from the schemes of a political order that seemed to have no place, no root, in nature itself.

Elanee raised her head once again, glancing up through the window, her only opening into the world outside, outside these enclosing, strangling walls, where the air was heavy with the stench of ale and sweat. Dawn was coming…Phaedra would be back soon. She had kept her own vigil here, waiting silently here in the Sunken Flagon with only this one candle that stood before her to cast its feeble light into the smoky gloom, so unnatural compared to the clean, hale darkness of the Mere. But she had not kept it alone, as Phaedra had. Casavir was there by the door, he had stood like a statue carved in marble there the whole night, never speaking, bleak and distant, his mind seemingly totally turned inward, to pray, perhaps, or more likely to contemplate Phaedra herself. She allowed herself to gaze at the paladin a moment, he would not notice her scrutiny in the state he was in. Once she had found herself revolted by the thought, as the Circle had intended, of elven people sullying their purity by mating so brazenly with humans. But Phaedra was the product of such a relationship, and she was a gift, the best of both elven and human, elven grace and human compassion. And then there was Casavir…it embarrassed her sometimes to think of it, her girlish infatuation, the way her heart beat faster even now as she gazed at him, but she could not deny its existence, though such a love would have seemed absurd once, here it was. She was comfortable though, in never revealing it, never giving away a whisper of its presence. She had long known that Casavir's heart was Phaedra's entirely. One day, soon, he would tell her at last and she would tell him of her own feelings also; on that day Elanee would stand beside them, and lay the hand of the girl she would have loved to be her own daughter, in the hand of the man she loved. She could easily control her own feelings, she had been trained to a lifetime of it, and she had realised right away that the best for both these people she loved beyond anything else was for them to love each other, so that she could love the both of them together. She did not regret it, she never would. Slowly she looked away, found the others with her eyes. Duncan, Neeshka, Khelgar, even Sand…in their group each had a role to play, she understood that now, though in the beginning she had been scornful of them, she was ashamed of that now. What right had she, when they were so honest with Phaedra, and she never was? She shifted uncomfortably, promising herself for the thousandth time that when Phaedra returned she would tell her everything, but she knew, with the slow inevitable reluctance, that truly she would not.

Suddenly the door opened, Elanee moved stand in a heartbeat, for a moment she thought it was Phaedra herself, but it wasn't…it was Shandra. She looked apologetic, uncomfortable and exhausted, still weighed down in her new armour and weapons. Elanee moved over to her, so did Casavir…

"You were attacked?" Casavir breathed, and the sound of his voice, at last, rumbling in the darkness sent a thrill through Elanee she struggled to control. Shandra started too, and a shiver ran through her shoulders. Poor girl, Elanee thought, she too was enchanted by Casavir, for a man so indifferent to feminine charm, he had a remarkable capacity to enrapture. She felt a small kinship to the young girl, we shall have to grow out of this, both of us. Phaedra and Casavir were meant to be together, of that Elanee was certain, it was one of few things she was certain of now. Shandra would have to learn that, and hopefully one day Elanee's own heart would learn to understand it too…

"Yes, Luskan assassins" Shandra breathed heavily, and Elanee suddenly saw the scuff across the gleaming surface of her plate armour. Her heart leapt to her throat, Phaedra…and that stubborn mule of a knight had made her get rid of her bow!

"I should have gone with you" Casavir commented bleakly. Elanee knew the paladin by now, for him it was a simple statement of fact, but Shandra's glistening eyes told the druid that she took it as something different. Did she truly believe…? Perhaps she did…oh Gods, Elanee closed her eyes for a moment, what tangled webs you weave in our frail hearts. This would hurt Shandra badly; Elanee could only hope that her growing friendship with Phaedra would carry her through…

"We fought them off…" Shandra nodded confidently, she gave Casavir a dazzling smile. She was beautiful too, did Casavir realise what she was doing though? It was hard to say, he was always so reserved.

"And Phaedra?" Elanee asked quickly.

"She was fine…I think" Shandra answered "Well, she was wounded, but it was a small cut, and she said to leave it alone" Wounded? Ah…Elanee felt the all too familiar panic rise in her again. Phaedra was more than capable of looking after herself, and yet she felt like a panicked mother badger whenever the girl was out of her sight.

"They should be back soon" Elanee said distantly, more to herself than to them. "Sir Grayson said he would bring her back here…"

"Sir Grayson is coming here?" Casavir glanced at her, his surface calm utterly impenetrable, but there was a note to the question she had not expected…a wariness…perhaps. She opened her mouth to answer.

"Ho!" At once the cry went out just outside, all three of them leapt instantly, it was one of few times Elanee had ever seen Casavir look shocked, even startled. "In there!" Elanee knew the voice at once, she had heard it before raised in that condescending manner she knew so well from her teachers in the Circle. It was that knight, Sir Grayson, and now he sound panicked. Elanee felt her whole world lurch around her…Phaedra. The door to the Flagon burst open suddenly, and Sir Grayson staggered in from the clear dawn air. Elanee never knew how she reached him, one moment she was staggering in place, wracked by horror and panic, the next she was by him, and Casavir and Shandra were with her…and all of them reaching frantically for the burden he bore…Phaedra. She was entirely limp, held entirely across Grayson's broad arms, her head bent backwards from his left in a stream of golden hair rippling with sunset red, her legs dangling over his right. And she was pale, ghastly pale, as pale as the pure white dress that hung down over in rippling folds over Grayson's arms and into the empty air, stirring in the breeze. Her eyes were closed tight, her lips parted, looking almost black against the icy whiteness in her face. Oh Gods, oh Gods…Elanee found she couldn't even think…only scream in the silence of her mind, helpless against the rising tides of panic. Never, even facing the destruction of the Mere as she had, even watching West Harbour burn, had she ever felt something as utterly consuming, as wild, as this. "She was attacked…" Grayson gasped out frantically "Those Luskans, violating a sacred vigil. I would never have believed it. And Gods, it looks like she was stabbed, but she was like this when I found her, she hasn't woken since…"

"Show me!" Elanee screamed out, cutting across the knight's useless babbling. Grayson flinched, turning Phaedra in his arms, her dress was ripped to shreds at her side, ribbons of white linen torn and lying over her stomach, but there cut into the side was an ugly wound, stained with streaking rivulets of dried, browning blood. It had sliced open her side, but what made Elanee's blood freeze was the way the wound had blackened, the flesh within turning almost blue with what appeared to be the deprivation of air almost like the body of one drowned, the veins beneath her translucent flesh standing out black and in sharp relief. It had a poisonous look, and the smell of the wound was like decay, as though Phaedra's body had been invaded by death's fingers already…

"It wasn't anything like that before!" Shandra cried out shrilly, almost hysterical with horror "Gods…what's happened? What is this?"

"She's breathing, but only just" Casavir confirmed, he had a wild look to him, but beneath it he was so still, a stillness she might have mistaken for indifference, but that it was held so tight it almost looked as though the paladin might shatter. "And she's feverish…" His hand lingered on Phaedra's sweat-streaked forehead, as Grayson, holding her, gave an unsteady lurch…

"Poison" Elanee breathed, aghast with horror "The blade was poisoned…" She steadied herself suddenly, somehow, though it took every ounce of her self-control. "We need to lay her down, right now…that wound has to be cleaned, before I heal her…"

"I will take her from here" Casavir reached forward, cradled Phaedra's precious body between his arms as though weighed nothing. Grayson gasped and let go almost immediately, as though he were relieved to do so. But his unsteady eyes focused on Casavir as he handed Phaedra to him, and something lit up within them, his features twisted with confusion…

"Do I know you?" He breathed, suddenly lucid

"No, you do not" Casavir answered firmly, and turned away at once, lifting Phaedra up to hold her head against his shoulder, as though she were nothing but a child in his arms. Grayson stepped back, looking more cut adrift and alone than ever…

"I will inform Nasher at once" He blurted out, though no one was listening, then he hurried out through the doorway and into the grey half-light of the morning. He was gone.

Elanee and Shandra followed Casavir, as Duncan, Khelgar, Neeshka and Sand ran over to join them.

"By the Gods, what poison is that?" Duncan gasped, looking frantic

"The smell…" Sand breathed heavily "A Hostower poison…"

"Do you know anything about it?" Elanee cried, desperately seizing a grain of hope.

"Perhaps…" Sand nodded, even he was straining, although he was far more in control than anyone else here was "I will fetch my books…" He leapt off, his robes sweeping about him as he ran for the door, for his shop no doubt…oh Gods, she hoped he could get back in time.

"Khelgar, get bandages, any clean strips of cloth you can find" Elanee gasped out, desperate to take some kind of command over her feelings as well as their companions. "Neeshka, I need you and Shandra to heat up a half-barrel of good, clean water and bring it to her room. Duncan, we're going to need some kind of alcohol, a clean one, as pure as you have…" To their credit, they ran off instantly, all except Shandra who lingered still, looking stricken. Even healing could only do so much, and this looked bad, so bad that Elanee's heart was pounding painfully against her ribs, her hands shaking as she ran after Casavir who was striding towards Phaedra's room with an almost desperate pace in his steps. "Shandra!" She cried out suddenly, seeing Shandra still frozen in place "Go, help Neeshka, get the water!"

"I left her…" Shandra breathed "Gods, I left her alone"

"Go, Shandra!" Elanee screamed, and somehow she managed to get through, so that Shandra looked up and saw her. She almost saw herself in Shandra's eyes, frantic, shaking, scarcely in control, then the farmgirl turned away and ran after the tiefling, straight for the kitchen.

Again she felt that profound dislocation, her world spinning around her, and she hardly knew how she and Casavir managed to get to Phaedra's room so quickly, but suddenly she was standing by the linen sheets of the girl's bed, and Casavir was laying Phaedra down with infinite tenderness. Phaedra moaned in pain, stirring slightly, and Elanee, watching, felt a stab of the profoundest grief she had ever known. Perhaps, if she could still stir and cry out, there was hope, but she was so weak…and it had all happened so quickly. This poison must be virulent and she didn't even know the antidote…no…she had to fight, fight death itself over the body of the most precious person she had ever known, for the greatest love she had ever felt, in this life that had once been as arid and hopeless as her Mere had become. If it took everything she had, she would fight this battle, and she would save Phaedra if her own life was the price to be payed. Uttering a prayer to Silvanus, she laid a hand on Phaedra and began…

ooo0000ooo

Elanee dipped the strip of cloth in the hot water before her, welcoming the sting of pain from the heat as a way to keep her sharp, though she had stayed up all night, she was used to long periods without sleep, she had kept many a vigil before. She was kneeling at the side of the bed, upon the rough panels of Phaedra's room. Across the bed, across Phaedra's still form, Casavir stood, his head lowered and his hand grasping Phaedra's shoulder. He didn't even seem able to see anything but her, to countenance its existence at all. His own self was irrelevant; he would stand here for as long as Phaedra needed him, as he had stood the whole night before it. Elanee closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, then began to daub the wound with the scorching hot water, it came away, in her hand, bloody. The wound was still bleeding, sluggish and slow, the blood thick and oozing, but the poison was spreading, she knew that right away. Laying a hand lightly on Phaedra's side, she closed her eyes, feeling what little power she knew Nature had here in this city, and poured it, through herself into the girl's body, trying to halt, or at the least diagnose, the poison's progress. But it was as though she stared into a bottomless well, and the power slipped from her to vanish into the darkness, Phaedra's body took it, and threw it into its own frantic battle, but it seemed to do nothing, the poison simply slipped through the cracks, and spread faster. She opened her eyes, raised her hand…and felt Casavir's gaze cold upon her.

"Nothing…" She breathed, and raised a hand to brush the streaks of hair from Phaedra's sodden forehead.

"Tyr…" Casavir muttered, laying a hand down upon her gently "If ever I have done your will…" He closed his eyes, a light burned under his hands. Phaedra moaned and murmured something through swollen lips, but something seemed to calm somewhat within her taut, tense body. Casavir looked up again "She will not last through the day" He said, and there was a frightening nothingness in his voice,

"We have to think of something" Elanee closed her eyes for a moment. It couldn't be like this, not like this "There must be something" She sighed deeply "Perhaps we should take turns watching over her. Would you go and see if Sand needs anything?" The wizard was poring over his books as they spoke, he was their best, their only hope…

"I do not wish to leave her" Casavir answered blankly.

"Please, Casavir, give us a moment, alone…" Elanee breathed. He looked down at her, and gave a brief nod. Then he turned and left the room, silent and bleak. The druid leant once again over Phaedra, laid a hand on her forehead again, and felt it hot as baking rock beneath the sun. "Phaedra…" She whispered close to the girl's ear, stroking her beautiful hair again, though even its radiance seemed to be dulled "Phaedra, can you hear me?" Phaedra stirred again, her fingers clasping the sheets around her, and she breathed out…something that sounded like words. Elanee lowered her head closer "Phaedra" She murmured "Don't give up, I will save you"

"Bishop…" Phaedra breathed, turning her head slightly, though her eyes remained closed "Where is Bishop?" Elanee froze, sure she had misheard for an instant. Bishop, she had not even thought of the ranger all this time. "He saved me" Phaedra murmured "Bishop saved me…"

"Bishop never came back, Phaedra" Elanee answered quickly. Was she hallucinating? But why, of all people, Bishop…?

"He will" She smiled, a beatific smile, through the pain, as though the thought was a balm. But before Elanee could answer she fell back into her dreams, collapsing into the sheets, and letting out another stricken gasp, fretting and stirring under her sheets. Elanee moved almost automatically, daubing another cloth drenched in hot water upon the wound, but beneath the outward serenity she was more disturbed than ever before. Bishop, it took a moment to even order her thoughts enough to recall what she needed to know. The ranger…she'd been forced to respect his knowledge of tracking, which surpassed even her own, and yet it had always seemed to her as though he saw Nature, the land before him, as an enemy to be conquered, something to struggle against, rather than something he could work with, or through. He'd always put her in mind of a lone wolf, driven from the pack, turning his anger and hatred against the world that had rejected him. She'd been more accepting of him than, say Casavir, who believed from the start that he was dangerous, but after he'd proven himself to be not merely unremittingly coarse, but also unsympathetic and hard, she'd washed her hands of it and thus hadn't watched as closely as she might have done.

Now, though, thinking back, she wondered over the times she had seen Bishop and Phaedra speak, brief as they were, and clearly, considering the events upon their return to Neverwinter, not half of the pair's true discourse. She had missed something, she realised suddenly, as she went through what she remembered, something that had been entirely unspoken, a current that had run between them, perhaps, a connection she had completely failed to see. He had spoken to her, even when he was simply belittling her in the manner of an insecure male trying to establish his place in a shifting hierarchy, with that secretive smirk he wore for no one else, as though he knew more than he was saying, as though he meant far more than he was saying. And she…particularly towards the end of their journey back toward Neverwinter, had responded with…what…it was hard to say, an instinctive coyness, one could almost call it innocently flirtatious, had that not been so hard to believe. And yet, was it? Bishop could easily have been called attractive, with his rough, rugged good looks, and who knew what they had said to each other while they were alone together? Phaedra was still young; it wasn't so hard to think that she might have been drawn in, without even truly knowing she was. Elanee leant back a moment, thoughtfully, if Phaedra was saved…no…when she was saved, this would have to be something she considered more carefully.

She looked up into the dawn through the window…no doubt Phaedra's attraction to Bishop was very different from her very clear love for Casavir, there was no reason to believe that it would last at all, it was most likely just a girlish experiment, a taste of the dangerous. She'd never had very much time to truly live in West Harbour, under Daeghun's guardianship. But Elanee could not deny that her heart thrilled secretly within her, despite her mind's stern admonitions, as though it knew a chance to seize what it had longed for so very long. What, she thought surreptitiously, in a part of her she scarcely knew, would Casavir think if he found out that it was Bishop's name his beloved cried out in her fever? The thought stunned and repulsed her…and she quickly flung herself back into her healing work, laying her hands once again on Phaedra to plunge more of her power into the girl's suffering body. Phaedra was like her daughter, she could never betray her like that, her conviction was unchanged, Casavir and Phaedra would be together. And she would save Phaedra too! Right now, she had a poison to fight…and fight she would and harder, to drive these disturbing thoughts from her mind.

ooo0000ooo

Strange, Phaedra thought slowly…glancing around her again. The Mere seemed to be gone, she was floating…in a glutinous blackness, swirling beneath the strokes of her hands as though she was swimming in liquid night. She didn't really feel cold at all anymore, there didn't even seem to be pain…it was very odd…she could hardly feel her body at all, in fact. And she was alone…Bishop hadn't actually been here, she'd been searching for him before, but now she knew he was coming…he'd come for her eventually. And Elanee was somewhere in here too…she'd heard her voice…but now she was alone. Or at least she thought she was, though she was suddenly aware of a strange feeling running down her back as though something was watching her, a critical eye gazing at her…it was more of a curiosity than a terror, its intent clearly wasn't to harm her…

"Phaedra…" And then it called her name, a voice, cold and refined, teasing at the edge of familiarity. She wasn't surprised to hear it, she'd been expecting it, or had she? "You've been wandering a long time…"

"Yes" She smiled lightly, spreading her fingers in the darkness around her "A very long time…"

"They're not coming, you know?" The voice continued. Phaedra frowned…of course they were coming…or…were they? Who was coming? Her head ached suddenly as she tried to recapture her earlier train of thought "Perhaps you should come with me instead" The voice requested.

"Where are we going?" She asked quickly

"Somewhere safe…" The voice answered

"Safe?" Phaedra breathed…no, this wasn't safe…something was wrong here. She should follow the voice, or should she?

"Yes, if you come with me" The voice said softly, and again she thought that she should be able to remember whose voice it was, only her mind was so muddled. She turned slowly again…and there was a light, suddenly, a light that pierced through all the darkness, white and burning and harsh, so that she threw up her hands against it, and yet some compulsion rose within her to swim towards it. "Come, Phaedra Blake" The voice beckoned "We finally have a chance to speak, you and I. It is far past time…" And the light enveloped her, washed through her and around, burning into her, and suddenly she saw only darkness…

ooo0000ooo

It had been hours now…Elanee knelt, her head bowed, and her power poured from her still. There had been no improvement, despite her titanic effort…Phaedra still lay there blankly among the white sheets. She hadn't shown any awareness for hours now, she hadn't even moved. She was breathing, very slowly, very lightly, her chest scarcely moving, the air barely stirring above her lips. And though she still sweated and burned with the fever, Elanee could scarcely feel the pulse of her heartbeat. It was almost as though the body before her was already a shell, as though the spirit was somewhere else. And the poison was still moving through her, Elanee felt it even now, a blight, a curse…this was no natural substance, that was clear. And each time she thought she'd healed one part of the suffering body before her, another gave way. She had not countenanced the thought before now, but the feeling was undeniable…Phaedra was dying. And there was nothing Elanee could do about it…all her efforts had been for nothing. She still sat there, still she poured power into Phaedra desperately, but her hope was dying as surely as the young woman who lay so calmly now upon this bed. And her heart felt dead already…

"Elanee…" She hadn't even heard Casavir approach but he was near her now, standing just behind where she knelt, with her hand holding Phaedra's own and feeling the pulse slowly fading in the wrist. She glanced back slowly, how futile it all felt now, her childish absurdity. He was simply a broad-shouldered human with striking eyes that were downward bent now, his features entirely blank. It would have taken one more perceptive even than her to see to the storm within him. "We are doing nothing…" He murmured "She is dying…"

"No…" Elanee was suddenly sobbing. She hadn't cried since she was a girl but she was crying now, before she even knew, the tears burning her down to the very soul "No, it can't be. It can't all end like this…" Casavir stood there, hard and unreachable, like the cold summit of a mountain…

"Sand has found something…" He said slowly "Will you come with me to see it?" Elanee glanced back at him, horrified…

"I can't leave her!" She cried, leaping to her feet and seizing Phaedra's limp hand "Not now…we can't give up, Casavir! Not on her…!" Had she ever given up on them? Ever? Phaedra, oh Gods, Phaedra, please wake up. Her little girl, her darling, she'd never really told Phaedra how much she loved her. She'd delayed so long in telling her the truth. It couldn't be too late…oh Gods. She remembered the Circle…their voices were still in her mind: accept the passage of time, the cycle of things, of life and death, and felt suddenly a savage hatred for them. When had they ever known what it was to love? How was it natural, right, for a sixteen year-old girl to lie upon this bed dying slowly? Oh Phaedra…Elanee loved her so much…

But suddenly Casavir had her in his arms, and she was crushed up against the cold metal of his armour, so close that she could feel the tension and release of his chest as he struggled to breath through his grief, the pounding of his heart, so hard, so fast…his arms clenched around her shoulders and she wept helplessly against his shoulder. But even as he held her, and she felt everything of him closer than she could have imagined, he was still impossibly distant. And she knew the gesture was nothing more than a comfort for her, and she wept that he was losing the one he loved truly so much more than her.

"Elanee, you must come with me" Casavir murmured in her ear "Sand wishes you to see what he has discovered. Perhaps it will save her…"

"Yes…" She breathed, was there still hope? Sand…might know something. Casavir let her go gently and she stumbled for a moment, feeling cold and lost and empty away from his protective embrace…

"Neeshka" Casavir glanced up "Would you watch her just for a moment? Call us immediately if anything happens" Elanee looked up with surprise to see the tiefling hanging around in the shadows by the door. She looked deeply uncomfortable, as though she found it hard to admit that she had been drawn here by something she found impossible to resist. She stepped silently out into the light, gave a brief nod to Casavir, and Elanee saw the drawn contours of her face, the shadows under her eyes, the exhausted pallor in her cheeks…by Silvanus, Phaedra was loved, more even than Elanee had thought. The tiefling was devoted to the one person who had shown her any kind of kindness. And she would do anything for Phaedra, although perhaps she found the strength of her feeling hard to express. Elanee gave her a wan smile, and she nodded back, they were united for an instant, despite their differences, by the one thing that held them all together…Phaedra. Then Casavir guided her away, and Neeshka settled down by the bed to keep her own vigil…

ooo0000ooo

"I know I'm not really that useful to you…" Bishop froze instantly, flattening himself against the wall of the Flagon's corridor, suddenly hearing the whining voice of that devil-girl, barely more than a whisper, from beneath the door to Phaedra's room. He swore with frustration…as he'd slipped into the Flagon under their notice, he'd seen that whorish druidess in the common room clinging desperately to her beloved leader's paladin, a very fast move on Elanee's part, considering Phaedra wasn't even dead yet. They'd been bent over some book, that wizard standing over them, looking pathetically helpless. He'd assumed then, unthinkingly, that they'd left Phaedra alone for a moment. But of course, it would never do to let Phaedra alone, one or other of them had always been at her, every moment. "Not like him…Casavir, or Elanee, or even Sand" The tiefling continued as Bishop stood there, considering his options, her voice was soft, quavering "And I know you probably don't even notice me most of the time, Phaedra…but we're still friends."

Well, none of that had been very helpful to Phaedra at all, had it? Solace Glade had been a disaster for the whole lot of them. Phaedra with nothing but a knife on her, facing up to three Luskan-trained assassins. And the only help was the farmgirl, who was, if anything, even more useless than the tiefling. In the end Bishop had to intervene himself, much as he'd hated playing the same game as the others, there was no way any flea-ridden Luskan assassin was going to slaughter the prize he'd marked for himself. He'd done it because they were Luskans, and they deserved it, and he liked the idea of this Luskan bitch of an ambassador humbled with her Luskan plots ruined. If he had a part in that, he'd be satisfied. But even so the sneaky bastard managed to knife her, and the knife turns out to be poisoned…his chance for revenge was bleeding away in the next room because none of them had seen through the shit that was. "Don't think I hate you because of, you know, the infernal magic…" Neeshka murmured softly "I can't feel it now, and that scares me more than anything else. It's funny…" She gave a hoarse laugh "I was desperate not to feel it again in you, in my friend, it scared me so much…that I might lose you to it. But now I'd give anything to feel it again, just so I'd know you were coming back…"

Bishop, hearing her fall silent a moment, moved over to the door slowly, the tiefling already understood there was a pecking order, in their little group, and she knew she was low down the scale. But it was past time for her to learn how low she really was. He supposed he was lucky it was her, though, she was far more easily fooled than the paladin, say, or the two elves. Slowly, almost silently, he pushed the door open. The room stank of sweat and disease, the wooden blinds were fastened shut so that everything was bathed in a grey half-light. And Phaedra lay there upon the bed, so still and silent it almost looked as though she were dead already, her eyes closed and sunken, her hair streaked with sweat, her lips swollen. She was just flesh there, rotting on the bed already, but she was going to slip away from him before he'd had her and his hunter's pride didn't like that. Even if he killed Duncan with his own hands, which he would, it wouldn't be quite as satisfying as it should have been. His victory over the drunken sot would be tainted by the knowledge that he could have done better, that he'd planned to do better. Duncan's grief over Phaedra's death might be enough for him, he supposed. Still it would be a severe irritation that he'd never have Phaedra, after he'd put up with her way beyond what he should have done.

"Bishop!" Neeshka gave a startled squeal, leaping back from the bed, and rubbing the tears from her face. "What in the Hells are you even doing here?" He'd forgotten her, damn it, Phaedra again, taking his edge away.

"It's a Luskan poison isn't it?" He stalked over to the bed, gave a fluid nod to the corpse-like body upon the bed "I used to hunt Luskans down like the dogs they are…"

"Yeah, I've killed a couple of them too, enjoyed it every time" Neeshka nodded savagely through her tears "You think you might know something about this…poison?" She was in quite a state, and gullible too…and yet there was something companionable in their shared hatred. He'd use it though, like he would use anything of her, or any of them, to get to Phaedra…

"Maybe" Bishop moved to the bed, laid a hand by Phaedra's body, just where her dress was cut apart into trailing shreds, where her white flesh, marred by that ugly bleeding wound, was visible. "Not sure if I've seen anything like this, though"

"Hells…" The tiefling cursed "I've tried to work it out myself, but it's some kind of Hostower poison. That's what Sand said back when they brought her in anyway"

"A Hostower poison?" He lowered his head over Phaedra, his eye trailing her supple flushed, and heated flesh Only half of him was conscious of his conversation with Neeshka at all, but he did use the opportunity to evaluate Phaedra's charms again. "Must have been an assassin squad then, one of the elite Orders…"

"Damn them all" Neeshka breathed harshly. She paused a moment, frowning "I tried to warn her, you know…"

"So did I" Bishop glanced at her, not letting his surprise show. This one could be useful, if they got through this, somehow…

"It's that paladin…" Neeshka snapped "Ever since he and that elf got their claws in her, it's always been do things one way. Look at what they did to her when she tried to let you come along…" The tiefling looked up uncomfortably "I agreed with her on that one, you know. Sometimes, out here, it's a matter of doing what's useful rather than what they think is right…" Well, well, it seemed as though the favoured few have made an enemy. The dwarf was too dim to realize he was being constantly over-looked, but Neeshka…he just might have underestimated. Slowly the tiefling lowered her head "Shandra told me you were out there…" She said "With them"

"Did she?" That too was slightly surprising; he would have expected the farmgirl to keep her mouth shut. Well, she'd have to be taught better, although this time it might just be of use to him…damn it, Phaedra was dying, why did he keep on thinking as though his chance would still come? None of them would matter, he just needed to get the tiefling out of here as fast as possible so he could finish what he started from the moment he first saw Phaedra pass through these doors, looking lost and pretty. Faster than he'd thought, but he'd cut his losses and move on, as he always had.

"You saved her life" The tiefling murmured

"She's dying anyway" Bishop answered curtly

"Yeah, well, it matters" Neeshka looked away. "At least you did something…" She rubbed her eyes…looking shattered with grief and exhaustion alike.

"How long have they left you in here?" Bishop shot her a glance, it might have been taken as concern.

"About an hour…" Neeshka muttered darkly, it was hard to tell if she was taking the bait yet. "Gods know what they're talking about out there, it doesn't seem to be doing anything" She sighed with bitterness…

"Sounds like they're keeping us out of the loop" Bishop put forward casually, tapping the bedpost with his fingertips. That was the surest way to get through to her, he just needed a moment's misplaced trust…

"Story of my life" Neeshka snorted "Especially with those two, and now that wizard…"

"You look like you could use a drink" Bishop commented. Come on, devil-girl, fall for it… "I'll keep an eye on her for a moment. You should take a break …"

"What?" Neeshka's eyes widened as she stared at him. She was so easy to read, he could almost see the thoughts tracing across her face as he held her gaze with his own. And…there it was, inwardly he smiled with triumph, Bishop, you've done it again… "Sure" She shrugged, as though the decision had been casual "I'll bring you one too if you like. I think we could all use something strong right now…"

"Maybe once I'm done" He glanced back down at Phaedra. Was it just him, or was she fading before his eyes? There wasn't much time…

"Oh, okay" She looked pathetically disappointed, what, devil-girl, do you really think you have a chance? "I'll be outside, if you need me" He barely noticed the tiefling slipping slowly through the door, and he stood still there above Phaedra's dying body for a moment or two more, until silence had fallen completely around them, and even the noise of the Docks just outside had faded.

"It's just you and me now" He said softly, she didn't move. Where was she really? He'd seen a lot of people die, and slowly, never had they looked as she did now. Slowly, silently, he lowered himself onto the bed, beside her, and sat there for a moment with the stillness only a hunter could master, his gaze fixed upon her face. She lay by him, dying, and still so stunning. He reached forward, lightly touched her forehead…she was cold now, it wouldn't be long. Slowly he ran his finger along the side of her face, feeling that smoothness, achingly soft. He leant in over her face, his other hand ran through the limp strands of her hair. He leaned close to her again, laid his free hand upon her shoulder, and traced for a moment, the slender curve of her neck. He shifted again…he was only inches from her now. This was how it was meant to be, how he had always imagined it, her entirely in his power, under his will. It would be a damned waste, this was all a damned waste, all the effort, all the time wasted on her. Now because of some Luskan whoreson with a quick dagger he lost it all. That was a shame, she would have been quite a lay.

With a frustrated gasp, he leaned back to straighten where he sat. Well, then there was only one choice. He shifted where he sat, felt the burning of her skin inches from his own, with just a thin dress and his armour between them. Slowly he lifted the dagger from his belt, and held it point-first, upon her breast, where her heart was. That would be it then, Duncan would be destroyed by her death and he would have killed her too, her blood would be his own, no other could claim her. It would be so easy, she was so very frail. The moment she died, he could go to Duncan, confront him with his niece's blood still on his dagger, and remind Duncan of those words they'd shared once, force him to eat every one. Then he'd decide if he could be bothered to kill Duncan too, or if Phaedra's death was enough to destroy the innkeeper to Bishop's satisfaction.

Phaedra stirred suddenly, her shoulders twitching, the muscles in her arms clenching up. Very slowly, her head moved slightly to the side. He froze instantly…but then she fell still once again. That was unusual…he stayed still himself for a moment longer, confirming that she would not be waking somehow, but it was clear she had fallen into the same statue-like stupor once again. Well then it was time. Phaedra would die, she was lost to him, may as well make the whole thing official. At least he'd have her blood, if not her body. He raised the dagger again, laid it there upon her breast and, to his utter astonishment, her eyes suddenly snapped open, and he was staring into a vibrant green sea of total panic. He tore himself back in the next moment, but she had already flung herself upwards, the dagger was struck by her flailing hand, it tore from Bishop's fingers and was flung to the floor to glisten in the shadows like a wasted dream. And Phaedra was suddenly screaming…screaming with utter, total abandon, her eyes were wide, her hands clenched so tight that the nails had pierced the flesh. And yet she didn't move, she simply shook there, shivering, and screaming, screaming over and over, as her voice grew hoarse and rough. Bishop found he was standing now, somehow, instinctively, he'd leapt up from the bed but he wasn't moving again now. Had the poison done this? She'd been so close to dead just seconds before...

Suddenly the door was flung open behind him, slamming with a splintering crack into the wall, and the paladin burst in, first in line, and followed right away by the whole damned crew, down to a frantic, drunken-looking Duncan. Elanee swooped over to the bedside immediately, she caught one of Phaedra's wrists in her hand, and wrenched the girl's hand away from her side, but still Phaedra simply sat there in her bed and screamed. The others, the dwarf, Duncan Shandra, Sand…they milled about by the doorway staring at the bed and at the utterly insensible Phaedra. Neeshka, though…was looking straight at Bishop himself, aghast and utterly betrayed…learn to think with your head and not your loins, goat-girl, he thought savagely…

"What did you do?" Casavir roared, flinging himself in front of Bishop. He was unarmed, and utterly enraged. The moment he struck, Bishop's sword was going across his throat…

"You wanted her awake, didn't you?" Bishop hissed. Whatever happened, one thing was certain; he was not breathing a word of what had occurred here to any of them. Let them think what they would…he'd done nothing to Phaedra himself…

"Garius!" Phaedra screamed out a word suddenly, a name maybe, or at least he thought she did. Her voice was utterly shrill, while her eyes were wild, burning with frantic fear. "Stop!" Casavir turned instantly, forgetting Bishop entirely, he leapt to the bedside in a single stride.

"Phaedra…" Elanee gasped in the girl's face "Phaedra, are you there? Phaedra, it's me. Oh Silvanus, Phaedra, wake up…it's Elanee" Suddenly the scream died in Phaedra's throat…cut off almost instantly, she fell silent and sat there, completely still. Then slowly, her head moved to the side and glanced at Elanee…her gaze focused, cleared…the unnatural light of panic faded from her eyes…

"Elanee…?" She breathed, looking astonished, but suddenly, completely lucid. Indeed, though her features were still drawn and streaked with sweat, there was now a flush in her cheeks. She looked…alive again. "Elanee…is that…?" Hells, was the poison…gone? How?

"Yes, Phaedra" Elanee smiled, and she was crying, tears spilling from her eyes, but she reached forward and took Phaedra in her arms, cradled her against her shoulder "It's me…"

"Elanee…" Phaedra murmured. She still looked utterly shocked to even be where she was, but she surrendered willingly enough to Elanee's embrace, and the elf rocked her, muttering something meaningless in that elvish gibberish they were all so proud of.

"What in Tyr's name happened here?" Casavir breathed. He turned his icy gaze on Bishop, suspiciously, but if the paladin thought that kind of posturing would get Bishop to talk, he was sadly mistaken.

"None of your damned business" Bishop growled. He didn't understand what in the Hells had just happened, and that made him edgy. He liked to be in control of things, which was why he'd kept so far from most of the other things involved in this journey…shards, demons, warlocks…all he wanted was Phaedra.

"Phaedra?" Elanee finally let Phaedra go, and the girl sat back against her bed, still staring around her in wonder. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…yes I think so" She breathed suddenly, rubbing her arms "I feel…fine…" Elanee glanced at the wound in her side, and Bishop, along with everyone else, followed her gaze. It was gone…well, except for a sickle-shaped scar, a faded mark amidst the white smoothness of the flesh at her side. Bishop's eyes narrowed. Poison just didn't go away, dagger wounds didn't just vanish. There hadn't been any magic, so far as he could tell. Phaedra had just woken up.

"Silvanus preserve us all…" Elanee glanced up, and her eyes found Bishop. She knew as little as he did, and yet she didn't seem as shocked as the paladin. As always he found her hard to read, so he held her gaze a moment, trying to work her out. Why did it seem as though she found that these events confirmed something she had only just realised? "What did this?" The druidess murmured. He didn't answer, let Phaedra say what she knew…it wasn't his concern…

"I don't know" Phaedra leaned forward, gathering the sheets around her. "Bishop...was here with me, and I just...woke up" She turned her face to him, offered what might have been an apologetic smile, but he knew her far better than that. She was lying, that was all he knew, she knew far more than she was saying, and she knew it was a lie. "I woke up. I thought I was having a nightmare…" He wondered briefly if he should call her out on the lie he read in her eyes, try to expose her, but then her gaze deepened upon his own, and suddenly he saw the fear in her eyes, a fear that begged him, as surely as if she were on her knees before him, not to reveal the truth. That panic, which had woken her, which had sent her screaming insensibly for a minute or more, which had driven her nails so deep into her palm that as she raised her hand to brush her hair from her forehead, blood dripped onto the linen sheets, it was still there, she was just hiding it. And it had to be the reason she was lying now. He considered how best to use this unexpected blessing. She couldn't simply lie to him, like she was to the rest of them, again. Something had happened to her while she was fevered, something awful, something involving someone named 'Garius', and he was going to find out what it was. Because however frightening it had been, it had to also be what had healed her, because he certainly hadn't. A month ago, this would have all seemed impossible, but he was learning fast that it didn't really matter either way. Hells, the truth of what had happened to her didn't even matter to him in itself, though he was curious. What mattered was that she was hiding something, from him, from all of them, and he was going to find out what it was…and then she'd have her back against the proverbial wall, which was, in fact, exactly where he wanted her.


	49. Chapter 49

_Yes, I'm back at last, and here's Chapter 49 and the big reveal for the last chapter's big mystery!_

_Thanks ever so much to Agate93 for the favourite and Eraque for putting me on alert. Nice to see when I came back quite how many got to reading this story while I was gone. Remember, any thoughts I'm always open to criticism and suggested improvements. _

Phaedra slipped silently through the door of her room, unable to stop herself glancing quickly, furtively up and down the corridor as though somewhere in her fear-ravaged consciousness she still expected that the shadows would part before her and…she would see him once again. In her mind she heard the whisper of black silk, the rustle of aged, withered hands running greedily one over the other…she clamped down on the scream that seemed to rake through her whole body; panic was never far away now, it had stalked at her shoulders all this hour or so since she had woken in sweat-stained, fever-riddled sheets. Still she found it near impossible to believe that she had nearly died, she felt the weakness of the fever down to her very bones, but her mind struggled to comprehend just how close it had come, just how fast death had clasped her and just how strong the effort must have been to free her from that clasp. And merely from that slightest of cuts…her fingers sought the scar in her side, and she felt it even through the Battle Robes she was now wearing. Another scar to mark her, not perhaps so deep as the one in her chest, but it would be there to remind her that the smallest of wounds might be fatal, that there would not always be someone there to guard her and if she was to survive the storm that was coming, she alone would have to defend herself. And she would learn how, no matter what it took.

"Phaedra!" She started instantly at the sound of her name, swinging round in an instant's blind fear as she heard resonant in the clear voice she knew well enough to be Shandra's, an imagined echo of a soft, infinitely dangerous rasp, a voice that had haunted her in the shadows of her mind. And even the echo had the power to freeze her where she stood, she gave a gasp, trying to control herself. It was over…she was safe now, but how could she ever be safe? He was still watching…still waiting like a spider in the midst of a vast web of plot and conspiracy, she felt the wildness of panic rise in her again, and clasped her fingers tight at her sides, control…Gods Phaedra, control… "Phaedra?" Look it was Shandra, she saw the girl well enough walking down the corridor, and yet her vision seemed to blur and swim in a creeping sea of shadows…and she felt a clenching agony sink into her stomach. "Are you alright?" As Shandra reached her, she struggled to speak, to reassure her friend that she was alright…above all no one must know what had truly occurred in the midst of her fever. "Phaedra?"

"Yes…" At last the word pushed its way through her trembling lips "I'm alright" It wasn't exactly a lie, her body, though utterly exhausted, was regaining its strength slowly, and she had just bathed to wash the stench of sickness and sweat from her body, but still she felt…tainted.

"Okay" Shandra breathed. She, like everyone else did apart from Sand perhaps, looked exhausted, drawn, worn down to the bone. She was pale, her eyes shadowed and she still wore her armour as though she hadn't had time to lay it aside. But seeing Phaedra standing, wearing her robes and boots once again, with her bow at her back seemed to convince her that it was truly real, that Phaedra was really safe. "I thought" She continued softly "I was sure…you were gone" She looked up, her eyes glinted with concern and guilt "I shouldn't have left you…"

"No" Phaedra reached forward, and laid a hand on Shandra's shoulder, feeling the cold, hard edge of the armour against her palm. "It's alright…it turned out alright…" A lie…another lie, ah Gods, it hurt so much to speak like this to Shandra, to her friend, but what choice did she have?

"Thank the Gods, whichever of them were listening" Shandra stepped back, the moment passed, and she ran a hand through her hair, sturdy farmer's practicality now taking over as she stood straighter once again"What's now then?" She said "You're a squire now, aren't you? Gods, that's strange. I've never spoken to a real noble before" She smiled lightly "I figure they want to speak to you in the palace though"

"Sand told me he sent a message to Sir Grayson" Phaedra answered, the wizard had remained at her bedside once the fuss was over and told her of his plans. Nevalle was supposed to be arranging for Phaedra and Grayson to 'encounter' her accuser the Luskan ambassador Torio Claven in front of Lord Nasher, forcing her onto the back foot with the new revelation that Phaedra had been made a squire. Now she was recovered, Sand promised to see to it that this meeting occurred as planned. Despite her gratitude to the wizard, she'd tried to avoid speaking to him for any longer than she'd had to, sensing that he suspected there was more to her recovery than she'd revealed, and desperate to conceal how right he was from his undeniably keen insight. "We're heading to Castle Never as soon as he's ready"

"I'm coming" Shandra nodded firmly "It's whenever I'm away that all this trouble seems to start and I don't care what that snooty wizard has to say about it"

"Alright" Phaedra answered, with the small smile she could muster. Whatever happened in Castle Never, she would be glad if Shandra was there with her. Sand's brand of comfort wasn't quite so effective…

"Thanks" Shandra grinned "Seems to me like you need all the help you can get." She glanced down at her scuffed and battered armour "Maybe I should get more presentable first, though. Meet you at the door in a half hour, and make sure Sand doesn't get away without me" She gave a last bright smile, and then stepped quickly into her own room. The warmth of her presence faded right away, as did Phaedra's smile, and she found herself once again alone in the shadows, cold and empty and silent. She couldn't stand there, still, for more than a moment, and quickly walked back, with a quiet tread towards the common room where, surely, Sand and maybe the others would be waiting for her. But, just as she rounded the corridor, she suddenly heard Casavir's voice from within, and what he said stilled her footsteps before she even entered the room…

"Something is amiss" The paladin was saying. His voice was somewhat tight, less precise and controlled than ever she had heard it, except perhaps in those brief moments she still remembered yet dimly; those moments when she had first woken, screaming, with Bishop's body looming over her own and the memory of a fearsome magic and a touch of icy death scorching her soul… "Her recovery is not all it seemed, I feel it. And why was only Bishop there to witness it? Can you not see that every time we have this problem it is him who is standing by her?"

"Are you suggesting she concealed something from us?" Even Elanee seemed shrill, anxious, clearly this argument had been going on for some time "I won't believe it. She deserves better than for us to suspect her, after everything she has done. She deserves our trust" Phaedra grasped at the wall next to herself, her nails digging into the wood. Not this, not now…

"The more he influences her, the less I can trust that what she says is from her own lips and not his" Casavir answered "She has concealed her intentions before, at his urging…"

"Why is this always about Bishop?" Elanee snapped, it was astonishing to hear her address Casavir in such a manner. And Phaedra, standing by the wall silent and still, unable to move, couldn't decide what was worse, that Casavir blamed Bishop, who had nothing to do with her own deception, not this time, or that Elanee still trusted her, but she had actually concealed something. "Your hatred of him blinds you utterly"

"You agreed his influence over her was dangerous" Casavir said softly, seeming to struggle with the words, as though he were utterly shocked to even be having this discussion.

"I said unsettling, Casavir, lest you forget it" Elanee replied sharply "As you so easily forget how many times he has saved her life now. I am prepared to change my views on Bishop, perhaps you should consider whether yours remains justified"

"Both of you are missing the point, Bishop is entirely extraneous" Sand…there as well, and hearing all of this. He sounded impatient, edgy… "Our problem is elsewhere. The poison is incurable. Everything I've read suggests that. No Hostower mage would concoct a poison that one could simply shrug off just like that" Phaedra could imagine Sand elegantly sweeping a hand to illustrate his point. If any of them, it would be Sand she most had to fear would come to truth. But...even he surely couldn't imagine what she'd experienced? She prayed it was so. If Sand...found out, if the others did...it was unimaginable.

"Well what if there were some other cause?" Elanee answered quietly and Phaedra tensed. So long as they thought it was unconscious, so long as they had no more questions for her...so long as she was safe...

"Some other cause?" Sand's nasal voice picked up with interest. This was dangerous territory, though there was no way any of them could know the true reason she was still alive. "You have a suggestion? Believe me, even I can conceive of no way she could have escaped death"

"Her power…" Elanee answered swiftly "It's the only explanation we have."

"I do not know how much you know of sorcery, Elanee…" Sand's voice had an echo of Tarmas' as he had lectured his apprentices "But there is no conceivable way a sorcerer, even one on the brink of death, could purge from her body a deadly toxin, let alone heal a serious wound and repair the damage of some six hours under the ravages of that same toxin. I woulwd almost be inclined to resort to divine intervention, were that not so hard to believe…"

"No" Casavir replied instantly "She serves Lathander and one of His most sacred lessons is to embrace death when it comes. And I felt no God moving in this place…"

"And what if that sorcerer had already accomplished things that should have been beyond her?" Elanee asked as though Casavir had not spoken "What if her power had echoes…of something else?"

"Now you have me intrigued" Sand sounded eager now, and Phaedra slumped further against the wall. Elanee's voice, when she answered, sunk down to a low murmur, the echo of which Phaedra could hear, but none of the substance. This was exactly what she'd hoped they would not discuss, she'd meant to speak to Sand herself, alone…Elanee and Casavir had their own opinions that might be less than helpful. The power was Phaedra's, she felt it herself…how could they hope to understand what she was going through? She lowered her head against the wall, and let out a particularly bitter curse.

"And here I never thought I'd see the day" Bishop…Phaedra turned at once, startled. There he was, of course, as she should have known he would be, though not a hint of his footfall had alerted her that he was now standing in the middle of the corridor behind her. She stared at him warily as he approached, wondering how much he had heard, just how much he suspected. And she couldn't forget, though the memories were less than lucid, that when she had woken he had been there in the room alone with her...and she struggled to remember...had there been a dagger there too? Of all of her companions, though, he had most reason to suspect that she wasn't being honest. Could she fend him off, distract him? Somehow she doubted it…once Bishop had caught a scent, it would take someone far more skilled than her to throw him off the trail "Who'd you learn that one from? It wasn't the paladin I hope"

"What are you doing here?" Phaedra said, as hard as she could make it. If she had a hope of coming out first in this engagement, she had to lay down the law straight away.

"Protecting my investment, of course" Bishop gave a wolfish grin "I've saved you now…oh…is that four times? Wouldn't want all that effort to go to waste. And you're utterly hopeless at looking after yourself"

"Don't be ridiculous" Phaedra snapped, the fact that she was determined to be hard on him had nothing to do with the anger that now flared up within her. How dare he?

"You've still got a lot to learn" Bishop shrugged, seeming not to care "Let's not forget, you just tried to attack three Luskan assassins with a knife and I had to bail you out" She shrank back, anger slipped from her grasp…after what she had endured, the price she had payed for that mistake…somehow she couldn't but feel that perhaps he was right…

"And you think you can teach me?" Perhaps she meant the question to be sarcastic, mocking, but she couldn't quite manage it. As it was, it came out halfway between plea and simple statement of fact. The ghost of a smile touched his lips, burning in his tawny eyes, and, slowly, softly, he stepped closer to her.

"Mystra's Breath" At once Sand's voice rang out, obviously in answer to what Elanee had been explaining. Phaedra jumped and glanced away from Bishop quickly, although of course she couldn't see Sand from where she was. "It seems I arrived just in time" The wizard continued breathlessly, clearly shocked enough so that even his formidable poise and sense of composure was dented. "Infernal sorcery…are you certain?"

"Lesson number one" Bishop murmured, and her gaze shot back to him. Here he was, and as their eyes met once again, everything of Elanee's reply, of Sand's continued analysis, was lost, faded away, and she heard only his voice, and her own heart's hastening beat. "They're always going to control you. If you want to survive, it's time to start making up your own mind"

"Did you try to kill me Bishop?" The words slipped from her lips, the product of one vague, uncertain thought that she had better not let him get so close again.

"Now why would I do that?" He gave a soft laugh, and, oh Gods, she felt something in her melt…how did he do this? What was it in him that she was so helpless before?

"You had a dagger there, in my room" She continued softly. He raised an eyebrow, he didn't seem surprised.

"Good thing I didn't give try anything with it, then, isn't it?" He whispered harshly at her ear. She shuddered, despite herself…here it was…he knew, he had always known. How could she have hoped to keep it from him? "You knew this was coming, right? Don't I deserve the truth?"

"Bishop…I can't" And she was weak, weaker than she might have been, for her fever had drained her, and that which she now fought off from rising within her again, the memory, the thought of what she had seen and felt in the midst of it had scarred her deep.

"You can lie to them all you want" Bishop said, the softness of his voice was like a roll of thunder in Phaedra's head "But, Squire or no, with you and me things are different." She tried to look away for a moment, collect her thoughts, but he held her pinned like a helpless butterfly with his gaze. And she could not stop the thoughts, the memories rising in her mind, voices, whispers, the touch of cold fingers upon her forehead, agony of magic's darkest touch…the taint, the corruption, and shadows all around her. They were unstoppable, relentless, she gave a shuddering gasp, and they rose within her to her lips so that she could hold them back no longer…

"Promise me…" She reached forward frantically, and her hand found the shoulder of his armour, clasped it so tight that the cuts in her palms stung once again. Her whole body was shaking now, her eyes wild, a chill running through her flesh. "Promise me you won't tell anyone. They mustn't know Bishop…they can't know…"

"I won't tell them" He leaned closer, so that, with her arm upon his shoulder, he seemed to be encircling her entirely. Her fingers dug into the shoulder of his armour as she fought with her fear. "Now, I want to know, princess" He impressed upon her, she was helpless.

"Garius…" Phaedra breathed, and though she stared full into his face, Bishop seemed to fade before her, and the shadows ran down from the walls into her mind. That name, the very sound of it, oh Lathander… "I had a vision" It could be denied no longer, the words had to be told, she had held it back but now it had her in its grip, and she seemed to live it all again "No, not a vision. I can't explain it. I was there, I was really there…"

_The light was gone, it had faded so suddenly that she had now not even a glimmer of it remaining in her eyes. She shifted where she lay back now, felt the rustle of an unfamiliar material against her back, heard the shifting of sheets, but knew at once that she had never slept where she lay now before. She felt strangely weightless…as though she could almost spring off this bed and fly. This bed? Slowly she glanced around, yes, she was in a bed. It was a grand four-poster with hanging crimson curtains, silk, the like of which you only imagined reading about in the kind of shocking romances that Amie had smuggled her from Tarmas' library. The sheets were red satin, she rubbed them between her fingers, feeling the silken softness as real as…well anything she had touched before. This was not a dream. Although there was something dream-like about her own presence, she was sure that this room was real, and somehow, some part of her was within it. Her head lay back amidst a pile of wonderfully soft cushions, her hair spread out around it, artfully arranged in flowing streams of gold…_

_She glanced to the one side…saw that sun-light was streaming through a vast window fitted with glass and iron. Through it the view was of low, green hills and before them run-down and desolate fields, the clouds were low today, low and heavy. It would rain soon. Otherwise the room seemed to be all built of stone, large blocks of it, all fitted together precisely, like a castle or fortress. There was a rich tapestry hanging across from where she lay now, a map of Faerun…no, the Sword Coast, embroidered in crimson and gold. And the rest of the room was adorned with similarly sumptuous pieces, there was a particularly fascinating tapestry just by the window, obviously elven, with an interlocking pattern of tree branches and leaves that formed a motto in graceful elvish 'Under Dawn's Light and In The Shadows of Twilight, Ever My Footsteps are bent Toward You' . Puzzled, Phaedra stirred slowly in the sheets and felt then the rustle of heavy satin upon her legs. She lifted her head from the pillows and saw with shock that she was wearing a gown, the most gorgeous and rich gown she had ever seen, let alone imagined herself ever wearing. It was pure white, white satin, embroidered so delicately that it shimmered, and studded with countless radiant pearls that glistened under the burnished sunlight. It was long and heavy, clinging to her around her stomach and high in the shoulders in a fashion that she knew Amie would have deemed some twenty years out of date. And yet it fit perfectly, she shifted a moment again, admiring despite herself the way it flowed over her body like a precious fountain of shimmering silk. She didn't feel afraid, for some reason…this was really like a dream. But somehow she was certain it wasn't, impossible though she knew that was… _

_"Do you like it?" The voice, a man's voice, made her jump, coming so suddenly from a corner of the room she had not yet examined, she knew at once that it had been the one that summoned her here through the darkness. Quickly she shifted in the mountain of pillows to glance at her unexpected deliverer. The moment she saw him her blood froze, along with her whole body, her jaw dropped, and she felt the first stab of a mounting wave of real fear… "The dress, it belonged to my wife" The slight, aged and withered, man in his sumptuous robes of black silk said conversationally, as he shifted in his splendid throne-like chair by the bed "I think it suits you rather well, Phaedra" An oddly wistful smile touched the withered lips of the Master of the Fifth Tower. She had seen him only once, as nothing more than a Sending, but now he sat by this strange bed, and he was real…physical. That sense of power, that dominance, that had so impressed upon her then, it was even more powerful now, so that she stilled in the midst of the silken sheets and wearing her satin gown, and simply stared at him, utterly astonished. "I am glad you have finally made your way here" He continued casually as she lay there, frozen in fear_

_"You…" She gave a hoarse gasp. At once, purely instinctively, she reached for her magic once again, and once again it slipped from her grasp. It was as though it wasn't even there, as though the person who lay back on this bed facing the monster who had pursued her was somehow distinct and separate from her own sorcery…_

_"Ah, so you recognise me" The Master of the Fifth Tower nodded slowly "Unfortunate. I had hoped we might begin from a more agreeable place than we parted last. A clean slate…if you will" He shifted in his chair, every motion, each movement was calculated, utterly precise "I am Garius. This is my fortress, and I have brought you here, in spirit, while your body lies elsewhere, because it is time that you and I cleared up what has occurred between us thus far. I hope you understand that the occurrences in our last, brief meeting were nothing short of a catastrophic misunderstanding"_

_"What?" Phaedra breathed, scarcely able to speak_

_"If I'd known it was you who stood there in that awful place…" He continued, with an odd note of pensive sadness "Things would have been very different."_

_"You…know me?" She stared at him, there was still something so surreal about this encounter. She couldn't think things through, even understand what she was hearing…_

_"Not then, I did not" He said "Nor when I sent Ajah to slay you, another terrible misunderstanding, one I regret utterly. I assumed you were yet another adventurer, inadvertently disturbing that which you could not hope to understand. I was angered by your interference …and I acted hastily, without thought. I did not see that your actions were guided by fate, by destiny…yours, Phaedra, and mine. Our destiny together…" He glanced significantly at her, his eyes were like polished silver, hard and cold._

_"What do you mean?" She lifted herself up from the bed, instinctively adopting a more defensive posture. The cold, heavy satin of the gown suddenly seemed constrictive, imprisoning, and malice surrounded the man who sat before her, a malice enhanced by the towering scope of the power she at once now felt streaming from him. "What do you want from me?"_

_"I want to protect you" He answered at once "You are in very grave danger. I knew the moment I saw what you did to Ajah…"_

_"You saw that?" Phaedra whispered_

_"I always keep a close eye upon my operatives" Garius replied softly "Ajah was a promising apprentice of mine, but his death was a necessary loss. Now I understand what you are, what your actions thus far mean…why you have come here now…" He stood slowly, and Phaedra shrank back along the bed, grasping at the sheets. Again she tried to summon magic, but nothing came. She was utterly helpless…_

_"You have been trying to kill me" She breathed hoarsely "The trial, the assassins in Solace Glade…all of it was you. You can't do this…"_

_"I never meant you to be attacked, it was the action of an overzealous underling" Garius answered "He shall be punished for it. Surely you see, though, how such an unfortunate occurance has nonetheless given us this opportunity? I wished to have a chance to prepare you for what was to come, to assure you that the events surrounding Ember, the trauma you must be going through, they are not what they seem to be. However the trial goes, I assure you, it will not end in your execution. That was never my intention. I only mean to safeguard you, to protect you from this terrible force you have inside yourself. I do not think you quite understand how much danger you are in. Once you do, you too shall see why I have acted as I have"_

_"How can I understand you?" Phaedra cried "You're a monster, you defile the dead. You're trying to destroy Neverwinter!"_

_"Do not attempt to condemn what you do not yet truly understand" Garius snapped, and for the first time the darkness she had always sensed in him appeared across his pale, withered features, flashing in his cold, dark eyes. "Neverwinter took something from me, something more precious than you can possibly imagine. If I must sell my soul to accomplish it, I shall exact the price from the life of every man, woman and child in that city!" He stepped closer to the bed, looming over her, a figure of black silk and darkness "You are dying, Phaedra, your body is dying, and I could keep you here until your soul fades entirely" He continued, as she stared at him, utterly shocked by what he was saying "Or I could save you…the choice is entirely in my hands."_

_"I am dying…?" She echoed, horrified_

_"A poison, one concocted by my wife in fact, and passed onto some of Luskan's finest assassins" Garius nodded, he was still now, in control of himself once more, but now his stillness had an even more terrifying menace to it "How ironic…" He raised a hand, and at once his magic, that honed, deadly force she had sensed in him arose, and a shadowy, thick darkness seemed to appear within his very hand. She shrank back again… "There is a cure though, an antidote if you will, one she kept secret while she lived. When she was murdered, the secret passed to me. Do you not see the movement of destiny in this? That I, alone, in all this world, can save your life, that you are here. We are meant to be together, Phaedra Blake, you were always meant to come to me…"_

_"You're insane!" Phaedra gasped, aghast, finally realising the truth of what Garius was really asking of her, the truth of what in his diseased, deluded mind he thought was to come of this meeting._

_"She said that too…" Garius breathed, his cold eyes burning "But she was wrong. It was all for her…everything I have done was for her." He shook his head, as though to clear the weight of memory, as though to clear his mind of a face that floated before him always "Phaedra…" He leaned over the bed, speaking her name like it was the only thing that could save him from…everything… "You must understand, I want to save you"_

_"I can't…" Phaedra sobbed weakly, something about him seemed to drain her of all will, and his power, his magic, was utterly beyond anything she had ever felt. It was utterly inexorable "I can't…"_

_"Without my guidance, you are damned, Phaedra" He said softly "Your power will consume you utterly, it has already begun." He reached forward slowly with one withered hand. Phaedra suddenly felt sick, faint, she tried to move, tried to fight, but her whole body seemed to be slipping away from her, and only her gaze, held by the pale flame in his own, seemed to be her own. "And you are already dying" He murmured, his voice a rising tide in her mind "Let me help you, or we are both lost"_

_"Don't touch me…" She tried to scream, but nothing more than a faint murmur emerged from her lips, her head falling back onto the pillows in a stream of gold "Don't…"_

_"Here, my gift to you, the gift of life" His fingers alighted, cold as the touch of death, upon her forehead and his power slid into her like the clean blade of a knife, she felt it…and it was the most horrifyingly intimate thing she had ever experienced, for he was inside her, that cold darkness, that awful, aching sense of horror and evil that had always surrounded him was flowing fast into her own body, and she could only lie back helpless and feel it envelop her. "Shadows grant many boons" Garius murmured, more it seemed to himself, than to her "I will use them as I will, but I am not his thrall…" Lathander, save me…oh Gods, make him stop, let him stop. But he did not, he healed her…and she felt for a moment through him the ravages of the poison in her body, and saw, with a blurred double-vision, herself upon the bed, robed in white like a corpse. "Ah…you are fading already" Garius breathed, and his voice was the only thing holding her in this room, she was drawing back, back into her body… "One last thing, Phaedra…before you go back where you belong" She blinked, saw his face above her, swimming in the blur of the fever "Do you understand what a geas is?" She could not but respond, for his voice had the cold, hard edge of authority, and she shook her head. The word sounded vaguely familiar, but she could not place it. "You will soon…" Garius breathed hoarsely "Your footsteps will ever be bent towards me, and one day, when the shadows of darkness fall upon you…you will hear my voice, and you will obey" Then his hand plunged into her, that was the only way she could ever describe what he did, through her spirit and body alike. And his power roared, and she was plunged into an agony the likes of which she could never have imagined, as though a thousand hooks were plunged suddenly into her, flesh and insides alike. They were pulling her apart, and everything was falling apart…she screamed, she screamed over and over again, and the agony slammed into her like a hammer-blow…and then Garius was gone, but the pain remained…and she knew not where she was. She could only scream, and scream, and feel Garius' magic tear her to pieces…_

"So he...claimed you?" Bishop's voice tore her back into herself, tore through the relentless tide of memory that forced her to live again what she could not bear to remember. She had then…told the whole story to him. She hadn't even known she was speaking. And she looked up into his eyes once again, and knew she was back in the Flagon, that it was truly over. "And this geas?" He said softly

"I don't know…" Phaedra breathed "I still don't know but…" She closed her eyes for a moment, scarcely understanding what she was doing but knowing in her heart that she would do anything to keep away from Garius, from his evil, his spite, his desire, even make this request of Bishop "Bishop, I need you to watch me" She murmured desperately "Please, watch me closely." She had nowhere else to turn, he knew now, and she could never reveal what had passed between her and Garius to Casavir, or Elanee. It was too horrifying, she dared not speak of it again, what would they think, if they knew that this monster entertained some connection between them? That he had revealed that her own magic would destroy her? But Bishop…he was right, things were different between them. There was a strange kind of savage honesty in their relationship…something about him forced her to strip aside all pretence, confront what truly was about herself, about those around her. If there was one person she could trust to do this, to watch her for signs that Garius' magic was indeed affecting her, it had to be him…

"Well, I'll do it then, if you're certain" Bishop said, his voice soft and rough. Though she scarcely knew it, a small part of her was conscious that they were standing very close to one another now, that somehow during her telling of the story her hand had moved from his shoulder to wind closer around his neck, and that they were both leaning towards one another as though the magnetism of shared secrets drew them together.

"Thank you" She whispered, and, feeling like nothing more than the young girl she really was, helpless before these forces, this evil, that always, no matter what face it bore, seemed to be after her, she leaned forward slowly and laid her head upon his chest. It was a simple gesture, a chaste one, a longing for the kind of comfort that nothing more than the warmth of his body, even through his armour, the feel of his arms about her shoulders, could provide. She would take that small solace, the only kind of comfort she had, when fear and darkness was all around her. Whatever he thought of it, whatever he took from it, she couldn't tell but it hardly mattered. She couldn't see his face, indeed it was only because he was here, because he knew, that she was doing this at all. "I can't face him again…" She murmured into the hard, rough leather of his armour "I can't…" And in the shadows of the Flagon's corridor, while in the next room her future was argued and debated to the bitter end by her closest allies, Phaedra lay back in Bishop's arms and tried to forget.

ooo0000ooo

"Did you have to look quite so…militant?" Sand murmured at Phaedra's side, as they waited in the towering antechamber to Lord Nasher's throne room. They'd been escorted, very hurriedly, from the gates of the Blacklake to Castle Never by a guard under Nevalle's orders, giving little time for Phaedra to acclimatise herself to the Blacklake's, or indeed the Castle's, grandeur, and the pall of solemn nobility that hung heavy within these cavernous halls. As such she was still feeling rather over-awed and certainly out of place here, but she had noticed on their way in that the lock-down in the Blacklake seemed to have been gradually dismantled, something Sand informed her was due to the continued lack of success in finding the murderer as well as pressure from the nobility on Lord Nasher to allow them their usual, in Sand's words, 'debauched aimlessness'.But still she hardly registered Sand's question for a moment, she was nervous enough as it was, considering that she was trying to slip through this most minute of loopholes. If the technicality didn't stick…Luskan…and, it seemed, Garius, awaited. And this place…this room…Castle Never was almost too large to imagine. It made her feel dizzy, sitting under these towering ceilings, with the vast pillars of marble lining hallways built of stone, lined with banners and tapestries. Everything was so grand, designed to over-awe with all the subtlety of an axe to the head, and it was pretty effective, for an adventuress from the Mere at any rate. Sand himself, in his immaculate wizard's robe, yet another set, this time much more grand and intricate, velvet crimson and gold-threaded, scarcely seemed to be affected. Indeed it was easy to imagine someone of his sophistication belonging within these towering hallways, or slipping effortlessly among the little groups of extravagantly-attired nobles scattered around the antechamber, all whispering secretively and shooting curious glances her, Sand and Shandra's way every few seconds. But…he had asked her a question, she shook her head to clear it…

"What do you mean?" She whispered, something about this place, or perhaps the waiting nobles all around them, made her want to keep her voice quiet.

"Your attire, my dear…" Sand shrugged, giving her a cursory glance. "Rather…combative, isn't it?" Phaedra glanced down at her battle robes, well she was wearing her bow and quiver…but she could hardly be blamed for that right now.

"Luskan tried to kill me" She answered "They almost managed it. I'm not taking any chances"

"Besides, we need to show that ambassador we mean business" Shandra added, shooting Phaedra an encouraging smile. She had her sword at her side, although she'd shed her armour for one of the new dresses she'd acquired, a rather rustic piece in powder blue. Sand hadn't taken much persuasion to let her come along, he'd deemed that her presence would only reflect well upon Phaedra, unlike certain others in her company. Oddly enough, Neeshka had also requested the chance to help out, but Sand had vetoed that suggestion right away…something which made Phaedra uncomfortable even now. She wondered what Neeshka thought of being so blatantly set aside simply because as a tiefling she wouldn't exactly be the best person to enhance Sand's pretences.

"Hmm…I suppose we could do worse than to demonstrate to Lord Nasher that you're more capable than you appear, on this occasion" Sand tapped his knee thoughtfully "But, remember, we don't want people to remember unpleasant details such as that you are a sorceress, and an adventurer. We are writing a performance as much as a case, Phaedra, and you are to be the innocent maiden, bewildered, vulnerable, beset by Luskan's plots…"

"A performance?" Phaedra stared at him, remembering Casavir's sombre words on the solemnity of Tyr's justice.

"Appearences are everything, my dear" Sand nodded sagely "The people want to see a drama, it is our task to give it to them." She wondered if he was appearing as though Elanee and Casavir hadn't told him about her infernal magic for the same reason.

"Sand, I am glad to see you have made it here at last" They all looked up as Sir Nevalle glided in from the towering, vaunted archway that led, presumably, into the throne room. Nevalle was shadowed by none other than Sir Grayson himself, he looked astonished to see Phaedra standing, and she offered him a weak smile, not really wishing to explain the circumstances of her revival once again.

"Sir Nevalle…" Sand's voice dripped bitter sarcasm "You know as well as I do what pleasure I take in serving Neverwinter…"

"And you, Miss Blake…" Nevalle nodded gallantly "Grayson informed me of your…harrowing ordeal during the Vigil. I am glad to see you are recovered"

"Thank you, Sir Nevalle" Phaedra answered politely. If they were all going to play this game, she could play as well as any of them.

"I do not believe that Torio arranged this attack herself" Nevalle continued "It is far too obvious for her. Most likely one of her associates over-reached himself. But it will play into our hands nonetheless that Luskan was so unwilling to put this case to true justice that they attempted assassination instead" Phaedra nodded, her fingers tightening over the ring from the body of her attempted murderer.

"Lord Nasher is ready for you now" Sir Grayson cleared his throat "Torio is there also…" So, Phaedra was about to face her accuser, she now knew also that Torio must be Garius' creature, his servant. Lathander, give her strength…

"Yes, we shall not keep them waiting any longer" Nevalle added "Follow me" And so they did, Phaedra right behind Nevalle, then Sand, Shandra and finally Sir Grayson. They passed through the archway, decorated at its delicately curving peak with an august statue of Halueth Never, the founder of the city, looking combative and noble with a sword drawn and pointing down towards the supplicants to his throne. The throne room itself was somewhat smaller than the antechamber, and yet it appeared to be far greater in scope. Perhaps it was the even-more sumptuous grandeur in which Lord Nasher sat, thick, heavy blue curtains unfurled across the walls, spilling over the high back of the vast, marble throne itself, which was set high above the floor upon a raised dais, to which three flights of stairs led, one from the front, and one from either side. Statues and splendid marble carving displayed all the affluence of Neverwinter's crafting glory. The floor was carpeted in blue also, streaking gold spirals wound around Phaedra's feet as she stepped forward towards the throne.

Perhaps, though, the root of the throne room's imposing grandeur lay not in the room itself but in the man who sat at its centre; Lord Nasher Alagondar. Adventurer he had been once, long ago, and yet there was little trace of that now in his lordly bearing. The shining whiteness of his blazing armour, the golden coronet upon his head, his sumptious blue cloak, all served to dazzle, so that it took Phaedra a moment to even attempt to gauge what kind of man the lord of Neverwinter was. He seemed more lord than man, even, with his classically sculpted features, his keen grey eyes, neatly-trimmed beard, perhaps he had spent so long upon this throne that he had taken on something of its imposing remoteness. And yet there were signs, also, that Lord Nasher was merely a man, and an ageing one, subtle signs though they were. Like that his beard was greying swiftly, that his cheeks had a weary hollowness to them as he turned his head to glance down the room as Phaedra and the other entered, and also the shadow of lines spreading from his lips and next to his eyes. She remembered briefly the rumours that Nasher himself had been afflicted by the terrible plague nearly twenty-five years ago now. He had been ageing then; she wondered just how old he was now. He bore the weight of time well, at least on the surface, but…she glimpsed for a very brief moment through the legend to the exhaustion of so many years upon this throne, and of so many impossible decisions…

"Milord, was there some purpose to this summons?" Another spoke first, though, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Nasher's gaze had moved from her to alight upon Nevalle and those he was escorting. Phaedra tore her eyes from Neverwinter's lord, and found the woman standing at the foot of his throne, Torio Claven…it had to be. The Luskan ambassador was a tall woman and thin, her streaking brown hair cut short and artfully dishevelled. She could not, perhaps, have been called beautiful, yet there was something imposing about her, as though she had power and knew it well, and how to use it also. Her features were carved to the deadly precision of a knife-blade and her brown eyes were steely. And yet as if in contrast to the cool sense of power and influence she bore so naturally, her clothing was…flamboyant, flaunting herself in a manner that seemed utterly at odds with the refinement all around her. It was a cool, light blue, low-cut at the front, with a high, elegant collar that encircled Torio's thin shoulders, leading down to a short cloak lined with long, white feathers. At the waist, it fell into a sweeping dress, iridescent, a patchwork of colour, which came to her ankles yet opened to a long slit across the knee. Phaedra found herself trying to puzzle out exactly why the ambassador would appear so shamelessly…either Torio simply didn't care, or, far more likely, she intended to keep her opponents off balance. "When there is a murderer on the loose within your city" Torio continued "I can think of far more productive uses for my time, and yours"

"Oh yes, and we know now how well you use your time, ambassador" Nevalle interrupted swiftly, stepping forward to take up position at the opposite side of the throne. As Sir Grayson paused at the edge of the carpet, so too did Phaedra, Sand and Shandra.

"Ah, Sir Nevalle" Torio turned, a deeply insincere smile touching her lips, but never her eyes "Such a pleasure to see you again, and as ever your grasp of the diplomatic is impeccable." She gave Lord Nasher another quick glance, and a sultry smile; her every action indicated her firm belief that she had the situation completely under her control. "It would appear that some within your court find it difficult to let go of the past, milord, and move onwards with the times"

"If Luskan had changed since the war, ambassador…" Nevalle responded with razor-sharp courtesy "I would be the first to welcome its entreaties, but as it is…" He spread his hands…

"Charming to the last" Torio smiled coldly "But your lord and I were discussing something of far greater importance than your…" At last her sweeping, contemptuous gaze found Phaedra standing just behind Nevalle and doing her best to look small. The Luskan Ambassador paused mid-breath, and her eyes widened "Milord this is her! This is the murderer!" She gasped out "You have found her, thank the Gods…" If she wasn't truly shocked to see Phaedra here, then she was obviously a very good actress.

"The alledged murderer, yes" Nevalle answered, then turned courteously to Lord Nasher upon his high throne "My lord" He bowed "May I present Lieutenant Phaedra Blake of the City Watch?" Thus far silent, Lord Nasher leaned forward, and his gaze focused intently upon Phaedra alone. There was a magnificent authority in his eyes, something as over-aweing as the very fabric of the castle around him…

"Bow to Lord Nasher" Sir Grayson muttered at her ear, as Phaedra simply stared, awed, up at the Lord of Neverwinter. She quickly managed a formal kind of curtsey…as beside her Sand executed a flawless bow and Shandra a less-than flawless one.

"This is the one you have accused, ambassador?" Nasher spoke, and his voice was resonant and powerful, ringing to the height and breadth of his throne room. Phaedra could well imagine how men had followed this lord to the death.

"Yes" Torio nodded, still seeming, or acting, rather flustered by this turn of events "Our witness was clear; a half-elven witch, clothed exactly as described…" Her brow narrowed, and she grasped at her gloved hand in shock. Phaedra could almost see the cogs in Sand's mind rolling as he considered what Torio was saying…a witness, so here was her trump card. "But milord, why is she not restrained?" The Ambassador gasped out "You must understand, she is extremely dangerous"

"It is not Neverwinter's custom to punish its citizens before their guilt has been proven, ambassador" Nevalle answered, with clear satisfaction. "Things may work differently in Luskan, of course…"

"She is under Luskan's jurisdiction" Torio snapped "Milord I must protest…"

"Not so" Sir Grayson suddenly stepped forward, and instantly the focus of the room shifted to him. Phaedra glanced at her knight, so far she'd always found him rather unlikable, patronising and superior, yet here, in his own arena, he seemed slightly more agreeable. And he was after all, putting himself rather out on a limb to save her from Luskan's execution, even if it was solely at the discreet command of his lord, who was watching this unfold having already written the script. Lord Nasher was as good an actor as Torio was, it seemed.

"Sir Grayson…" Nasher nodded distantly, yet a smile crossed his features, a wholly natural smile. It seemed oddly out of place amidst all this deception and splendour "A pleasure to welcome you to court again though it is, I must wonder as to your purpose, and in the presence of an accused murderer also."

"My lord" Grayson seemed to shine in Nasher's reflected glory, standing straighter, his handsome features settling into a solemnity that rather befitted them. Gods, he truly was devoted to Nasher…how did one live like that? She would always wonder… "This woman is no murderer, and I am certain of it…"

"Charming as this is, may we return to the matter at hand?" Torio interrupted, with a sneer

"Be silent, ambassador" Nasher ordered, a storm crossing his features "Lest I order you from this hall, treaty or no" Torio stepped back as though slapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Continue, Grayson…" Nasher settled back into his seat…

"In the sight of Tyr I declare that this woman cannot be tried under the terms of treaty with Luskan" Grayson proclaimed grandly "She is my squire, and thus not subject to Low Justice. If the honoured ambassador to Luskan still has a case, it shall be held in Neverwinter or not at all"

"What is this nonsense?" Torio stepped forward; the resentful bitterness that was settling over her now was perhaps more real than her earlier shock "Milord, surely you cannot believe such a transparent deception?"

"Tread carefully" Nasher warned darkly "Sir Grayson is one of my most trusted knights. If it is his word against yours, you walk upon very thin ice indeed"

"I hear only the words of a man shielding a murderer" Torio tossed her head "As I have heard it, this woman is a formidable enough whore. Is it possible Grayson's loyalty has been turned to the charms of her bed?" Phaedra's jaw dropped and she blushed crimson. By the Gods…what a horrible thing to say! She could scarcely believe she was hearing this. Grayson too looked aghast, even more embarrassed than she was, hardly even able to bluster and reach for his sword. But Sand hardly looked surprised, politics, it seemed, was a far dirtier game than she'd thought.

"Be silent, ambassador!" Nasher thundered "How dare you disgrace this court and far better men than your masters with these foul accusations!" His eyes flashing he turned to Phaedra herself "I am sure we agree that the ambassador has spoken far more than enough, is the accused prepared to give her own side of the story herself? What say you, Lieutenant, Sir Grayson speaks truly, does he not?" Phaedra swallowed, struggling to speak for a moment. She had just been called a whore…Torio was still shooting daggers across the room at her with nothing more than her hard eyes, and Nasher was so imposing a presence…

"Yes…he does" She breathed at last "I am his Squire"

"Ambassador" Nasher turned his eyes upon Torio, but she didn't seem intimidated at all "The squire will be tried here, then, but not in Luskan's walls."

"There is no justice for this, no justice for those slaughtered at Ember, no justice for Luskan's losses…" Torio stood tall, drawing up to her full height, but it was clear she had been defeated, for now. "But I will fight this to the bitter end, you are assured of that, milord. You, 'squire', shall face the punishment your heinous evil deserves…" She turned on her heels and stormed from the throne room, all wounded justice and self-righteous disdain. Phaedra breathed out deeply…thank Lathander, and perhaps even Tyr, if he was listening…it had worked. And the tension Torio's presence, her sneer, her hard eyes, had inflicted upon her faded once she had vanished from the room. Though of course, it was only a temporary reprieve, she felt deeply relieved to have escaped Luskan, escaped Garius, for now at least. Though Torio, of course, would have prepared vigorously for this as well, everything she had heard of the ambassador thus far spoke of the subtlety and foresight that would be needed to anticipate and counter every eventuality. But at least she, and Sand, had a chance to make their own preparations now as well…

"Ah…so the ambassador realises she cannot have everything to her advantage, good" Nasher said with clear satisfaction. The tense formality of the throne room seemed to dissipate somewhat as he relaxed into contentment at the success of his scheme, testifying to the sheer extent of Lord Nasher's command of his environment. "But this has bought only a little more time, for all of us. I have done all I can, it is up to you now Lieutenant, and my operative Sand of course, to prove your innocence and fight for it in this court." Sand didn't look thrilled to be described as Nasher's operative exactly "Under Neverwinter's rule, you have leave to depart from this city in order to gather what evidence you require…I will hold off the trial until you return, but ensure it is not too long, or else Torio will have her way regardless." He paused, and after a moment, Phaedra realised suddenly that he was waiting for her to reply…

"Thank you…" She blurted out "My lord"

"Port Llast is our closest settlement to Ember, and indeed to Luskan itself" Nasher answered "There may be a chance that someone there is a potential witness, and perhaps you may use it as a base to travel to Ember itself. You will need to do so if you seek to prove your innocence"

"Port Llast's mayor…his name is Haeromos" Sand coughed with what might have been taken as polite regard, but had just a hint too much of sardonic irony "He is said to be a fair leader, and vigilant of his people and the lands around. I suggest it would be wise to speak to him"

"Lieutenant, I wish it were under better circumstances that we accepted one of your obvious quality into Neverwinter's service and that of her knights" Nasher leaned forward "But I assure you, if you expose the truth of what has occurred at Ember, expose the ambassador's lies for what they are, I will prize your service even higher" Phaedra managed to bow her head, but inwardly she churned with confusion. Did Nasher mean that even once the trial was done, her service would still be required from him and Neverwinter? Not that she begrudged Nasher the help he had obviously given her, and his high praise of her abilities, but…she had her own concerns, could she really afford to be further entangled within the Sword Coast's politics? "Keep your resolve, Lieutenant" Nasher warned "Your capture means much to Torio, and to Luskan, clearly, and she will have means to turn the people of Neverwinter against you when the day comes. If she succeeds I will not be able to protect you." He sat back in his seat, solemn, reserved, lordly "May Tyr be with you, Lieutenant…we shall all have need of his guidance before this is done"

_P.S. If they are required I will now be placing 'Black Garius being creepy' warnings on chapters in which this creep appears from now on for our more innocent readers._


	50. Chapter 50

_Oh my, exponential chapter word limit expansion! Well I suppose it is Chapter 50, a kind of special milestone, so I hope that's okay with you!_

_This is one of my favourite chapters ever...it has everything; drama, comedy, romance, and lots of Bishop! Well except it doesn't move the plot on all that much but it's all very important character work I assure you. Chapter 50 seemed a good time to take a break for character development. _

_Thanks to voltagelisa for some important help with Sand (who I loved writing). And I know I promised a Bishop point of view, Gaspode, this chapter but...arrggh...couldn't fit it in! Next time?_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The journey to Port Llast was a pleasant, rustic kind of route…it was somewhat different to any of the many others Phaedra had taken since this vast, winding journey had begun. Partly, Phaedra supposed, it was because the threat they were journeying against was something far less immediate than, say, the Githyanki or the Shadow Priests. Luskan's malice hung like a pall over the road ahead, and yet it was something that was so hard to grasp, and the outcome of this engagement against it was so nebulous, so uncertain…that it was so hard to speak of it, to make plans, as they could have against, say, the Githyanki or even the Shadow Priests. This was an arena which none of them except Sand were quite equipped to fight in. So they were largely silent, or spoke of smaller things but what they were trying to ignore was always there: a hum on the edge of hearing, a shadow on the edge of sight. And, of course, there was Sand, a new addition to their rapidly growing party and he was never one to keep his opinions to himself. Phaedra found herself answering probing questions about her journey, seemingly simple questions whose answers revealed a little more than she intended each time. Nonetheless she found it was easy to like Sand, his urbane sophistication reminded her a little of Tarmas, but his sarcastic wit was all his own, and he could certainly hold his own amidst the group. He was unfailingly polite and courteous, at least to her. Yet she kept wondering about his intentions…he knew she had channelled infernal magic, when was he going to approach her about it, or was he actually waiting for her to speak to him first? She felt oddly, unexplainably reluctant to do so, as though somewhere she suspected that only ill luck would come of such a discourse…

"Good, now lunge…" Casavir's voice, cutting across Phaedra's thoughts. She glanced up again to where the paladin was engaged in a lesson with Shandra, just in time to see him pull his shield expertly upwards to catch Shandra's untrained thrust of her blade. They'd been training since the party had come to a stop this evening, and everyone had settled in around the fire. Shandra had finally plucked up the courage to request a lesson, and Casavir, of course, had agreed… "That's right, then block the parry…" He swung his warhammer around to attack her unprotected flank, but, with a rather improvised stumble she managed to catch the swing on her own shield. "Speed is everything with a smaller weapon…" The paladin nodded "It shouldn't be too much of a problem for you, you have excellent reflexes, but make sure you're the one to strike first, especially if you reach the kind of impasse" Shandra glowed with the praise, but it wasn't like Casavir noticed. He was deeply professional, an excellent teacher, which shouldn't really have surprised Phaedra if she thought about it. Even as she watched from where she sat in the glade, she'd seen Shandra improve under Casavir's gentle admonitions, mild but firm touches to correct her posture and hold on the blade, everything down to her footwork he had his eye on. Well, you wanted him to do it, she thought to herself. As he did everything, he was going to do it perfectly. She could hardly complain now when he got rather close to Shandra while they were sparring, he was scrupulously careful after all. You can't have it both ways, Phaedra…

"Having fun, aren't they?" Bishop, in one awkward motion she leapt to her feet and turned to face him. How did he do it? Sneak up so easily? Sometimes she thought he was better at it than Neeshka. "It looks like things are getting a little…heated between them" He grinned crudely.

"Please," She rolled her eyes "Can't you even try to be civilised?"

"Now where would be the fun in that?" He stepped over, leant with that undeniably compelling casualness against the nearest tree and let his tawny eyes travel lingeringly over Casavir and Shandra, who by now were full-on engaged in a mock fight. Clearly Casavir was going easy on his opponent, but it was a rather intense duel nonetheless. Shandra was trying to impress him Phaedra realised… "Looks like a good time, want to give it a go, princess?"

"Excuse me?" Phaedra's gaze snapped back to him "Sparring with you? Forget it, Bishop" It wasn't like she would last five seconds. Even if he normally used his bow, he could still wield that short sword at his belt, and that was far more than she would even attempt.

"Too bad" Bishop shrugged "Or how about we have a couple of one-on-one lessons ourselves then, want to learn how to actually hit with that bow of yours?"

"Don't be ridiculous" Phaedra snapped, that was actually a little offensive "I know how to fire my bow, and I can do it with a hair more accuracy than you I might add" Well, maybe, she wasn't quite as sure of that as she wanted to appear. But there was no way he was getting away with criticising her archery…

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow sceptically "Who taught you, because I'll say he was a little more interested in sparing your pretty hands the calluses than giving you the full works"

"My foster-father taught me" Phaedra answered acidly "Daeghun, the best ranger in the North, and I'll have you know I have plenty of calluses"

"Best ranger in the North my arse!" He glanced at her, looking insulted. Ha, that got to him.

"I thought you'd like that" She grinned triumphantly.

"How about you prove it?" He leaned forward, and suddenly he was all animal charm again. Oh damn, that was not exactly what she wanted to do.

"Well sorry, but he's not exactly here, is he?" Phaedra answered, with a shrug that would have been worthy of Amie at her most contrary.

"You learnt from him, didn't you?" Bishop pressed "So make father proud…didn't you say you were a hair more accurate than me, anyway?"

"I am" There was no turning back now…her pride wouldn't allow it.

"So what are you so afraid of then?" Gods, his smile was infuriating.

"I am not afraid" She snapped "And I'll face you right here, right now, any kind of contest you like" That just sounded like she actually was afraid. How utterly annoying. She wasn't afraid, okay?

"How about we move off a little way, spare you the humiliation of losing in front of your beloved paladin?" Bishop suggested "Not that he'd notice…" He shot Casavir another mocking glance "Looks like the farmgirl has his full attention"

"Maybe this glade's already too big for you" Phaedra said "But if we're going to make this any kind of real contest, we're going to need just a little more space" Though she remained firm on the outside, inwardly she was delighted with herself. She could be more assertive when things came to a more competitive situation…and she kind of liked it.

"Is that so?" Bishop said "Well then, lead the way…" Phaedra swiftly found she also rather enjoyed flouncing. There was a technique to it…she thought she did it rather well. She found to her astonishment that she was actually having fun, if for this brief moment…

"This looks promising" She noted, once they'd trekked a couple of paces into the forest, and now they were far enough away from the rest of the party to discreetly avoid embarrassment, should it come to that, although she tried to convince herself she actually had a chance. The forest here was peaceful, dappled light danced across the leafy floor, the line of tall, thick trunks of the trees was a shield, a cocoon… "Okay, how do we do this?" She turned to Bishop, he'd been following at her footsteps quite closely. His amused smile still told her he thought this would be easy. She was going to wipe that right off his face…well, hopefully.

"Well, we need some kind of target" Bishop leant forward, lifting his leg up on a moss-covered log. "Preferably a live one"

"A live target?" Phaedra blanched, then realised he had to be joking, right? "I'm afraid we're a little short of those right now, sorry"

"There's plenty back at camp" Bishop offered, okay he was definitely joking. She could play along with that.

"You know you don't have to do that" She glanced up coyly "With me, I mean"

"Do what, princess?" He smiled, with a roguish edge of mockery.

"No one would know if you were a little nicer while it was just us" Wait just a moment, a little alarmed thought cried out in her mind, was she actually flirting with him? "I wouldn't tell anyone" And not very well, she might say…oh just shut it!

"But…" He bent in closer, the stirring of his breath in every rough syllable was enough to send her head spinning "I know that you love it" And just like that she was in too deep. Perhaps she could flirt with him now, just a bit, that she could deal with. This…the heat from his body, the raw, masculine energy she felt now, this she definitely could not…

"Ah, the contest!" She leapt back almost as though she'd been burned, which in a way she had been… "I'm not letting you off that easily!" She glanced around her quickly. "How about I just scour a mark in that tree, whoever hits closest wins? Sounds good?" She leapt over to the base of the nearest tree, without waiting for an answer, and, taking up Daeghun's old dagger, attempted to dig the blade into the tree, trying to make a mark. Hells, it was harder than she'd thought it would be…

"That's so tame…" Bishop commented, stepping over to her. Thank the Gods he was acting like nothing had happened. She needed that…but then he reached down and took her hand over the hilt of the dagger, his fingers closing over her own. She gave an indrawn breath at his touch, at the strength of his grip, and it was with his usual perfunctory directness with which he guided her to dig the dagger into the suddenly yielding bark. "Can't you make it just a little more…exciting?" He shrugged, his fingers lingering over hers once the mark had been carved into the tree. "We should have a forfeit"

"A forfeit?" Phaedra tore her hand quickly from under his own, alongside the dagger which she swiftly hung from her belt again. She glanced up at him, alarmed. That didn't sound good. "What kind of forfeit?"

"Unless you're scared…" He leant on one shoulder against the tree by which she crouched, he was disgustingly self-satisfied.

"No, I'm not" Phaedra stood to her feet, slowly, drawing her bow. If he thought he could intimidate her like this he had another thing coming. If she backed down now, she would lose what respect he had for her, and she would never respect herself either. "Name the forfeit, Bishop." She demanded

"Well…" He was obviously only pretending to consider, he knew well what he wanted. "How about a kiss?"

"What?" Phaedra breathed, knowing she shouldn't be so surprised, but the thought that he, that anyone, could be so brazen, so… "You must be joking!"

"It's just a kiss" He shrugged "Doesn't mean anything, besides, none of them will ever know…" That might be true for him, but she'd never actually kissed anyone in her life, and she wasn't about to start now, with an impudent, ill-bred scoundrel with an indifference to personal hygiene and common good manners…

"Fine, that's my forfeit" She heard her mouth say, what? By Lathander, where in the name of the Gods did that come from? Oh, curse her pride… "And what about you? Because I certainly don't want a kiss from you." He shot her a mocking glance, more leer than anything else

"Right, of course" And there was a deeply mortifying edge of sarcasm to his voice "Well, think about it then, don't tell me there's nothing a fine young lady like yourself wants from a rogue like me? Not that you'll get it, of course…" Wait, there was just one thing; yes, it was perfect, if she could only win, of course…

"If I win, I don't owe you anything" She said firmly

"Harsh penalty" Bishop commented thoughtfully "Considering just how much you owe me…"

"Well, unless you're scared…" She mimicked, ha, she'd turned the tables alright.

"Fine, let's do this" He pulled his bow from his shoulders. Suddenly she didn't feel so pleased with herself. It was the largest bow she'd ever seen; next to her own delicate, slender elven bow it was rough and graceless, but the re-curve must have such a force…no doubt the range was greater than her own also. She looked up, met Bishop's mocking gaze. He must have crafted the weapon himself, where Daeghun had been the one who had made hers. No matter, she would trust to Daeghun's skill over Bishop's any day.

Neither of them spoke, as they paced out about twenty paces from their minute target. Phaedra stopped there, but Bishop carried onwards, turning only halfway into another stride forward. "We're doing thirty paces, princess…" He said "Unless that's too much for you?"

"Of course not" Phaedra feigned indifference, but wondered immediately if he had seen through it. Suddenly she wasn't so sure; thirty paces, that was an incredible distance for so small a target. Yet he seemed so confident.

They set up there, thirty paces away but Phaedra's keen elven eyes could still pick out her marking in the bark of the tree clearly, she just had to trust to her aim. She shot a covert glance at Bishop, he was stringing his bow with quick, practiced motions…

"You going first?" He glanced at her, saw her staring. She nodded quickly and drew a single arrow from her quiver, one of the old ones she'd saved from West Harbour, again crafted by Daeghun to fly true. Murmuring a prayer to Lathander, more of a way to focus than an appeal to divine intervention, she slotted the arrow into place and drew the bowstring back in a single, fluid motion. Lathander would want her to win by her own devices…which she planned to. Her eye travelled along the line of her arm focused straight upon that minute point; focus, Phaedra. Daeghun's voice sounded in her mind 'Bow and target alike, unify yourself with them, Phaedra, be one with them. Archery is not merely a function of eye and arm, it is the whole…the one'. The thought of their lessons disquieted her suddenly. Daeghun had hated her, hadn't he? She'd been so sure of that after hearing what he'd kept from her, then why? Her hands shook suddenly, the bow straining in her grasp…no, focus, stop it, clear these thoughts. She had to be nothing save the bow and target, she had to empty her mind. Even Bishop who stood by her, watching her every motion impassively, had to be nothing to her. At once, she let loose and the arrow whistled into the still, evening air. Her heart leapt into her mouth as it soared upward in a graceful arc…come on, she had tried hard, but had it been enough? And she felt her stomach lurch as it fell once again towards the tree, towards the target, Bishop was watching as closely as she was. Then it hit, oh thank the Gods, she had actually hit the tree. That had to count for something, but how close, her eyes narrowed. It was about halfway up the tree from the tiny mark, a fine shot, she knew she should be proud, but as she glanced quickly at Bishop, saw the small, satisfied smile touch his lips…she suddenly realised that fine wasn't going to be good enough.

"Well, you go now…I guess" She murmured, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. She hadn't been going to lose, she'd been so sure she wasn't going to lose but now…why had she even done this anyway? It had been a stupid idea from the start. Surely it would be worse to back out quickly now rather than be forced to kiss Bishop once he won? Her pride, though, wouldn't be convinced, plus she had agreed to comply. He wouldn't be impressed if she backed out. There had to be another way…

"I'm going to be your first, aren't I?" Bishop shot her a considering glance. She stared at him, the way he said it…it sounded like something a lot more sordid than the simple kiss he'd demanded. Plus, that wasn't as self-evident as he made it sound…well, yet. She didn't answer, but of course he knew "First time's always a good one…" He smirked with approval "Always feels just that little bit more…satisfying" Heavens, she couldn't let this happen, she couldn't let this go his way. A first kiss was supposed to be something special, wonderful, something magical. She wasn't letting it be Bishop! She couldn't! But what could she do? There had to be something. She watched him give her target, and her arrow stuck that all too large distance up the tree, another glare, his tawny eyes narrowing. Ah, of course, there was that…she should have thought of it from the beginning. Could she do it? Dared she do it?

Yes, she did. Slowly she shrank back a little, as he drew one of his arrows in a fluid motion, just enough so that he wouldn't be able to see her, even if he did hazard a glance to the side. This would have to be done delicately…a slight tendril of magic slipped up from the flame of her sorcery, so light that it was almost invisible, she grasped at it quickly…Illusions weren't exactly her speciality, but this wasn't going to be a big one. She whispered a few words, banking that Bishop would be a bit too focused on what was ahead of him to notice. Ah there we are, she could just blur the tree just that little bit. Focus was everything, if he was just a little bit off she would win and then, thank every God in the Heavens, she wouldn't have to kiss him. This was cheating, she felt a slight shame settle in the pit of her stomach, but she had to do it, clearly it had never been a fair contest in the first place. Yes…she shot him a covert glance, saw his brow furrowing with confusion, as he drew back that vast bow string with one tug. He was falling for it…she just had to hold it for a little while. Good Heavens, how did he even hold that monster of a bow back? His muscles were straining, even through his padded leather armour, she could see the tension running through his rippling body…he was so strong, as honed as the very arrow he was aiming. She found herself longing for the moment of release as much as every sinew in his lean body…ah, Gods…what was she doing? For that matter, what in Lathander's name was she thinking? Concentrate, hells, hells…the illusion…hold onto it Phaedra. She barely caught the moment he fired, barely heard the twang of the bowstring as he let it go, but she saw the arrow fly through the air…and saw suddenly that, despite the illusion, he was about to hit right on target. How was that even possible? She flung forth her hand at the soaring arrow, utterly instinctively, everything disintegrating in a whirl of total panic, and then her sorcery responded instantly, she hadn't even summoned it, had she? The arrow burst into flame, it disintegrated in an instant into a shower of sparks and flying fletching, burning in glowing strands into the air. She gasped, her breaths heaving in her chest…what was that, exactly? She hadn't spoken a spell; not at all. She hadn't done anything, it had just come…and there was Bishop. She glanced guiltily under her lashes at the ranger, he was already staring at her, his eyes slowly narrowing, oh Gods, there had to be some way to salvage this…

"Last one to the bank forfeits!" She cried out, totally instinctively, as though this were still some game with Amie and Bevil. She was still utterly shocked, from the instinctive outburst of magic and from being caught blatantly cheating, but suddenly she was running at full-pelt speed, the wind rushing past her, branches whipping over her head. Heavens, Heavens…what had she done? What was she doing? She must have meant that bank up ahead, where the forest floor gave way suddenly to what must have been an old river bank, dry now, but still a steep drop nonetheless. She careered forward, where was Bishop…what was he doing?

Something hit her suddenly, in the back of her shoulders, a force so heavy and moving fast that she had absolutely no chance. She fell, in a whirl of her silken robes, into the heavy, leafy undergrowth, but that wasn't the end of it, her forward momentum sent her slamming right over the bank just ahead, and she was tumbling over everything, sticks, grassy knolls, leaves, rocks. She couldn't see anything, feel anything, but suddenly she felt that she was falling over not merely all that, but Bishop was with her, rolling down through the grass with her, and his hands were clasped at her shoulders, he'd…tackled her? Oh, curses…she hit the bottom of the bank…hard, all the wind was knocked out of her in an instant, and she felt suddenly all the scrapes, grazes of the utterly uncomfortable way down. She felt dizzy, everything was spinning around her…but she knew suddenly that she was lying on her back in the midst of a rough stony river-bed, now all dried up. She shook her head, her vision focused slowly…and what she saw first she saw Bishop's face over hers…oh Gods, he was on top of her, pinning her down with remarkably little effort…how deeply uncomfortable…

"Now…" He said slowly, savouring each word. His hair was even more tousled, with pieces of the forest caught in it, his cheeks just a little flushed beneath the shadow of his stubble and he'd never looked quite so rugged…and plus she could far too easily feel the whole length of his body pressed against hers… "About that kiss…"

"You didn't win" She coughed "So…sorry…"

"You cheated, I'd say that means you forfeited" He scowled darkly.

"We didn't say that" Phaedra murmured. She was in far too uncomfortable a position, with far too little breath in her lungs to argue so important a point "We didn't make any rules…so I won…" He was still then, studying her for a moment, but she couldn't read the fire in his tawny eyes.

"Clever, princess" He said at last, and he shifted above her, lowering his face closer to hers, so she could feel his breath upon her lips "Was that your idea all along, I wonder?" Well, it wasn't actually, but she'd better turn it to her advantage, though somehow it hardly felt like that right now. "But what's to stop me just taking my kiss right now?" He paused a moment "I think I like it better this way, anyway" Oh, that; she shifted a little, tried to see just how much leverage she had…but she was pinned good and proper. And right now she couldn't exactly trust herself to use magic after what had just happened. There was a chance she'd just obliterate him, and he didn't quite deserve that…not yet.

"We'll say it's a stalemate?" She suggested, in a disgustingly high-pitched and trembling voice. "No one loses…" He shrugged, considering that for a moment…

"Fine" He said at last, and lifted himself from her with ease to a crouching position. She struggled for a moment where she lay. She was so winded that she could scarcely move.

"Help…" She coughed, and he wordlessly offered her his arm. She levered herself up after a few failed attempts to sit by him…breathing heavily to try to bring life back into her body…

"You know I'll have that kiss eventually" He said softly. She glanced at him uncomfortably…a joke? Yes, she'd take that as a joke. She laughed nervously, but he wasn't laughing so she stopped.

"Who taught you?" She asked, at last "To use a bow? That shot was incredible, before I burned it, I mean…" She smiled weakly.

"Why do you care?" He smouldered

"Just curious, I guess" Phaedra answered uncomfortably "I mean, I told you about Daeghun. It's only fair…"

"Fair doesn't come into it, princess" Bishop shrugged "It never does." She fell silent, but then he gave a rough sigh "There was an old tracker…" He said at last "In my village, when I was a boy. You could call him my 'mentor', though that's a loose definition. He taught me, at least in the beginning, used to take me hunting sometimes, in the Mere. He'd teach me scraps of what he knew, just for fun, then left me out there during the night, to see if I could make it back home. Then he'd put gold on how long it would take me, whether I'd get back at all…" Phaedra's eyes widened as he spoke, it wasn't merely the horror of this small glimpse into his childhood, the thought of which froze her blood, or even the offhand remark that had suddenly revealed that he too came from the Mere…it was the deadpan way he reported it, as though it had happened to someone else, and also the way his eyes never left her own, as though he were scrutinising her reaction, relishing it…

"He gave you the knife…the one you gave to Marcus?" Phaedra whispered, realising that he was waiting for her to speak once more. She could have offered pity, or horror, she felt plenty of either, but she knew now that Bishop would be impressed by neither and probably wouldn't care either way. If he was going to be open with her no doubt he had a reason for it, but using people was a two-way street, as she had begun to learn. She would use this opportunity to discover as much as she could.

"Actually you gave it to that flea-ridden beggar, not me" Bishop snapped and Phaedra held her breath, wondering if she'd messed things up, but then he frowned darkly, and shot her a suspicious glance "How did you know anyway?" He muttered.

"Your hand went to the scabbard" She had to swallow a few times before she could even answer, a testament to just how much her outward attempt to match his impassivity was a lie. "The moment you mentioned him, as though you wanted to check it was still there, except…"

"Except it wasn't" He was gazing at her steadily, he'd never looked at her quite like that; she couldn't quite describe it. It was as though he was surprised to hear that she had read him like this, respected it, and hated her for it at the same time…no, it was gone. She must be imagining things. "Yeah, it was him" He said softly, and his eyes were fixed upon hers, so that she could not look away, even had she wanted to, as though she were nothing but a young doe transfixed by the deadly beauty of the approaching wolf "That was his skinning knife." Bishop continued remorselessly "He was drunk one night, said I'd been a nuisance to him too long, and he'd decided he'd gut me just like one of his animals, but he gave me that dagger first of all 'just to make it fair' he said. So then I knifed him in the leg, and made a run for it" He was trying to make her shocked, she realised, trying to make her appalled, but at the same time forcing her to confront that within her, deep within her, a dark part of herself was fixated, fascinated at the same time. And she couldn't hide from him how well he'd succeeded.

"What happened…?" She breathed, knowing as she said it that it was exactly what he wanted her to say, so that she was undeniably a player, a performer, in his dark tale, so she was as culpable as him in the telling. And she would never be able to forget it, what a fool she'd been to think she could use him.

"Well, it took him three days to track me down" He smiled darkly across at her "And then…let's just say we reached an 'arrangement'" His eyes glittered, daring her to ask what kind of arrangement.

"You grew up in the Mere, in a Mere village?" She asked instead, the thought that he might come from the Mere, from home, was such a strikingly powerful one that she managed to break through the coils of pity and horror that his story wove about her so effortlessly. How could she never have suspected it? There had always been a hint of a Harbourman's fierce independence about him. "Like West Harbour?"

"Yeah" He nodded, whatever he felt about the question, he wasn't giving anything away. She wished a moment that she might be able to emulate, even just a little, his self-possession. The thought shocked her…how could she wish to be anything at all like him? Especially after hearing these horrors that had made him who he was… "But it wasn't" He continued "West Harbour's a different kind of place. There they teach you to look after yourself, or at least they taught you that, so you should count yourself lucky. From what I've heard, it's one of the last places left out in the Mere. There's a reason for that, girl; Harbourmen fight, like they did when the village was attacked by those Gith. The other villages, they just scrape by when they can, scrounging everything they can off those weaker than they are…until one day they can't do it anymore, and then…they get what's coming to them…" She didn't miss the implication, his own village…was one of these? Gone, vanished into the Mere? There'd been so little contact between West Harbour and the other Mere settlements that she couldn't even guess which one it had been. "For every West Harbour that spawns a gracious heroine" Bishop said with a mocking nod to her, and suddenly this wasn't really about West Harbour, or his village, anymore. "There's one that makes a hundred brigands, killers and cowards. And then there's me…"

"Bishop," She lowered her head, stunned at the thought of him drawing such a comparison between them. She could not believe, despite what he had said, what he'd threatened to do, that he was a brigand or coward. But he hadn't said he was, she realised slowly, he'd hinted that he was something far worse.

"Lucky me" He smiled cynically, sarcastically "Now I've got you to show me what I could have been" He was mocking her…she might not have had to knife her mentor in the leg, but it hadn't been exactly easy growing up in West Harbour either.

"Don't…" She raised her hand towards him "I'm not, I never wanted to…" Her voice faltered, but then she tried to gather her strength and looked up into his eyes again. "What do you want from me Bishop?" She demanded, with the kind of daring she'd never been able to quite muster with him before "Why? Why tell me all of this?"

"I want that kiss, princess" He leaned in towards her, as soft, as slow as the growl of his voice. "And then…we'll see, won't we?" He leapt to his feet in an instant, leaving her upon the ground, and loped away with a silent tread down the old river, vanishing before her muddled mind could even think of what she might have called out to stop him around the next sweeping meander. He was gone…Phaedra looked down at her hands upon the leaf-strewn grounds. Since he'd joined them, since she'd first seen him in fact watching her across the Flagon floor, Bishop had found endless ways to confuse her. But she'd never been quite as confused as she was now, or as shocked. The story, that brief glimpse into his past, it had been sickening…how young had he been then? She didn't know, but she sensed somehow that he had been young, far too young. How callously he had told it though…throwing the horror of his childhood at her feet as casually as he had ever treated the troubles of others. Despite his indifference, she knew it had to have marked him…she tried to look through the words, hearing them again in her mind, had there been hints of any kind of feeling in it? There had to be…

"Phaedra!" Elanee's voice, raised to call for her. She quickly ran her hands over her cheeks, staggering to her feet and desperately trying to tidy herself up. It was hopeless…she was covered in moss, twigs, leaves, and she couldn't shake the shock that seemed frozen into her now. She'd been more badly shaken than she'd thought. "Phaedra!" That sounded closer, a lot closer, Phaedra almost didn't want to be found suddenly. Bishop was still out here…no, what was she thinking? He'd never tell her anymore, not without asking for something in return, something she couldn't give. She had to clear her throat several times before she could even call out to the elf, though…

"Elanee!" She cried "I'm down here!" The elf's face suddenly appeared over the side of the bank, luminous with relief.

"What in Silvanus' name happened?" Elanee looked shocked, and embarrassingly worried. Was there always going to be such a furore when she wandered away for just a few moments? No, stop it, she tried to chide her own resentful thoughts, Elanee just wanted to help her…

"I fell" Phaedra answered, the half-truth came strikingly easily to her lips, but what else could she say? That she'd been rolling down riverbanks with Bishop? "It was nothing; I'm okay, just a little shaken up"

"Wait a moment, I'm coming down" Elanee glided down the bank, gracefully and effortlessly. Phaedra couldn't imagine her falling anywhere, which only added to the embarrassment as she instantly took it upon herself to seize Phaedra's arm and examine her closely for injuries. She must think Phaedra was like a child…

"I said I'm fine" Phaedra tugged her arm out from under Elanee's scrutiny, more sharply than she'd intended. Elanee's eyes snapped back to Phaedra's, looking surprised, so she forced herself to soften her tone "It was a small fall" She said "Nothing happened."

"Sand felt magic, Phaedra" Elanee raised an elegant eyebrow. Oh curses, she'd forgotten about the wizard in the party now. She should have been more careful, but just what had Sand sensed? Elanee was giving nothing away…

"Oh, that, I was just practicing a little" Phaedra gave an awkward lurch which she quickly and unconvincingly transmitted into a shrug. Elanee was never going to believe this. "I was trying to see how things were doing with my magic."

"You haven't spoken to him, about the infernal magic yet, have you?" Elanee murmured, and there was a note of recrimination in her voice. What? How dare she…? How dare she lecture Phaedra like that? She fought for calm, trying to tell herself that she wasn't really angry with Elanee, but really simply shocked and near-hysterical from what had just occurred with Bishop, but anger, as though to prove her wrong, choked down on her throat…

"Well, I hardly saw the point since you've already taken it upon yourself to do that for me" Phaedra snapped. Her gaze swung back to Elanee's eyes, they seemed only bemused and shocked that she was getting quite so annoyed. Clearly she didn't think she'd done anything wrong…

"You're stalling him Phaedra" Elanee said softly "What are you trying to avoid?"

"I'm not avoiding anything" Phaedra hissed "Nothing, except you always trying to decide everything for me. What gives you that right? You're not the one infected with infernal magic, you're not the one carrying this shard in her chest…you're not the one accused of slaughtering a village full of people!" She could never have imagined getting this angry with Elanee, if it was Elanee alone, but it wasn't, it never could be. The way everything had gone so wrong, everything, she simply couldn't do this anymore; keep up a gracious smile, believe that everything was going to be alright. Because it wasn't…even if she won the trial, if she escaped Black Garius, if she magically found a way to go home safely, save West Harbour, do everything she had promised herself she would do…she could never bring back Ember, bring back the people killed because of her.

"Don't do this, Phaedra" Elanee shook her head, there was such pity, such compassion in her eyes, that Phaedra almost couldn't bear it. Her anger faded, it wasn't gone, but she could not direct it against Elanee. "Don't shut me out" The elf murmured "Don't shut us all out like this…"

"Don't you see, Elanee?" She said, and her voice trembled "I've got to learn to stand on my own." Bishop was right. In the end she had to be strong enough in herself to face what was to come, or else it would put everyone else around her in danger. She couldn't ask anyone else to risk themselves on her behalf, enough people had been hurt, been killed because of her. If one of them, if one of her friends did, and it was her fault, her own weakness, she wouldn't be able to bear it…

"Yes," Elanee reached forward and took Phaedra's hand, her touch soft and gentle as the brush of silk "I know you do, and you will, Phaedra. But that doesn't mean being alone" She lowered her head closer to Phaedra's, as close as a mother over a sleeping daughter "I'll always be here for you, you know that…" She said softly "I will always be standing by you"

"Will you trust me then?" Phaedra murmured quietly, she just wanted to be allowed to fight her own battles. Elanee nodded right away.

"It was wrong of me to speak to Sand" She admitted "I was just so worried about you." Her hand touched Phaedra's hair a moment, parting it away from her face, a surprisingly intimate gesture but it felt right… "Please, will you get him to scry your magic now?"  
"I will" Phaedra nodded, she'd delayed far too long, allowed a vague fear to rule her in this. If she was truly to be her own person, she had to discover the truth about herself, about all these things. And though she would have to decide what was to be done about it, she would not be alone no matter what Sand found…

"Good" Elanee smiled faintly "Thank you Phaedra…" She stepped away, glancing curiously around the old river-bank "Now how in Chauntea's name do we get out of here?"

ooo0000ooo

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Phaedra started the moment Elanee spoke, and the elf's voice, suddenly serious once again, sounded an instant alarm in Phaedra's mind. Walking back towards the camp so far, Elanee had been rather quieter, gently teasing Phaedra about the state of her hair and dress but in a way which had allowed Phaedra to only half-concentrate on the presence of the elf beside her, while she desperately tried to sort through what had happened with Bishop. Of course, she'd missed entirely the fact that the elf had been observing her closely the entire time, and now, it seemed, had managed to piece together exactly what had made her so distracted.

"Thinking about who?" She asked innocently. Though she knew well that Elanee knew exactly who, it was a vain hope to think the elf might have mistakenly assumed she was thinking about Casavir, or Sand, or whoever else it might have been.

"Bishop" Elanee said softly "You always blush when you think about him" Phaedra swallowed awkwardly…blushing, oh dear…what would Elanee think she was really thinking about? It wasn't exactly as though she was trying to remember the feel of his body against hers, a couple of times as they were walking the thought might have just drifted into her mind, but she had always got rid of it right away. "Phaedra…may I ask you something, something quite personal?" But Elanee was still deadly serious, she wondered if the elf would try to warn her away from Bishop, condemn the foolishness, the utter recklessness of thinking that just maybe what she had heard in that dry river bank was a sign that perhaps Bishop was struggling with his feelings just as much as she was. But she nodded her assent nonetheless. "Do you find Bishop attractive?" Elanee asked. What? Phaedra's gaze snapped right back to the elf immediately and she saw no hint of humour in her set features. What kind of question was that? Surely she didn't mean…?

"What do you mean?" She managed to choke out

"Do you find him physically attractive?" Elanee qualified, and Phaedra instantly felt a burning flush wash through her cheeks. If she'd been blushing before, she must be crimson from head to toe right now. That sort of question…you didn't just say it, like that, out loud, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. You didn't just talk about that kind of thing…it wasn't proper…you just didn't. She closed her eyes, quite unable to look at Elanee another second. It wasn't fair to ask that. What could she say, what did you say when someone asked you something like that? The truth, something in her murmured, there's been too many lies lately, but the truth…the truth was that…oh Gods, it was almost as much of a struggle to even admit to herself. She raised her head, and managed to look Elanee in the eye, the elf was waiting for an answer. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she allowed herself to nod… "I see" Elanee said simply, and there was no judgement, no feverish demand for more details, nothing…just clear and open honesty. It was actually a release in a way, to finally have it out in the open. It was far past time she stopped hiding, it clearly wasn't helping, since her feelings about Bishop had only grown more confused and more out of control the more she had attempted to bury them. Maybe Elanee could give her some advice, just as long as she didn't tell Casavir, oh please don't let Casavir find out.

"You…won't tell Casavir?" She gasped breathlessly

"No" Elanee answered firmly "Casavir has…difficulties where Bishop is concerned. He would not understand, Phaedra, as I understand." Did she truly…understand? These feelings, her own confusion, could Elanee truly understand?

"What are you going to do?" Phaedra murmured, trying to imagine what Elanee intended by these words, by bringing this, which she had clearly suspected for some time, out into the open.

"I am going to trust you" Elanee replied simply "As I promised I would. I am going to trust that you understand that there is a danger in this, I am going to trust that you will not allow it to go further than is wise." She smiled suddenly, brightly "You are young, Phaedra, and though you have led them, us, through what most could not ever imagine, you have not lived much, as a young woman should be able to live. Life is not all sadness and duty, you know. Bishop, he may be dangerous, wildly unsuitable, but…" She gave a polite cough "He is a rather attractive specimen." Phaedra snorted with laughter suddenly, Elanee…talking like this, she could never have imagined it. "It is no crime to enjoy yourself a little, flirt a little with danger" Elanee said softly "But" And she grew serious again "I have one warning for you, be certain that you do not give him any kind of claim over you."

"I won't" Phaedra smiled softly. Somehow, in this moment, she'd never felt closer to Elanee than she did briefly now. She was so wise, why had Phaedra avoided telling her for so long of her turmoil? But…she was painfully conscious that Elanee was still not quite aware of some of the things Bishop had said, of how close they'd come just a few times to something far more serious…and still she couldn't bring herself to tell the elf.

"Ah… so sorry to interrupt this rather touching moment" Elanee started in exactly the same shocked, hunted manner that Phaedra did, whirling instantly alongside her to see Sand standing nonchalantly at the other edge of the clearing. "But may I offer a rather more direct, perhaps more pragmatic, suggestion? If, Mystra alone knows why, you're finding Bishop a distracting pull on your affections, surely the obvious solution is to, well, call his bluff?"

"What in Silvanus' name do you mean Sand?" Elanee managed to splutter, Phaedra beside her was utterly speechless with shock and embarrassment. How could Sand have been there? And for how long exactly?

"Come now Elanee, we're all adults here" Sand smiled urbanely "And you, my dear, are a druid. What Phaedra's body is really telling here, as I'm sure you are aware, is that Bishop is a prime prospect for a partner. Surely the next step she should take is to offer to sleep with him? Either he's all bark and no bite, in which case he'll run off scared and we'll all be free of his obnoxious posturing, or he'll be delighted to comply, in which case, well…you take things from there…"

"How will that solve anything?" Elanee's voice was dangerously close to a screech.

"A forbidden fruit, once tasted, loses its allure" Sand answered, raising his hand as though to proffer said fruit. Phaedra longed suddenly, the only coherent thought she could manage at the moment, to sink into the ground for ever. She'd never been quite so embarrassed in her life… "You will leave your desire behind with the bedclothes, and thus Bishop shall no longer trouble your sensibilities, and you are free to move onto other partners more suitable for long-term commitment, such as well, say, Casavir"

"Sand…" Elanee was shaking with fury "Phaedra has never…slept with anyone in her life." In the midst of her mortification at having her sex life, or lack thereof, being discussed in front of her by a woman she had long thought of as a motherly figure and Sand, who she barely knew, Phaedra was suddenly struck by an obvious, if rather uncouth, thought? How did Elanee know that…? "She is not starting now" Elanee continued, oblivious "And certainly not with a man so uncaring of female delicacy!"

"You are a virgin?" Sand's gaze travelled to Phaedra instantly "Sincerest condolences, my dear. You are young, and beautiful. Why not take advantage of the time you have, at least"

"Please, dear Gods, that is enough!" Phaedra managed to scream out at last "What in Lathander's name gave you the right to listen in on our conversation, Sand? And comment…on that?" She fell silent, breathing heavily, unable to even speak of it any further

"I merely came to find you" Sand didn't look at all shamefaced "Thinking that perhaps a moment of privacy would be better when we come to examine your magic. Unfortunately I entered the glade at the moment Elanee spoke of flirting with danger, and, as an inadvertent consequence of a prodigious intellect which is scarcely my fault, came to an instant conclusion as to the contents of the conversation, correct as it turned out. Was it so wrong for me to wish to offer a perfectly sensible suggestion?"

"You came to scry my magic?" That was an instantly sobering thought. Sobering enough, indeed, for her to leave behind all trace of that ghastly conversation.

"We have delayed far too long, my dear" Sand shook his head, a chiding note to his voice "You should have come to me right away. But…" He raised a hand, he had very expressive hands, almost theatrical "What is done is done. May we proceed as planned, Phaedra?"

"Yes" Phaedra nodded "I can't do this anymore. I've got to know I can trust my own sorcery" He was right, she had drawn this out too long. It was time to know, to understand, no matter how painful that understanding was."

"I will leave, if that is preferred" Elanee offered, suddenly sobre also.

"That would be wise, I am afraid" Sand nodded, before Phaedra could protest "Seclusion will eliminate all possible distractions, the consequences of which could be dire" Elanee, as she padded silently from the glade, turned her gaze on Phaedra for one last second, a momentary glance which nonetheless communicated so much. She would be waiting, it said…and no matter what Sand discovered, she would still stand at Phaedra's side. Then she vanished back towards the camp. "Now, I hope you understand the limitations of what I am about to do" Sand leaned in, he was utterly different now, focused, precise, in his every word and mannerism "Infernal magic is more subtle than it would seem and what's become clear to me is that whatever the truth of the matter is, we are dealing with an extraordinary case. I will do my best, my dear but I am afraid I cannot promise anything. It is possible the root cause shall evade me, as it did with your shards…"

"Anything would be a help" Phaedra answered "I just need to know…why…"

"Well, I am glad you have the right idea" Sand said "There are some sorcerors who become sloppy with their power, careless. They don't care to understand what they're unleashing upon the world. I am glad to see you haven't taken that path…"

"My mentor, back in West Harbour, would have killed me first" Phaedra smiled despite herself, thinking of Tarmas' strictness, his utter insistence that she learn control just as a wizard had to. What would he think if he knew that she was channelling pure infernal power…?

"A wise man" Sand answered, with the kind of sarcastic twist that told her he was joking, but then instantly he was all the academic once again "Excuse my forwardness" He said "But I will need to touch you"

"That's okay" She bowed her head towards him, and slowly he reached forward, his long, pale, delicate fingers curling to gently, ever so gently touch her on each of her temples. She looked intently into his light blue eyes, but he didn't seem to be looking back into her face, perhaps into something deeper. His magic, when she felt it move in him, was of a very different quality to her own. Obviously she couldn't feel it as intently as he was trying to discover her's, but she took the opportunity to intuit a little sense of his own power. It was as carefully guarded, structured, ordered, and yet there were hidden depths to it, depths that it was hard to glimpse. He was powerful that was for sure, more powerful than a hedge wizard ought to be.

"Phaedra…" Sand muttered, and she almost recoiled and flushed intensely, wandering if he'd sensed her spying on him "Your magic is utterly unstable, I'm having a great deal of trouble getting any kind of idea of it. Please…you need to relax"

"Alright" She closed her eyes, it hadn't exactly been polite to snatch a peek at Sand's magic…better that she simply did her best to help him find her own magic. She tried to concentrate only on the vague sense of Sand's power moving inside her, tried to gather the loose ends of her magic. He was right, she realised, under his scrutiny, her magic had grown so much, so fast…that she scarcely knew its scope, its capabilities. Strands of it were all woven together and tangled, like the over-grown weeds of the Mere. If Sand could find anything in this, it would be a credit to his abilities. But, she wondered suddenly if he would see further than that. Would he be able to sense Garius' taint inside her? The thought was deeply disquieting…

"Tell me, Phaedra…" She heard Sand's voice suddenly, casual and conversational "Have you ever had a special affinity for the conjuration of fire?"

"Not particularly, no" She answered, slightly confused, but willing to help any way she could. Despite the infernal events seeming to be based in hellfire, before them she'd used fire as much as any other kind of magic.

"And have you any particular gift with summoning?" Sand continued

"I've never actually tried it" Phaedra admitted. She had no taste for harnessing the power of demons and devils, and the other strands of summoning, be they celestial, or from some other plane, were so esoteric that she'd simply had no time to learn them. She had been forced rather by this journey to pour all her power into attack spells, evocation had become by default her speciality…

"Interesting" Sand murmured…as though that did actually reveal anything. Well, perhaps it did to him. But she wished he would give something to her soon other than maddeningly enigmatic comments. Suddenly, without saying anything else, his fingers left her forehead, and the sense of his magic inside her slipped from her grasp. Her eyes snapped open instantly, so she caught the moment of confusion, perhaps of anxiety, flashing across his features. Perhaps it was something he hadn't meant her to see, because in the next instant it was gone and he was in complete control once again, he looked serious and cool-headed "Understand, Phaedra that sorcery is quite unlike wizardry, it is more organic…more adaptable, and it is quite prepared to evolve beyond its wielder's will" He said slowly, cautiously "If is not given a firm hand, kept under control…it begins to take on increasingly unstable attributes…"

"What?" Phaedra glanced at him "What do you mean?"

"When you came to Neverwinter, your Gift was still in its infancy" Sand explained gravely "But I could tell the moment that I met you that it was strong, stronger than any I've ever sensed. Since then you've routinely allowed your sorcery free reign, you've used it to an extent that should have destroyed a novice of your level…and you've been entirely without a mentor, without any kind of guidance. Were you a wizard, you would have burnt out already, reached your limit long ago. But instead your sorcery compensated…it took power from elsewhere."

"From the Hells?" Phaedra breathed, shocked

"Not in the beginning…" Sand answered "These earlier events…you channelled the Weave pure and whole…rather like an old Illefarn technique in fact. Thank Mystra they lasted only moments each time, or it's likely you would have been consumed entirely. But in the caves, there was clearly a great deal of infernal magic…your sorcery recognised an opportunity, it was an entirely instinctive move on your part. But unfortunately, the Hells are a deeply invasive influence…infernal magic has latched onto your magic like…a parasite." She nodded, recognising her own words as she had tried to analyse the infection.

"What can I do?" Phaedra whispered "Can I…get rid of it?"

"Unfortunately nothing is as simple as that, especially when we speak of sorcery" Sand replied "But there are certainly ways to lessen its influence…this will require some more detailed analysis but right now if I request that you avoid large-scale spells, especially those involving fire. In addition…you've been pushing your sorcery further and further into greater and greater power of attack, which certainly isn't helping matters. We need to work on your subtlety and your precision, make sure you only expend what power you need to when you do use magic. There are a number of exercises designed to do just that…aimed at wizards of course, but I'm sure we can adapt them to your…circumstances."

"Right" Phaedra nodded with relief and determination, at last there was something, at last there was a way to fight this malign influence inside her, to engage with the horror that had invaded her. And in a way she agreed with Sand, she did need guidance, she'd been rather marooned without it for some time. No one else in the group, though she was sure they'd be sympathetic to it, could ever quite understand her need to learn, to gain more spells, to feed the flame of her sorcery and to use it. Sand seemed highly knowledgeable, and her momentary glimpse of his power had revealed his expertise in using it. Without a doubt he would be able to teach her some useful techniques as they attempted to refine her craft and eradicate this infernal infection. But she could not ignore the one wrong note in all this, Garius…he had promised that her power would consume her if she did not submit to his teachings. Had that simply been a lie, a way to claim her allegiance? Sand simply did not seem concerned enough for him to have sensed what Garius claimed to know. Perhaps these excercises would be what saved her, without Garius' intervention…perhaps…

"Excellent, we will no doubt have some time on hand during this expedition" Sand continued "The work will be rather arduous, at first…but I think it will aid you more prosaically in how you use your magic as well. Now…" He glanced back towards where he had laid down his book "Shall we return to the camp? I should like to examine the pitifully small number of books I've managed to bring on this journey, in case there is some element to this that may be better illuminated by study"

"Of course" Phaedra stepped back, though she longed to start as soon as possible, she understood Sand's caution. Clearly they were dealing with dangerous forces… "Sand…" She murmured, just as the wizard turned away "Thank you so much…" Despite his alarming lack of tact and understanding of common propriety, Sand was alright…

"It's a pleasure, my dear" Sand glanced back at her, with a courteous smile, but then his features darkened once again, and once again she was reminded that this was perhaps far more serious than he, clearly wishing to put her at ease, had indicated. As he turned away she could have sworn that he murmured something else, something she scarcely caught but for the added keenness of her elven senses; "As well as a necessity"

ooo0000ooo

"Tyr, Evenhanded, I understand if I am to be punished, and I accept it" Casavir murmured into the darkening velvet sky "But, Lord of Justice, do not punish her for my mistakes. She is innocent, guide her to be strong, always, as I know she can be" Words, whispers into an unfeeling eternity, to comfort himself. Each night he had prayed for her, vigils kept hour after hour, and each time there was no answer. And each time she turned further from him. Was there even any meaning to any of it? Tyr, do you even listen? Do you even care? He rebuked himself instantly for the disobedient thought; Tyr's will would become clear in time. He had to trust to that. If he did not believe it, then he had nothing. At least by holding to his duty, by holding to justice, he would serve something greater than himself, this broken vessel. And there was her, Phaedra…her face floated before his closed eyes, a golden smile upon her lips, could he ever be worthy of her? He could not even protect her…

"Casavir…" His eyes opened and he glanced back slowly; Elanee, of course. The elf stood framed in the flickering firelight which burned just behind her. He had left the glade where the others had settled down in order to be alone, but she had followed. Lately he found it difficult to understand exactly what Elanee wished from him, she had always insisted she wanted to protect Phaedra, then she ignored the clear threat that Bishop represented, even argued in the ranger's favour. He could not understand why she, and Phaedra like her, could so easily ignore Bishop's repulsive demeanour. But he did not wish to antagonise her again, there was already far too much disagreement within this group… "This, the trial, it is Luskan's fault." The elf moved over to him gracefully "You cannot blame yourself"

"Of course" Casavir turned to her, and nodded slowly "I understand that"

"Then why are you punishing yourself?" Elanee murmured, her light steps made barely an impact upon the leaves at her feet. "Why will you speak these words every night to Tyr, yet ignore Phaedra each day? She blames herself, you know, that you will not speak to her…"

"She cannot" Casavir breathed, the thought was deeply uncomfortable. He knew that Phaedra had made mistakes, done things he disagreed with. She had lied to him, to all of them, Bishop's influence, but he knew, whatever the truth of the matter, that she must have done so because she believed it was right. If that was so she had no grounds to believe that it was anything other than his own judgements, his own weakness, that tore them apart…

"Why, then Casavir?" Elanee said, and there was something deeply compassionate in her voice, the voice of a friend who understood, or at least tried to. "Do you truly believe that Tyr would punish her for your sins?"

"If this is punishment, it is not for her" Casavir answered bleakly "It must be my own weakness." He had meditated long and hard…and always it was his own failures that floated before him. There was some meaning to this, that Luskan chose to use a twisted mockery of Tyr's justice to condemn this woman who meant so much more to him than Tyr's own self.

"Your weakness, so Tyr strikes an innocent girl?" Elanee shook her head "How could such a God be called just?"

"The ways of the Gods are mysterious" Casavir turned away. Even she could not understand. Neverwinter was cruel, and in death there would be no meaning to gold, or power or pleasure, even the self, as we understand it here, would pass away…only the Gods, only service to them, had any lasting meaning. Whatever else he did not know or understand, he would always believe that Tyr was greater than any man, greater than him, and wiser also. In a world of shifting allegiance, of treachery and cruelty, he had to trust to that wisdom, even now when Tyr's will seemed remote and obscure. He had to trust that there was meaning behind this, that Tyr meant this to happen. If he abandoned his faith in a time of trial, only clinging to it when things went the way he wished them to, was he any better than the basest hypocrite? As a paladin he served more than his own vanity, he was an example to others, he had to be. He could not abandon his duty.

"She needs you, Casavir" Elanee continued, she stepped up to him, laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder "Now, more than ever. The more we lose her, the more we all fall apart" Casavir started at the thought, at her touch, though the armour still stood between them, but beside him Elanee shook her head, auburn hair falling in shimmering strands to her shoulders "Surely you sense it as I do? As Phaedra withdraws, everything around her unwinds" He thought of Neeshka, the tiefling, how withdrawn she had been, Khelgar's snappishness on the journey, Shandra's silence, but there was only one cause as far as Casavir was concerned.

"It is his fault" Casavir said firmly "Bishop…"

"No" Elanee smiled sadly, but there was no anger in her voice this time "Bishop…is a part of us also, and Phaedra needs him"

"It is an irrational, dangerous…" Casavir began severely, but the look on Elanee's face silenced him. It was still not anger, perhaps closer to pity…

"Phaedra is young, but as we have watched her here she has become a woman" Elanee said gently "Bishop represents something she has never experienced…I think she finds his attentions rather flattering. Is that so irrational, so dangerous…?"

"She cannot fall for him, Elanee" Casavir shook his head, desperate to convey something of what he sensed every time he gazed upon Bishop. His cruelty, his desire, they were one and the same. "Any feeling she has for him, he will use it bitterly…can you not see it? I must protect her from that"

"I did not say anything of love, Casavir, or feeling" Elanee answered "She flirts with Bishop, yes, but she is far too wise to give him her heart, she sees further than you believe she does Casavir. Her life has been so empty of even the merest happiness, now she amuses herself briefly by playing the kind of game every girl her age plays…but I know that she also understands the rules. She will not fall for him, Casavir…"

"So you are saying that I should allow him to use her?" Casavir asked coldly. "Simply because she believes this is a game…"

"I am saying, Casavir, that you should trust Phaedra more" Elanee murmured gently, she reached forward, laid her hand upon his shoulder for a brief instant, then she let him go. Trust….he trusted her… but every time he saw her with Bishop, saw the man's eyes travel down her body like some foul animal, and she still laughed, and her beautiful eyes were turned toward him, and shining the way they never shined for Casavir…for him they always looked sad, and distant and older than she was…he hated it so much, and he felt so angry, an anger the likes of which he had not know for years. And he knew envy and jealousy were not the ways of justice, were wrong for a paladin…but the thought of them together seared him to the bone. It was not simply envy, though, Bishop was so unworthy of her…every moment, every smile, every glance, she gave him was like a diamond sullied in the foulest slime of his lust and hatred. He just wanted to protect her. But he felt a moment's doubt, at last…was he protecting her by condemning her from afar like this? He had not even spoken to her, asked her about her feelings, as Elanee, it seemed had. He glanced back into Elanee's green elven eyes, she was waiting a moment, and he remembered suddenly how he had resolved to always trust Elanee, who knew and loved Phaedra so well. She thought, she was quietly certain, that he had allowed hatred of Bishop to consume him, to cloud his mind. If it was so, he had betrayed Phaedra once again…

"What can I do?" He asked roughly, at last "I…have wronged her."

"Come back to her, Casavir" Elanee murmured "Come back to all of us."

"What can I say?" Casavir shook his hand, glancing down at his two empty hands. They had wielded weapons for so long now…could he ever be anything other than a warrior? "I do not know what to say to her…" He said desolately "I do not know what to do…"

"She is like my daughter, Casavir" Elanee answered "And I know that she wants nothing more than what you are…all of what you are" He sighed, broken as he was, he could not quite believe it. Phaedra was so young, all beauty and life…he was aged by battle and service, chained to duty, empty of all but dust, like a wasted sepulchre. But with her, sometimes, there was moments, as bright and precious as droplets of silver, when he felt alive again. Even if Luskan's actions were Tyr's rebuke, he could not cut himself off from her entirely…he owed her more than that after all she had given him. And he owed her more than to so savagely mistrust her, that was not just.

"Thank you Elanee" He nodded to her. It had been wrong for him to cast aside her advice so swiftly also…he should have known better.

"I will keep an eye on her, and on Bishop" Elanee said, with a rare, sweet smile that for a moment glowed with an echo of Phaedra's own beauty. "But once things return to normal between the two of you…I do not think he will be a problem" Yes, Bishop was still a danger, he could not believe Elanee in that quite so easily…but he would better serve Phaedra by being near her when she needed him and not simply trying to order her from a distance like one of the austere presbyters of the temple. He trusted her…now he resolved firmly to show her that he did. Instantly he stepped back towards the fire, leaving Elanee standing there alone amongst the trees, seeming strangely sad but he scarcely noticed…it was still light, there was still time to talk…

There she was…she sat by the fire, bending over the steaming pot and she was laughing, silvery, beautiful…like the peal of the bells in Tyr's temple that once had drawn him in when all his life had been as empty and desolate as the mountains of Old Owl Well. She was with Shandra, the two young women giggling over something…he could never make her laugh like that…and, even now, her beauty entirely overshadowed the elder girl. Next to her, even Shandra's rustic prettiness, considerable in its own right, seemed crude and unsophisticated. Shandra, Casavir paused a moment, if he could have chosen this moment himself, he would not have had Shandra there. He knew well what Shandra felt about him, this girlish infatuation, he had experience of such things already, and he knew it would pass in time. That was what made Phaedra so special…she did not look upon him as Shandra did, as a knight, protector, an ideal…with her he felt like nothing but a man, and that was enough. Yet…he did not wish to hurt Shandra. But he had a duty nonetheless, he could not let another moment pass by without apologising to Phaedra…

He stepped over slowly, his gaze firmly fixed upon her as though she were the beacon, the lodestone of all his steps. Then she saw him, and instantly the laughter faded from her face. Shandra too fell silent, tensing, awkwardly looking away. He felt a stab to the core, as that familiar wistful sadness came over Phaedra's face as she glanced up at him, her eyes glittering. Tyr…how did such beauty exist? How did he protect something so precious? "Casavir…" She said softly. He saw he had hurt her, the thought shook him, how could he have been so careless? Sometimes it seemed as though he always destroyed that which mattered most.

"My lady," He said softly, and hated himself for it. "I have treated you unfairly."

"I don't need…" She began, shaking her head, so that every golden strand burned in the reflected glow of the fire. But she would not look at him…

"But I do, Phaedra" He lowered himself to crouch down next to her, and her eyes widened, settling upon his, it was the old way between them for an instant…before she had gotten older, and sadder and he had wasted the feelings they had on jealousy and his own cowardice. He would have to work hard to earn her faith once again, to prove himself worthy. Neither noticed Shandra, frozen out, embarrassed but unable to look away "Once before I promised you I would stand by you no matter what. I have broken that promise…will you give me another chance, Phaedra?"

"Casavir, if you only understood…" She breathed, then faltered,

"It does not matter what you believe you have done, I know you have done what you know is right, always" Casavir answered "I am sworn to stand by your side, my hammer, my allegience, they are yours..."

"I know" She said, at last "If you ever want my forgiveness, Casavir…it will always be yours" He stared into her radiant green eyes for one precious moment, burning emeralds, with that deep, untouchable sorrow at their depth. This time, as before, though it was her who looked away. Casavir understood…he knew all too well that faith, once lost, could not be easily regained. But he would bend all his efforts, all his will, into restoring her faith in him once again. Then, one day, when she smiled for him again, he would finally find the courage to confess his feelings…at last…

ooo0000ooo

Yes, it had been rather a good hypothesis, Sand considered as he ran a finger along the rough, parchment pages of 'Thesis on the Displacement of Evocation', even if he said so himself. Skirting around the edge of magical theory, a place where highly speculative supposition was a necessity, it had nonetheless acquired a vaguely plausible bent since they were dealing with the inherent instability of sorcery. To a student at the Academy, perhaps, it would have seemed conceivable, to an erratic but hugely powerful, sorceress from the Mere desperate to solve an inconceivable mystery, it had been taken as a salvation. And it had appealed to Phaedra's barely-acknowledged vanity concerning the strength of her sorcery. Too bad, then, that it had been utterly a lie. He'd sensed the moment he had laid his hands upon Phaedra exactly what they were dealing with, and in that same moment he had made the lightning-fast decision to hide the truth from her. He'd lied, yes, but because he had to. The law of necessity meant so much more to Sand than hysterical ramblings about right and wrong, and he was absolutely certain that his lie had been a necessary one. One part of all of it had been true, though, that they were dealing with something utterly extraordinary here…and a wrong move, the most minute mistake, would destabilise Phaedra entirely. With the trial approaching, that had to be his greatest priority and one thing he knew, Phaedra herself was to be a key part of his defence and she had to be ready. The revelation of what she really was would not merely cast the flux of her magic into utter chaos, it would certainly deeply undermine her emotional stability also…and she needed to be focused, ready for the battle of words and wills that Torio would no doubt have prepared for them. So did he…but his instincts told him that he had to be on the highest of alerts for Phaedra at the same time. And his instincts were rarely wrong…

He wished he had his whole collection of books out here in this barbarous wilderness. There was one, a particularly elegant theory from Candlekeep, and elegance was hard to come by amidst the obtuse philosophical meanderings common to that school…he remembered it almost verbatim even now. It had theorised the existence of so-called latent warlocks. One master, obviously more interested in his upcoming breakfast than the intellectual integrity of his works, had presented the analogy of an egg. The shell of a normal sorcerous gift, almost indistinguishable from any other sorcerer, concealed the core, all the power, the yolk, which was a hidden affinity with the arts of a warlock. It had been simply a theory, a logical extension of the natural affinity between some sorcerers and infernal beings. Simply a theory…until now. Now, slowly he raised his eyes over the cover of the book and glanced across the fire to where Phaedra was now sitting, her laughter as she inclined her head graciously toward some banality on the part of that farmgirl, was like the ring of crystal…in this, the most unlikely of places, here was the proof that latent warlocks existed. His gaze narrowed a brief moment…even from here he could sense her power, it was streaming out from her like a vast pillar of fire. It was a marvel she'd only lost control so few times, by Mystra it was a miracle she hadn't obliterated herself and everyone around her already. As a sorcerer she was already deeply vulnerable to the instability of emotion, sorcery was so chaotic…so…messy, Sand preferred magic when it could be quantified, studied, controlled and pinned down. But here was Phaedra, an exception to every rule. And Sand knew she had to learn to be controlled, or else her already deeply unstable sorcery would lose the battle to direct the vein of her power, and…then her warlock powers would burst from her, the long years of repression would only have made them far stronger. If sorcerers were bad enough, warlocks were far worse. Normally Sand found the prejudices of the Neverwinter folk with which he was forced to discourse as laughable as they were distasteful, but he was forced to agree with the long-held hatred of warlocks in the city. If Phaedra was revealed to be a warlock, forget about the destruction of Ember…she would be lynched on the streets. And Sand, having learned what he had about Phaedra's journey, the seismic role she seemed to be playing in the re-shaping of things around Neverwinter…had more than a personal interest in insuring that didn't happen. Meanwhile, while he tried to work out what could be done…the exercises and precautions that he'd suggested certainly wouldn't hurt. Right now Phaedra seriously needed to be controlled…

One thing he could state for certain. The instability of Phaedra's powers was directly linked to the instability of her emotions. She was already in a deeply unsound state, naturally she seemed to be high-strung, and these recent events had hugely unsettled her. And as she insisted in addition upon pursuing ill-advised, hormonal and relentlessly coy flirtations with the two men that Sand had already decided were equally bad for her (how human of her), Sand had to see to it that she was allowed a serenity and peace of mind elsewhere, even if he had to lie to her. That settled, he returned to his book, knowing well that he would find nothing within it to guide him. Everything about this situation was new, and it was up to him entirely, Sand alone, to see to it that Phaedra did not inadvertently unleash an evil that could be worse by far than anything she had fought already.


	51. Chapter 51

_Sorry for taking a little longer than usual over this one! This week's been a busy one...anyway a lot of stuff has happened. I've had one vehemently pro-Bishop review (thanks Minxie) and one pro-Casavir one (thanks slyfoxxy) Keep the opinions coming people! It's great to see people picking favourites already, the battle lines are being drawn I admit and things certainly getting a lot more interesting lately in that regard. This chapter, again, should probably please Bishop fans...but there are Casavir ones to come, don't worry!_

_In other news, a segment from Neeshka's point of view turns up here. I delayed a while before doing this because I wasn't sure if I could get her right. I've always thought there was some darkness in her character that doesn't get much screen time in the game, so this is my understanding of it. Still perhaps a little unsure, so let me know how she sounds to you._

_I was thinking that maybe I would have Qara's side-quest (with the Animus Elemental) occur except with Phaedra as the target. Let me know if that sounds like a good idea. I kind of have how that would pan out in my head, so we'll see. If it does turn up, it'll be soon._

_Anyway, thanks for waiting and here we go with Chapter 51._

* * *

"There it is, Port Llast!" Shandra called out happily. Turning back into the playful breeze, drenched in the scent of the sea, that swept over the hill upon which she was now standing and toyed in the strands of her hair, she gave the rest of her companions who were slightly further down the hill a bright smile. Ever since she'd first begun to recognise the path ahead of them, remembered its twists and turns, almost been able to see the imprint of her footsteps in the dust, she'd raced slightly ahead, desperate for her first glimpse of the village where she had travelled each year after harvest, each year until this one. And here it was, proof that, despite everything, the world went on still, that some kind of harvest was still being done somewhere, that life in Port Llast still went on as it had each time she had stopped here…after…Ember, after what had happened to her, the thought was a comforting one. Something was still the same, still safe…

As the others trekked up the hill behind her, Shandra looked back down into the village. Port Llast was larger than Highcliff, or Ember, had ever been…with a prosperous, busy-looking marketplace where travelling merchants often stopped to load off items far more exotic than anything available back home. It was nothing on Neverwinter's market, of course, just as the village's docks, a stopping point mostly for smaller trade vessels or fishing boats, were dwarfed by even the memory of the vast city's harbour. The rest of the village trailed down over the flat, grassy coast, squashed houses of wood and thatch, all varying sizes and shapes. And yet Shandra's gaze welcomed the intimacy of it all; in Neverwinter you drowned in a sea of people, people who wouldn't give you a second glance, who wouldn't know you from any of the thousands who passed through its walls every day. Here in Port Llast, larger and more cosmopolitan though it was than home, things were still so strictly defined by that unspoken law, tradition, habit…what the farmer's wives deemed inappropriate as they huddled in their doorways, clicking their tongues in distaste at the passers-by. Shandra had never been 'appropriate' under this strictest of codes, how much less so now that she'd abandoned all pretence and travelled as a formal adventurer, with, oh Gods forbid, unmarried men at her side. And she'd enjoyed every minute of it back home…by Chauntea it would be good to be talked about again. At the least it would give her something else to think about…

"It seems agreeable enough" Elanee, who had slipped up behind her almost silently, joined her on the hill and commented with a note of resignation. This 'party' or whatever you called them was way too full of people who were far too good at sneaking for Shandra's peace of mind. Why couldn't they just walk about like you were supposed to?

"I have been here on occasion" As always Shandra almost jumped when Casavir spoke, something in her seemed to resonate with the very timbre of his voice like the string of a harp. "It is a good place" Shandra turned to him, saw the ghost of a smile float across his lips, and found herself momentarily startled. It was rare to see him so unguarded, usually he was so watchful, so protective of her and of Phaedra. But it seemed that the mere thought that Phaedra might forgive him his intransigence was enough to lighten the bleakness of his obligation. What are you thinking, Shandra, her farmer's common sense muttered. Sure she'd flirted here and there, just a little, once she'd even thought things might go a bit further…but they hadn't and she'd been fine with that. In fact she'd always rather taken pride in her independence. But now, all it took was one glance from him and she was a lovesick teenager again.

She tried to reason through her feelings once again. To be certain he was handsome, but she had known handsome men before, and none had been able to stupefy her with a single glance from their stunning blue eyes, perhaps it was nothing more than his obvious nobility, his solicitude for her well-being, his chivalry, that she had never encountered before, or at least in the way it was for him. In Highcliff most men took it for granted that you were a helpless creature desperate for the security of a male presence, but Casavir wasn't like that either. It simply seemed natural, self-evident, that he should inquire after your well-being, make sure your sword-arm was straight, help you when you were all in a state about not even being able to properly unfold your bed-rolls when everyone else did it so effortlessly. And never did he make you feel like a burden, if he had done so Shandra would have reacted like she did whenever the men of Highcliff pulled something like that. It simply was who he was, and she'd found herself gladly taking it for what it was, simply because it allowed her to be closer to him, to be his full focus of attention, to forget briefly that he, like every other man who met their leader, captivated by Phaedra next to whom Shandra was painfully aware she was nothing. Knowing this, though, she still couldn't stop herself playing the little games she'd never been able to imagine herself playing before…not that he ever noticed.

"The illustrious Port Llast" Sand joined them and eyed the village distastefully, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Step carefully, or you might get some of the local culture on your boots"

"Gods, Sand…" Shandra turned back to him, she was so glad to see Port Llast safe and whole that she could even muster a moment's humour for the irascible wizard. He really needed to loosen up a little sometimes. "You hold your nose so high that it's no wonder you don't wear your hat on it"

"I don't even know what that means, my dear" Sand answered, with an oily smile "But I'm sure as far as your local expressions go it's quite quaint and charmingly ignorant" Hey…was that an insult? Had she just been insulted? With Sand you could never be quite sure, but she supposed his biting wit, acquired taste though it might be, would be a help in making the Luskans a laughing stock, if nothing else. That Luskan ambassador, though, Shandra shuddered at the thought, now there was a nasty piece of work if ever she'd seen one. Torio Claven, or whatever her name was, was sure to have some tricks up her sleeve, it was only a pity that they couldn't settle this with a brawl like the men in Highcliff always seemed to. Shandra would be happy to cut that revolting smile off her face, that was for sure. As a farmer she was a realist at heart, and if killing needed to be done she wasn't going to step back and let Ember go unavenged. Those people had been her friends, and someone had to pay for what had been done to them.

"Can we get on with this?" Neeshka gave an irritated sigh, tapping her foot impatiently "Less talking, more moving…I really don't want to spend any time in this place, if anyone even cares. It's just the sort of place where they get into mobs and start chanting 'demon-spawn' at me, and you really don't want to be around when that happens." Shandra frowned brieftly. What exactly had got into Neeshka? Though she wasn't exactly qualified to give an opinion, only having spoken to the tiefling once or twice, she did remember how, well, devil-may-care she'd been before. Lately, since Solace Glade perhaps, she'd been broodingly silent, only speaking to snap at the others. So why hadn't Phaedra noticed this? Oh…yes, of course there was one big reason and it sure as all the seasons began with a capital 'B', and had a serious attitude problem.

"I agree with the fiendling" Khelgar nodded "Looks like a good tavern down there, why don't we go on in and see if it's lively?" That was to be expected…Khelgar, at least, never changed.

"Eager as I am to sample the delights Port Llast has to offer, we might wish to wait a moment longer" Sand answered, with uncharacteristic tact "Some of us are as yet…otherwise engaged" In unison everyone turned to look back down the hill. Oh right, of course…still about halfway down the hill, some twenty paces behind everyone else, Phaedra and Bishop were winding their way up at a leisurly pace, in her case shockingly oblivious, in his case more likely utterly uncaring, that everyone else was still waiting for them. Phaedra was perfect, as always. Even buffeted by the sea wind whistling along the hillside she seemed only to be more beautiful, her hair floating about her in a golden cloud which she vainly tried to tame with a sweep of her elegant fingers, laughing as she did so. And that laugh…it had a troubling quality to it, so did the way she bent her head towards Bishop, the way her body seemed to be arching towards his imperceptibly, so that her every step seemed to bring him a little closer to him without ever quite touching. No doubt the conversation, on her side, at least, was entirely innocent but still…that laugh, that smile she was offering him now, her head slightly inclined so she glanced under her lashes at him. And Bishop…he was actually smiling back…well it could perhaps be called a smile, if you looked sideways at it and squinted. But really it was nothing more than a leer. Gods alone knew what he was saying to her. Every move she made he echoed slightly, as though he were staking a claim to it, to her. Shandra frowned briefly, sure she knew that Bishop was attractive enough, for an unkempt ranger and she alone knew that he'd dramatically saved Phaedra's life back in Solace Glade, but lately Phaedra had been getting a little too easy with him for her liking. And she wasn't the only one who thought so…

She glanced at Casavir quickly, saw the paladin's eyes narrow, glint like cold metal, his nostrils flared as he watched the pair of them wind their way upwards at their own pace. But Elanee stepped up to him, laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. He glanced at her instantly, and Shandra saw the elf shake her head, a movement so small as to be almost imperceptible. In response he breathed a sigh of resignation, and glanced away, up towards the heavily clouded sky. So those two had been clearly talking about it, that was to be expected at least. Where Phaedra was concerned it was hard to see exactly where Casavir ended and Elanee began. It was unlikely Shandra could have added anything to their discussion, anyway, and it looked like they'd already decided to leave things be, for now. But Shandra still had lingering doubts, could either of them, ageless druidess and temple-trained warrior, ever truly understand what it was like being a teenage girl? She remembered her own brief period of rebelliousness, before her mother died, how she'd done things, hardly understanding why, simply because they defied the strict structure of a farmer's lifestyle. And she'd always had the farm to anchor her, what did Phaedra have? She might not even understand clearly what she was really doing, but Bishop surely did. If he tried anything, Shandra's eyes narrowed upon the ranger, he was getting a first-class clobbering direct from her…to the Hells with the fact that he was possibly the most unnerving man she'd ever met.

"Oh, we're here" Phaedra breathed, upon at last reaching where they stood, with scarcely a second glance at any of them. She looked…flustered, damn Bishop, this wasn't a game. Phaedra might be a sorceress, a heroine, a leader and whatever else you chose to call her, but Shandra remembered well how fragile she really was. And Bishop just thought he could play with her like this… "Port Llast, isn't it pretty?" She gave a delighted glance over the little village in front of them.

"Pretty?" Neeshka muttered mutinously "Yeah well we've already seen that, had plenty of time to look at it while you were giggling your way up here." Shandra gasped, and the rest of them shifted uncomfortably. Sure, all of them had been thinking it, but for Neeshka to say it like that, directly to Phaedra…and Neeshka of all people…

"What?" Phaedra seemed sincerely bewildered so Shandra quickly stepped in.

"Nothing, we just had a little wait up here" She said, while Neeshka looked away, seeming if anything as confused as everyone else was by her own outburst.

"Oh, sorry" Phaedra blinked…so she hadn't noticed at all? Beside her Bishop simply smirked, as though the whole thing had been his idea. By Chauntea, Shandra wanted to slap him.

"It is a small matter" Sand stepped up, almost as though he were taking the apology on behalf of the whole group. "And we have larger concerns. We should find Haeromos as quickly as possible. He can grant us access to Ember, and hopefully we can find some clues there"  
"Asking some of the locals couldn't hurt either" Shandra put in quickly. No way he was getting all the credit for this, his way wasn't the only one. "After we speak to Haeromos of course"

"Agreed," Sand nodded urbanely. "They may have seen something. And as long as we use simple words we may actually be able to get information from them" Gods he was full of himself. Had he ever even tried speaking to a farmer he would have found out they were a lot wiser than snooty mages gave them credit for. It was just a different kind of wisdom, that's all. "If I may, Phaedra…" The wizard offered "I will take responsibility for any evidence we gather. I have a good sense of such things…"

"Oh, yes…" Phaedra nodded distantly, almost as though she'd scarcely been listening to them "Of course." She shook her head, as though to clear it at last, then focused on Sand at last. "And Sand, I'm glad you're here" She offered him a small smile, as Shandra resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She shouldn't flatter Sand like that, he already thought a little too much of himself.

"Why, yes, so am I" Sand seemed to stand straighter, his answering grin rather self-satisfied. But there was something else going on here, something more than Sand's aid with the trial. Though Shandra tried to stay away from magic, she guessed Sand was probably helping Phaedra out with hers, perhaps that was it. Yet something always struck her as a little off about Sand, he was so…oily. And she wondered what exactly he valued Phaedra as, a person, or simply another magical curiosity for him to exploit. "As exceptional as my skills are" He continued, with a twinkle in his blue eyes "It is good to see them put to a worthy use at last"

"I was thinking perhaps we should split up" Phaedra glanced back quickly down towards the village, a considering frown on her features "We can cover more ground that way, and we still don't know if Torio's already got to this place. If so people are probably more likely to come forward with information if the murderer isn't with you" A moment's pain crossed her face, but when she glanced up it was gone "I'll be going to see Haeromos of course, and Sand will come with me. Shandra, would you stay with us also?"

"Of course" Shandra nodded firmly, glad to see Phaedra back to being the leader this party needed to hold together. Somehow, though, she didn't exactly like splitting up. Though Port Llast was probably one of the safest places on the Sword Coast, in those stupid stories it was always once you'd split up that something bad happened.

"Casavir, I'd like you and Elanee to go to the marketplace, see if anyone down there knows something" Phaedra turned to them next, as ever a yearning look seemed to settle within her eyes as they passed over Casavir but it was well-hidden. "Bishop…" She quickly moved over to the ranger, and though outwardly she was as composed as ever, Shandra could see the smile that briefly touched the edges of her lips, as though she were sharing some secret amusement with him…

"Forget it, princess" Bishop answered insolently "I'm not about to play detective with some half-brained villagers, call me when you need something killed. Otherwise I'm going to see if that tavern has good ale. I'm damned tired of that crap your uncle sells"

"Oh, fine" Phaedra shrugged coyly, not seeming overly concerned that he was openly defying her again. Gods, Phaedra, did she think this was a joke? He wanted to undermine her, couldn't she see that? "If you insist…"

"I'm going with him" Neeshka pressed forward instantly, and to Shandra's utter astonishment, along with Phaedra and the rest of the party, Bishop included, if the focusing of those hard tawny eyes upon Neeshka and the tightening of the set of his mouth spoke of surprise and not the onset of some kind of homicidal rage. At the centre of attention, as rarely before, Neeshka looked uncomfortable, but firm.

"Why?" Phaedra's smile strained at the edges as she turned to the tiefling. "I wanted you to go to the docks with Khelgar…"

"The docks?" Neeshka shook her head firmly "We're not finding anything there. When they're on shore sailors are only about able to tell one end of a flagon from the other and practically nothing else. They won't be any use. The tavern's the place we need to have the best eyes because that's where people let their guard down, and let me remind you I am the best here."

"If she's going, so am I" Khelgar announced, raising his axe for good measure.

"I don't need a minder Khelgar" Neeshka snapped with caustic venom. Phaedra was tensing slowly, couldn't she see that Bishop was really the one at fault here? If he'd never defied her like that, if she hadn't been so easy about it, Neeshka and Khelgar would have done as they were told.

"No, it's a good idea" Phaedra said at last, the effort she was clearly putting into forcing her voice to sound relaxed only made it more edgy. "Khelgar and Neeshka will investigate the tavern then…and I think we'll all meet back there at the tavern once we're done, and make sure you're ready to share what information you've found when we do" She turned around slowly, her eyes travelled over each of them, and there was a spark of that new hardness, from after Solace Glade, in them "Is that all, then?" She said primly. No one answered, so she glanced back down toward Port Llast "Right then, shall we go?" This time she took up position first in line, but Shandra was right behind her. She wanted to be close to Phaedra right now, read the tension in her shoulders and try to work out what she was thinking. She didn't exactly want to be the one to confront Phaedra, but someone needed to knock some sense into her before it was too late. She needed her companions, her friends, far more than she needed Bishop. And if Shandra was the only one who could show her that, then so be it…

ooo0000ooo

"I'm surprised you had the courage to show your face here" Phaedra stared into the cold, hard eyes of a man who thought she was a murderer. It was one of the most uncomfortable, the most degrading moments of her life, but forced herself to hold his cold hate-filled gaze. He believed firmly that was a monster, that she had slaughtered innocents, and in his eyes every death looked back at her. She had to be stronger than this…at the trial she would face a crowd who believed the same as Haeromos of Port Llast, an ageing man with greying brown hair swept aside from his face who wore heavy armour upon his thin shoulders that spoke of the dangerous role he had to play as Port Llast's mayor. "Many had friends in Ember" He continued threateningly "If they find out who you are…"

"I did not destroy Ember" She answered, softly but firmly.

"So you say" Haeromos grunted "But were Ember under my jurisdiction, and not Luskan's what you said would not matter. You are the one responsible, and though I am bound by law not to clap you in irons, I am not so bound to exchange pleasantries with a murderer"

"Why so certain, Haeromos?" Sand swept up beside her in a swirl of silk and a lawyer's probing wit. "What did Luskan do to persuade you?"

"Luskan has nothing to do with it, advocate" Haeromos pronounced 'advocate' like he would the name of some particularly vile insect "There was one who witnessed the attack, one survivor of that massacure, and believe me she describes this woman down to the last detail" Shandra tensed beside Phaedra…a survivor, just as Torio had said. Would she be someone Shandra knew? Slowly, Phaedra reached out and took Shandra's hand comfortingly and briefly, it felt ice-cold. Shandra glanced at her quickly, her eyes were sad, haunted by sorrow.

"We are within our rights to request an audience with this witness" Sand pounced immediately.

"Out of the question" Haeromos snapped "She has been through enough already. To make her see…relive what she witnessed…I have no doubt you are capable of such cruelty, but I am not"

"Haeromos, if you deny us this right you have betrayed the very justice you claim to stand for" Sand urged, as ever he was deeply persuasive. What could she have done without him? "We must have this chance, to prove this woman's innocence. Things are not as they seem here"

"They seem perfectly plain to me, you are defending a murdereress and a monster" Haeromos growled "But I will not stoop to your level, you shall have this right. You may question the witness, but you shall do it in my presence" He glanced back towards the back of the hall in which he held court. There were two guards there, Port Llast's own, their eyes through the enforced stillness and discipline of their duties glared watchfully at Phaedra. How had Torio moved so quickly, the hostility in Port Llast was far worse than she'd thought. "Bring the girl here" Haeromos ordered…

ooo0000ooo

Of all the customs of settled folk, this thin veil of deceit and self-delusion that led them to so effortlessly buy into this lie that they were 'civilised' and thus somehow separate from, even superior to, Nature that had birthed them, it was the notion of currency, of mercantile endeavour which had always confused Elanee most. How a simple chunk of metal crafted to a certain shape could actually be 'worth' something, could be 'worth' so much in fact that these people spent their whole lives in pursuit of it was entirely beyond her. And yet she was beginning to understand that it wasn't really the gold but the belief that it was valued at this much bread or this much silk that held this whole system together. How strange, the whole society up and down the Sword Coast resting on so fragile a belief. If civilisation was ever to crumble, it would be when that belief, that trust, became eroded.

"You seem deep in thought" Casavir noted, glancing up from his scrutiny of the marketplace. Though Port Llast market was almost as crowded as the streets of Neverwinter, bustling with a huge variety of people, less than half of them natives of the village, the paladin's presence was so vast and protective that around him the crowds themselves seemed to part. Standing in his shadow Elanee found herself similarly shielded from the crowds, and thankfully more able to stand amidst them without that all too familiar feeling of vertigo that nearly always accompanied them for her, so unused to such a bustle of people.

"It's nothing" She answered quickly, realising that he was waiting for her to answer, as patiently and stoically as ever. "It's just hard to get used to this…" She cursed her own inarticulateness around him. It was growing worse, every time his blue eyes fell upon her's she found it increasingly hard to speak, to think, it was like they were an ocean, like the boundless sky, and she was falling into them….oh Gods it was happening again.

"Do you wish to have a moment's peace?" Casavir moved closer immediately, concern fluttering across his face, and Elanee cursed herself once again. She might have known he would react like this.

"No, it's nothing, like I said" She attempted a serene smile, why did she feel like the young girl she had never truly been around him? The Circle had snatched her youth, but her heart, it seemed, thought she had some living yet to do. "We should keep looking." Quickly she slipped round him to push on through the marketplace, though she felt his gaze upon her neck, felt his concern like the imprint of a light caress upon the back of her neck. She soon regretted her temerity, though, as the crowd showed no qualms about shoving a smaller elven woman this way and that in their relentless restlessness. It was deeply uncomfortable, she'd never got used to being touched, and here were elbows, hands, knees shoved at her from every direction and in every way. She tried to breath, feeling the familiar tightening in her chest…it was deeply claustrophobic, how did these people even stand it? But she didn't dare look back at Casavir, though whichever way she was shoved by the crowds she always felt him at her back.

"Careful there…" Suddenly she heard a woman's voice above the roar of the crowd, the heckling shop-keepers, just as the moment she was pushed against a stall on the side of the marketplace, rattling the wooden structure and the items on display. A gentle hand steadied her, and she stumbled into the brief respite gifted by the make-shift shelter one of the merchants had set up to mark out their territory here and display their goods to prospective buyers, away from the crowds. A strange, stingingly acidic scent flooded her nostrils the moment she paused to catch her breath, making her eyes water briefly. "Watch the wyrmsage, over there. It has quite a kick, I'm afraid" The voice that had accompanied her escape from the crowds sounded softly just by her, she glanced up quickly and met two anxious, rather uncertain, brown eyes. "I should really tidy up, but there's never any time" Elanee stepped back a little, the woman was small for a human and thin as a reed, but Elanee still only came to about her nose, she hated this, how everyone towered over her out here. "I am Nya, by the way"

"Thank you" She murmured quickly, uncertain of how to act. She didn't really know anything about merchants, did this woman think she was here to buy something? She'd never had the courage to take up some of the group's coins, a rather embarrassing superstition she'd so far managed to conceal from the others. Nya wore a severe gown, black and white, over her bony shoulders, her cheeks were hollow, her eyes brown with high eyebrows that gave her a permanent look of surprise. She was smiling, uncertainly, though it didn't reach her eyes, which remained so sad. Elanee quickly glanced over, feeling uncomfortable, and her eyes alighted upon a finely-made leather bag, open upon the shelf, with a fine grey powder inside it, some of which was lain out in a neat pile beside her. It was the source of that acidic scent…some unnatural compound…the wyrmsage, apparently. "What…is wyrmsage?" Elanee quickly asked, wanting to say something. Whenever she wasn't with Phaedra, she never knew how to act around people…it was Phaedra who did all the talking for her.

"Oh, it's a reagent" Nya seemed as glad as her to find something to talk about. She swept over to the shelf, which was piled high with strange goods, most obviously involved arcane magic. Elanee felt a little shiver run through her…the arcane, she'd never be able to trust it. Where was its root, its restraint? She had Nature to anchor her, but nothing stopped an arcane mage from reaching for power that was beyond him, beyond what the Balance of the world could sustain? "Certain spells, especially those that put the dead to rest, require it as a rule" Nya continued, she was staring distantly into the wyrmsage, but she didn't really seem to be seeing it "To stop the undead."

"There are undead, here?" Casavir appeared at Elanee's side, instantly, Elanee found herself wondering briefly and rather irreverently if paladins had some kind of instinct for injustice, or if they just scented it like a wolf sniffing blood upon the wind. Nya glanced up, blinking with surprise and with the hammer-blow that Casavir's sudden appearance, as he was, would always wreak upon a certain kind of impressionable women. Well, unfortunately, Elanee knew she would probably have to count herself amongst that number.

"No, no…" Nya answered, trying to recover herself "It's Ember, a little village north of here…"

"We know it" Elanee breathed, instantly her thoughts shed all levity, and her every nerve was bent toward the woman before her. Casavir tensed also, leaning in, and as his icy-blue eyes focused upon Nya, she swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to glance away.

"The people were killed, slaughtered." She continued, when she could, though she did not turn her eyes from Casavir "It was horrible, a massacure, no, worse than that, an abomination. Some kind of crazed sorceress some are saying…but no one knows for sure." She paused briefly, as Elanee frowned, knowing that this 'rumour' had to be the work of the Luskans. The more people she got on side the more dangerous things would become for Phaedra, Nasher was like the ageing patriach of a wolf pack, he would have to bow to the majority if they supported the Luskan accusation. This would have to be reported to Phaedra and Sand, but Nya might yet have more information for them "But that's only the beginning" She was continuing now, looking deeply distressed "The bodies are still there, rotting where they fell. If they aren't tended to, they'll return as undead. It's only a matter of time…"

"The bodies have not been buried?" Casavir murmured bleakly, and it would have taken one as sensitive as Elanee was to every nuance of the paladin's sparseness to see just how horrifed he was by the thought.

"Luskan has not even cared enough to bury its people" Nya said, shaking her head with sorrow, her voice quavering as she glanced down at the floor. Had she known someone in Ember, no it wasn't that. Something else, then… "It is a crime, condemning these innocent people to suffer beyond what they have already suffered, condemning their souls! I had hoped to save them, this wyrmsage was meant to save them but I cannot do anything about it…" From hopelessness, though, suddenly a spark of fervour lit up in her eyes as she glanced back up at them "You, perhaps, you could do my work" She was speaking to Casavir alone now, and he gazed back at her, the distant, suffering compassion of a martyr in his eyes. "Duskwood has become a haunted place, lately, the road to Ember is far too dangerous for me, but you are a warrior" Nya continued, enraptured. Here was a woman in love with a faith, also…and she burned like a tinder under Casavir's flame. Elanee stood by silently, her own worship of Silvanus was as measured, as timeless as the pulse of nature, there was no place for this kind of fervour in her. "The wyrmsage!" Nya seized the small bag in her trembling hands, her knuckles white as she gripped it with a passion of faith. To what God was this passion given? "You must take it, you must." She pleaded, her eyes widening even further "Please…sprinkle it upon the bodies, it will cleanse them. That is all that is required to stop this abomination, I beg of you"

"Nya, be calm" Casavir reached forward, distantly touched her shoulder, the touch of a priest to a penitent, remote but protective. "I am headed to Ember, I mean to investigate what has occurred there. But I swear I will see to it that the dead are tended as you require. Their suffering must end"

"Oh, thank you" Nya breathed, almost sobbing with gratitude "Kelemvor bless you, sir" Kelemvor, again Elanee felt a superstitious chill. She had no dealings with the God of the Dead, for his flock was solely those beings whose souls trafficked the shadowed realms of the dead, Nature had no place in his realm. But he was an enemy of the undead.

"And Tyr watch you, Nya" Casavir nodded distantly, taking the wyrmsage solemnly in his hands, as though it were an offering to his God. "It shall be done, as the Gods will" Elanee looked away briefly, these Gods, of death and ritual, and the lifeless halls of stone, what place had someone like her in their austere world? And everything Casavir knew, everything he could ever love, would always come second to these distant divinities. If ever there had been a chance, if ever he had not seen Phaedra first and always, she still would never displace this centre of his life, something she had no part in. The thought was agonising, but pain was something Elanee was used to now, she'd been forced to become used to it as she felt the Mere dying from the confines of Neverwinter, by knowing her Circle was gone. She had to deal with this also…she had to learn…

ooo0000ooo

"Shandra?" Haeromos' guards returned about five minutes of agonising, silent waiting later, and they had brought the witness. The young woman, slim and slight, so frail as to almost fade into the shadows around her, so pale that she had scarcely any presence there, her voice a mere whisper, hoarse with grief…Phaedra knew her at once. Alaine, she had met them at Ember briefly, now she was its sole survivor. It was as Marcus had said, those she touched had been granted a different fate. The thought was a cruel one, how many had died for one life saved? And Marcus, it was not him…had Bishop's knife not spared him then? But Alaine was Shandra's friend, Phaedra suddenly remembered…her bloodshot eyes travelled to Shandra right away, and in an instant she broke away from her protesting guard and ran to the farmer's side "Shandra?" As Shandra instinctively drew the suddenly crying girl into a kind embrace, Alaine pressed herself against the cold steel of her friend's armour "Is it really you?" She sobbed gazing desperately up into Shandra' face as though she could scarcely believe that her friend was there. She hadn't looked at Phaedra yet…and Phaedra with a sinking feeling knew that it would be best for both of them that she did not. Alaine believed she had killed everyone in her village. How she had come to believe that, Phaedra now suddenly didn't even want to know…

"Alaine" Shandra breathed "Oh thank the Gods, you survived…" In that moment Phaedra suddenly saw just how tense Shandra had become since she had discovered Ember's fate, for visibly, dramatically she relaxed for the brief moment she held Alaine.

"I can't believe it, Shandra" Alaine sobbed, and her voice, everything about her, was broken. But what horrified Phaedra the most was a small detail; that she never closed her eyes, even to blink, even as the tears spilled over her cheeks onto Shandra's armour. Did she see it before her eyes every time she let down her guard? Would she ever stop seeing it? Oh Gods, what had Luskan done? "They're all gone. I saw it…I saw it all. Everyone dead…"

"Alaine, oh Alaine, I'm so sorry" Shandra closed her eyes as a brief, pained shudder passed through her body. Alaine, calming a little, stumbled back from her embrace to stand unsteadily on her own, and Shandra let her go. "But I've brought someone who can help." Shandra said softly to her "We'll get to the bottom of…"

"You…" Alaine's gaze found Phaedra at last, and Phaedra shrank back right away, though the young woman's voice was little more than a whisper still. It was her eyes, they burned suddenly with a completely wild fear, and a sheer depth of hatred far worse than anything in Haeromos', as the mayor stood by guardedly. Alaine stepped back, unevenly, almost as though she could scarcely control herself "Oh Gods" She breathed, shaking with terror "It is you…"

"No…" Shandra reached for Alaine calmingly "It's not true, Alaine" But the girl scarcely noticed. It was though the mere sight of Phaedra was enough to mesmerise her, with a dread that froze her in place. Phaedra herself couldn't look away, but she couldn't bear to look at Alaine either, so she merely stood there herself, and felt the prickle of tears she could not let loose. Of everything she had faced, there had been nothing worse than this…Alaine feared her so, hated her utterly. To this girl, she was the same as that Githyanki Sword Stalker she had never known, but had pursued until the day she'd burned him up from the inside. Whatever Garius had said…nothing could ever justify this.

"Shandra" Alaine's voice cracked with horror "You've got to get away from her! She'll kill us all!"

"No, Alaine" Shandra tried to plead with the panicked girl "It's not like that, she isn't the one who did this…"

"She did it, I saw it all" Alaine sobbed, shaking her head desperately "I saw…everything. She killed them…all of them…" Phaedra couldn't have spoken, even so could she even say anything? She imagined that Githyanki Sword Stalker standing before her, denying his crimes…and the thought sent her mind spinning in a hopeless giddiness of mingled anger and horror. Nothing she could say would make anything different for Alaine. She had seen her village slaughtered…by Phaedra. Nothing would ever change that.

"Alaine, you don't have to do this" Haeromos murmured gruffly but protectively from her side.

"What do you want here?" Alaine cried, as though she hadn't heard him. "Why did you bring her Shandra?" Shandra glanced helplessly at Phaedra and Sand, but Phaedra couldn't speak, she was choked by horror, and Sand simply stood by, his eyes narrowing slowly. In answer, he gave her a brief nod to continue.

"We…just need to know what happened Alaine" Shandra breathed, seeming deeply uncomfortable "It's important…"

"What happened?" Alaine gave a bitter laugh, almost hysterical, shrill and uncontrolled "Oh, I can tell…I can tell everything, every life she took, every scream, every drop of blood she spilled…our village, our lives…she slaughtered everything." She swallowed, clasping at her dress with her trembling hands "It was about a week ago" Words were pouring from her lips now, and though she stared straight at Phaedra, her eyes burning, she scarcely seemed to be seeing her, except as an echo of a terrible memory "I'd seen her once before, with those monsters, maybe she was working with them all along I don't know. But she'd left since then, and we had to return to practical concerns, I remember I said that to them…all of them. It was trade season still, but we hadn't had any shipments for a while so I decided to leave to trade a few crops along the South Roads, maybe raise some coin for those who were getting hit hard. But I was scarcely out into the Woods when I saw the smoke…I ran all the way back, then I heard the screams and I saw it. Everyone…they were killing everyone…and she was right in the centre, killing, bathing in their blood…everyone. I saw her kill the quartermaster while he was on his knees, begging for his life…she split his skull with that huge sword, there was so much blood…"

"You saw this woman, here, do the killing blow?" Sand pressed in quickly the moment Alaine paused to draw a deep, shuddering breath "And was it just her? Where did she…?"

"Sand!" Shandra cried, aghast.

"We do not have the luxury of time, girl" Sand shot her a cold glance "Nor do I have the patience to wait while the trail of these killers grows colder"

"She…wasn't alone" Alaine seemed to be swimming, adrift, in the horror of her story, of a tide of memories she couldn't stay or slow. "There were others, but I didn't seem them clearly. I ran…I ran and I left them…and her." She looked down, her eyes glistening, it was guilt. Guilt that she had survived while everyone else she knew lay dead upon Ember's fields, Lathander have mercy upon them all. When would this killing end? "I managed to reach Port Llast…but I don't care what anyone says, or what they do" She looked up again at Phaedra, and her eyes, two blades of anguish that pinned Phaedra there, hardened "You killed them"

"Or someone who looked the part" Sand was thinking on the fly, out loud "There are magics, specialist they may be but available enough to those with the wit and resources to seek them out…they may cloak one's appearance, even allow one to take the shape of another"

"I know what I saw" Alaine snapped, but then her voice grew quiet, hesitant "I know…" She looked down at her empty hands "If…this was different, if I had a way, I would kill her myself…" She whispered, seeming almost to forget that Phaedra was here with her for a moment, that anyone was. She was so disorientated, haunted by anger and fear, it was likely nothing could reach her for very long "That's how sure I am"

"No, Alaine" Haeromos knew, though, and he shot Phaedra a dark glare as he leaned close to the girl. "You mustn't think like that. She would only kill you too, and then the horror of Ember would be complete. Leave it to the courts, I'm confident they'll find her guilty and then this will all be over" Phaedra's heart ached, watching…how had she ever allowed herself to laugh, to let go, when this awaited her? When such horror existed simply because Garius was utterly obsessed with claiming her?

"Over?" Alaine blinked, shaking her head. "It won't bring them back. They're gone…"

"That's enough" Haeromos decided suddenly, giving Alaine another anxious glance "I should never have allowed this, this girl has suffered more than enough already. And when you come only to rub salt in her wounds…"

"Whatever you may believe…" Sand stood his ground though, even as Phaedra shrank back from his condemnation "This young woman is innocent, and we came here in order to prove it. I assure you, this talk mattered greatly in our case…it was very enlightening" Phaedra felt a stab of relief that Sand had made some sense of what Alaine was saying and seemed to think it was helpful, but then a rush of shame followed that she should be glad to have put Alaine through such torment. Ever since…last night out in the forest, and the strange dreams she'd had, scarcely half-remembered, her feelings seemed to be scarcely under her control, as though she were a harp plucked by an unseen hand.

"If there is any justice in the world, you'll hang beside her, elf" Haeromos spat "All of you, get out of here…I won't have you here near her anymore. And though you may wander this village as suits your 'purpose', be warned that you are watched. One wrong move, murderer, and Luskan's trial won't matter anymore" He stepped up to Alaine, took her by the shoulder "I'm sorry to have put you through this, Alaine" He murmured, infinitely more gentle.

"Alaine, I'm going now, okay?" Shandra was almost crying, but she kept her trembling voice under control as she parted with her friend, who still looked lost, reaching out for a moment to Shandra like an abandoned child, before she glanced back at Haeromos and submitted meekly to his light push on her shoulder. "I'll see you again, Alaine, promise?"

"Shandra, I don't understand…" Alaine shook her head, glancing back as she walked away under Haeromos' lead back toward her secure room at the back of the mayor's headquarters "I don't understand any of this" And as Phaedra and Sand and Shandra filed silently out of the building, it was that last plaintive cry that stayed with her more than anything else. Alaine's mind was broken…and Phaedra, feeling the hot trickle of single tear slide down her cheek, wondered suddenly how long it would take, how much she could bear, before the same happened to her. Already things seemed to be slipping away from her, slipping through her fingers, out of her control…

Bishop…it had been him at first, or at least her response to him; a need she still struggled to understand. But from the beginning he'd been the one in control, and the more time she spent with him, the less her feelings seemed her own. And then too there'd been the invasion of infernal magic, utterly beyond any control of her own, added to the weight of the shard on her chest that had burdened her with destiny. Yet there was something else now, something growing upon her heart and mind, a place inside her she was only beginning to become conscious of, where there were only shadows, and half-remembered whispers. She had heard its call, that whisper that had such a seductive power to move her, as she drifted on the edge of sleep last night, and from then on there was no doubt of its existence. But what frightened her far more than that was that as it had called, she had given in. And as it had gripped hold of her, she had let go…and let it have her, pliant and compliant in its grasp. Then, where it had taken her she dared not even try to remember, but that thought stayed with her, that she had given in, that she had allowed it.

ooo0000ooo

Port Llast was in uproar, and in the tavern where she now sat that was coming most closely to a head, but then again Neeshka had seen plenty of provincial villages in uproar, what was another one on that list? These places were all the same, everyone knew everything about everyone else and took it upon themselves to poke their noses just as deep into your business if you happened to be passing through. Of course they never bothered to get past what was on the surface anyway, one glance and they thought they had you all figured out, oh roll out the stake, let's burn the witch-girl. And since in their puny village everything was so desperately simple they assumed that the whole world worked the same way, that if you were a thief you were just simply a bad person, that if you'd had to knife a couple of people to survive that it was your fault and you had to pay the price, so why don't we just get started right here? But the thing was they weren't any different from people in the city, they just didn't have the gold to fight so dirty. So they did it by word of mouth, gossip, whispered words, scandal…meanwhile half of them were knee-deep in the kind of corruption they so virtuously avoided out in the open. Like that one head of that village back down past the Mere…oh he'd been so proud of his words, justice, holiness, righteousness when they'd caught her nabbing a couple of gold just to feed herself, then once he'd had her alone…well, as those kind of words always did, it didn't last past the door. He wasn't too fussy not to want a go, not to have her up against the wall with a dagger at her neck, and his hot hands fumbling at her breasts. But she always had a knife spare, and that time it had been the one in her sleeve, she'd managed to work it out and stab him through the eye. Phaedra…let her live through that, and not once…but over and over again her whole life, then maybe she would understand, then maybe she could judge.

Cursing, Neeshka drained a draught of the bitter ale here, terrible stuff. Phaedra didn't understand, she couldn't see, no one could, past the smiles, the glib comments that were as much an armour as that she wore upon her back, as much a protection, a shadow, as the hood she wore up against her horns. Phaedra had saved her from those Guards back in Old Owl Well (no, she hadn't forgotten even if Phaedra had), and then from the day on she'd always treated Neeshka like a person, even after that paladin had been at her from the start, and damn that was a rarity. They'd been friends, they were still friends. But sometimes, when Phaedra wasn't around, Neeshka secretely hated her. It was still a startling admission to herself, because really all she wanted was Phaedra to want to be her friend, as she so easily slipped into being with that new girl, that farmer, Shandra. But Phaedra was too good for a tiefling sneak-thief. Of course it wasn't that, Phaedra wasn't like that at all, Neeshka just tried to tell herself that because the truth, the real truth, was even worse. And that truth was that Phaedra had forgotten her, because Neeshka wasn't any use to her, wasn't any use to any of them. Why should Phaedra bother to even remember her when she wasn't a fighter like Khelgar, or a tracker like Bishop, or even had the blood they needed to get into this Haven like Shandra did? She just hung around because she'd been there from the beginning, a loose end.

And it hurt her every time, and it hurt even more every time she looked at bright, glowing Phaedra and felt the Hells burning inside her. If she was Hells-burdened, and Neeshka didn't care what that wizard said, it was inside her, why was she still so beautiful? Damn it, it wasn't fair! It had been a long time since Neeshka had tried to convince herself last that life simply wasn't fair and she had to just get by with what she had. But every time Bishop watched Phaedra like a circling hawk, every time Casavir knelt at her feet, every time that Marshal came around desperately begging for scraps, Neeshka thought of the men in her own life, a catalogue of men who had used her, beaten her, broken her…in the end none had cared to see she was anything but a demon. If she'd been beautiful like Phaedra from the beginning, then being good would be easy. But she wasn't and she was a quarter devil, and so she'd had to steal and murder, and there'd never been a man to look after her, to catch her when she fell by the wayside. She'd had to pick herself up from the blood and the grime every time.

"Penny for your thoughts, fiendling?" Khelgar…slowly Neeshka turned to see the dwarf clambering up onto the next barstool, fresh from a couple of tankards and a punch-up. She'd have laughed at his efforts, but she didn't feel like it right now.

"It's nothing" She said quickly, drawing her hood closer around her face in case any of those creeps at the other side of the bar fancied a closer look at one of only two women in attendence at the inn.

"It's him, isn't it?" Khelgar leaned in to catch her attention. Neeshka glared at him, hellfire in her eyes but no dwarf who faced up to quite so many angry drunkards was ever going to be intimidated by that. And, as strange as that might have seemed in the beginning, these days she and Khelgar shared a kind of understanding, maybe even a kind of friendship. They'd both been here from the start, after all, and though Phaedra found that kind of thing easy to forget, she and Khelgar still remembered it. But unfortunately that did mean he was able to read her quite well, within his limited capabilities. It was hopeless trying to pretend that she wasn't troubled, and his rather knowing smile showed her that he'd seen through her anger "That ranger…" The dwarf continued gleefully "This is all about him"

"You're even stupider than I thought, stumpy, if that's the best you can come up with" Neeshka answered huffily. Unable to stop herself, she glanced towards the back of the inn, across the bar and down near the fireplace…Bishop was there, sat alone at one of the rough tables, a flagon set in front of him from which he drank briefly, before laying it down once again. Though the inn was heaving, no one came near him. No one dared to. The way he laid out from that first predatory glare, and in every following motion, his territory, commanded his environment effortlessly…it was something that had always fascinated her. No one ever messed with Bishop.

"Ha…you're staring again, fiendling" Khelgar reported, amused. She tore her eyes from Bishop and shot him another glare, disgusted by his obvious laughter. "Sooner or later he's going to look back here and then what are you going to do?"

"Just shut up" Neeshka snapped bitterly, trying unsuccessfully to screen him out by taking another swig of her ale. That was another thing about villages, they brewed awful ale.

"Careful, lass…and I mean that" Khelgar shook his head, his voice suddenly and infuriatingly serious. "He's a bad one"

"I said shut it, barrel-horse" Neeshka growled. It was practically a joke, though she wasn't about to laugh, him thinking he could teach her anything important, and about that of all things! She'd known plenty of bad men already, and they'd left their marks, some of them anyway. But after all that she knew well how to handle them, how to not let them get on top of her. She wasn't about to lose it again, and not for him either.

"Besides it's clear who he already has the hots for" Khelgar glanced up at the roof innocently. Neeshka tensed instantly, her knuckles white upon the grubby bar.

"Oh you mean Phaedra?" She whirled on him, snarling "Is that what you mean?" Of course he did, and of course she knew already. Bishop was after Phaedra. And she'd already realised that he'd never settle for anything less. But that didn't stop her wanting Bishop…wanting him to look at her the way he had when Phaedra lay dying between them, wanted him to speak to her again as he had then, like she was the only one who understood as he did what a joke the rest of this party was. And she knew it was only because Phaedra had been dying that he'd bothered to even look at her, since then it was like she hadn't existed for him just like for everybody else. Phaedra couldn't handle him, look at the way she played with him, like a little girl, while at the same time keeping Casavir at arm's length. He was the one really pulling the strings, and sooner or later he'd get what he wanted, and Phaedra would end up badly hurt. It was for Phaedra's good if he found someone else… "Why aren't you talking to her then?" She glared at Khelgar sullenly when he didn't even care to answer.

"She's already got the paladin and the elf…" Khelgar shrugged "Doesn't need me on her back as well"

"So I've got you then?" Neeshka settled back into her seat, with a bitter smile "Lucky me" But secretely she was actually strangely pleased that someone, at least, cared enough to offer her this kind of advice. Look at Phaedra, after all, she had Elanee, Shandra, Casavir…all trying to make sure she made the right choices and still she chased after Bishop.

"Hells, it's better than nobody watching your back, fiendling" Khelgar muttered. "Anyway…" He took a swig from his own tankard, then gave the whole tavern a cursory glance "As I recall it, we're supposed to be watching the tavern until they get here. See anything yet…apart from the ranger, of course?"

"I'm waiting for Sand" Neeshka answered casually, though inwardly she kind of hated leaving anything to the snooty wizard. He thought he knew everything, thought he had everything figured out, but when this trial came around it would be the people who mattered, the people who decided. And Neeshka was the only true citizen of Neverwinter among them. She was the only one who knew how its people really thought. "Doesn't matter to me, I can't see anything he'd want here anyway"

"So…another round then, fiendling?" He said nonchalantly "If you've got stomach enough for it?"

"Sure as the Hells I do" Neeshka grinned fiercely. Yes, another drink and maybe this ale wouldn't start to taste quite so bitter, and neither would the fierce pain of knowing that Bishop hadn't so much as looked at her since they'd entered the tavern, hadn't so much as stirred from where he sat, waiting, and knowing as she did exactly who he was waiting for…and why….

Ooo0000ooo

Port Llast's sole inn, a pleasant sea-side building, was oddly subdued when Phaedra, Sand and Shandra entered that evening. It lacked the Flagon's easy-going bustle, and what few conversations were had were held over hushed tables where exhausted farm-hands played listless games of chance. Perhaps the tragedy at Ember yet overshadowed the village too, and merriment felt inappropriate, or perhaps the village was simply a more stern place than Neverwinter, much like West Harbour had been. Either way, the inn's quietness suited Phaedra's mood. Elanee and Casavir had arrived just before her, Shandra and Sand, but she scarcely heard as they described their encounter with a merchant and Casavir's resolve to cleanse Ember of the possibility of undead, nor did she truly listen as Sand told them of Alaine, how he believed that her testimony would be the lynch-pin to the Luskan prosecution. If they were to win, Sand suggested, they should have to discredit her account somehow; the means to do so must await them at Ember itself. A part of Phaedra knew she should be taking charge of this, trying to direct the investigation, but these thoughts were dull and sluggish, weak, with scarcely any power. Alaine had deeply unsettled her, she understood now that she had scarcely grasped the horror of what had occurred in Ember, it had been too distant, too horrible, until she'd looked in Alaine's eyes.

It was dark already by the time the discussion was finished, a fact that distantly surprised her…but it seemed that Sand had arranged, and paid for, accommodation for tonight in the inn. He retired quickly with some sniffy comment on the quality of the inn, followed soon by Casavir and Elanee, even Shandra. Phaedra promised them she would be up soon after them, but she felt little desire to sleep knowing that the achingly compelling dreams of shadows in the night and a voice that haunted her even now would follow. The question remained, and it was not one she wished to visit but it still haunted her, were these dreams simply a reaction to her fear of Garius, something within herself, or was he really present within her mind? She closed her eyes briefly, Lathander protect her…

"Waiting up for me, eh?" Ah…Bishop was here. She felt him at her back, and briefly touched her forehead, searching for some kind of focus before she turned to face him. "I'm touched"

"What do you want Bishop?" She turned slowly, met his burning gaze. He looked slightlyrestless, as he always did when confined within walls. But it was clear he wanted something. Phaedra tensed. She may have fooled around with him on the way to Port Llast, maybe even allowed the both of them to think...well...something she shouldn't have. But after Alaine...she now knew...there was no time for such levity. Not anymore, not after Ember...

"There's someone in here I'd like you to meet, princess" He leaned in covertly. "A favour, if you like…maybe the beginning of you paying back what I'm owed" The shock was enough to shake her momentarily from the weight of her thoughts, Bishop asking her for a favour…to meet someone in this tavern? Bishop actually knew people? Aside from her and Duncan?

"Who?" She stared at him. "Why?"

"Doesn't matter" He grinned, he was looking forward to this, she realised, whatever it was. "Just keep quiet and try to look pretty. She'll just love that…"

"Wait…" She began to protest, but the words died in her throat, when suddenly and with the same perfunctory directness with which he might have approached the skinning of an animal, he reached forward and seized her about the waist with one arm. She jumped with shock, every muscle in her body tensing as she attempted to tear instinctively away from him, but her efforts were as useless as those of a deer clasped in the jaws of a wolf, for he simply pulled her effortlessly up against him, jamming her between the iron grasp of his arm about her waist and the hard unyielding surface of his armour. The action was, in fact, deeply functional, there was actually no sense of desire about it. But Phaedra wasn't about to care what exactly he wanted, this was way too far, even for him! She tensed to try to pull away again, about to snap at him…

"Oh, calm down, princess" He growled roughly at her before she could speak "She just needs to get the right idea about you and me, don't you want to work your little debt off?" He didn't wait for an answer, but nonetheless Phaedra found herself letting him step forward with a shocking lack of courtesy or any kind of concern for the way she was jammed there in a deeply uncomfortable position, both for her sore dignity and for her aching shoulder, jammed tight against his chest. Well, perhaps it was for the best if she could get around that debt…she didn't exactly like it hanging around there, and this, though uncomfortable, wasn't half as bad as some of the things she could imagine him demanding. And she was a little curious as to what exactly he wanted to do with her hanging off his arm like an ill-bred young lady of questionable morals. At least when she was him, like this, none of the men around them, drunken or no, dared to proposition her in the kind of excruciating ways she'd had to endure so far. So she submitted to his graceless direction as he walked her through the thronging crowd gathering in the tavern, back towards the warm glow of the fire. It was then she noticed someone who fitted in as uneasily as she and her friends did in the jovial crowds of the tavern. A woman, standing just by the fire and staring into it thoughtfully. She was a half-elf, that was interesting enough in itself, but she also wore rough leather armour that hung close to thin, rather bony shoulders, and across her back was a shortbow that was as roughly crafted as Bishop's. And, though she was pretty, and women scarce in the tavern, not one of the drunken men approached within the glow of the fire about her. She was clearly some sort of ranger, or at least practiced in wandering the wilderness. There had to be some kind of connection. She shot Bishop another brief glare. As he found the young woman with his eyes, a devious smile, promising that he intended to find this deeply satisfying, touched the edges of his lips, and he also rather roughly pulled her even closer up against him, scarcely glancing at her as he did so. There was to be no doubt, it seemed…what kind of relationship he intended this woman to see them in.

"Malin!" He hailed her mockingly when they were close enough in a voice that Phaedra recognised all too well as Bishop at his most sarcastic and biting. The woman turned instantly, tensing as though scalded when her gaze snapped to Bishop in front of her. To Phaedra, she barely shot a second glance. No…she was drawn inexorably to Bishop, her gaze hard as rock and sharp as needles. She was pretty, Phaedra thought again, with her cropped auburn hair, and the sleek beauty of an elf in the sweeping curves of her face. Or, at least…she would have been pretty had she not have been looking at Bishop with utmost loathing and disgust. Oh…Phaedra should have known. She really should have known. "Still playing girl-of-the-wood, eh?" The ranger taunted.

"Bishop" Malin spat, rather than said, his name "I was wondering when you'd drag your sorry carcass back to Port Llast"

"Ah, so she waited for me" Bishop leant in to Phaedra, with an unsettling lurch that might have suggested he was drunk but which she, feeling, the practiced tense and release of his muscles close to her, realised was entirely feigned. "How touching" As Malin's sniffed disgustedly, he shot her another glance, and a mocking smile "Then again, it's not like she could have tracked me even if she'd wanted to"

"Who's your new mistress Bishop?" Malin at last looked at Phaedra, and there was such contempt in her gaze that Phaedra felt herself flush instantly. She thought…she really thought…that Phaedra…oh Gods curse this. How did she end up in this situation? How had she been so stupid? "I didn't think any woman could break you, but maybe you were lying about that too"

"And maybe you just couldn't handle me" Bishop sneered "But enough about ancient history" He gave the half-elf girl another assessing glance, then leaned in, leering "I don't think I've properly introduced the two of you yet" He leaned on Phaedra again, bent his head close to her ear. The act was so convincing that she could almost smell the alcohol on his breath…oh wait…that was most likely real enough. "Say hello princess" He urged "Come on, be polite. This little slip of a half-elf girl almost got me and herself killed several times over scouting the Luskan border. That deserves a little credit, at least…"

"As much as I long to remember those days, I'll forgo the pleasure, thanks" Malin tossed her head dismissively.

"But, Malin…the pleasure would be all mine, believe me" Bishop grinned "Say, why don't we invite Malin upstairs with us? For old time's sake? You don't mind sharing, do you, darling?" Phaedra blanched at that, she just couldn't help it. Just how disgusting Bishop could be escaped her sometimes…but Malin didn't seem to see anyway. She'd already clearly decided what Phaedra was…and that was beneath her notice.

"And here I thought you couldn't sink any lower" She snapped "Thank you for coming all this way to remind me Bishop"

"Such sweet words, Malin…" Bishop shrugged unsteadily, raising a hand to his heart "Why, the memories they conjure…nights under the stars, you panting like a bitch…"

"Shut up, Bishop, or I swear I will knife you!" Malin screamed, suddenly losing all of her straining control. Phaedra flinched back, almost slipping from Bishop's grasp, but that at the last moment he caught hold of her again, not that he looked at her at all either way. His gaze, suddenly cool and calm, was fixed upon Malin, and it was clear he was taking in every detail: the way her hands were suddenly clenched at her sides, the way her chest rose and fall in the aftermath of that outburst, the tears glistening in the edge of her eyelashes, rage and pain alike. Gods…what had he done to her? What lay between them? Phaedra wished desperately that she'd never got involved.

"And you're still trying to handle things too big for you" Bishop said, and his voice was no longer mocking, but cold and hard as steel "You know as well as I do that you couldn't touch me with that knife…"

"Just…go Bishop" Malin turned away, her voice suddenly deadly quiet, raising a hand to her face as she gazed back into the fire. "Just go…"

"Bishop!" Phaedra snapped suddenly before he could reply. "That is enough!" She was too late, far too late, but it had taken her this long to work up the courage to act finally, put a stop to this revolting spectacle. He looked down at her …and so did Malin. There was sudden shock in Malin's eyes, thinly-veiled insolence in his…

"You're right" Bishop said coolly "The past's starting to stink" He pulled her away, with a rough step forward that gave little heed to her discomfort as they walked back across the inn. She glanced back at Malin briefly as they walked away, and saw that the young ranger was still watching them. The shock in her eyes had given way to something else, consideration perhaps, or concern, but then she was gone behind another group of the inn's subdued patrons. It was then that Phaedra realised she should be furious with Bishop. She tore from his grasp instantly, there and then, knowing it was in fact him that let her go, then whirled around to face him once again.

"What in the Hells was that, Bishop?" She snarled at once, desperate to regain some kind of control over the situation. She'd been so shocked by the encounter with Malin that it had only just hit her that Bishop had actually used her for a cheap shot against an ex-girlfriend. Her voice was so shrill, though, that some of the the men around them instantly fell silent, except for one or two who gave lewd and deeply infuriating chuckles, as if they knew exactly what was going on here, a lover's spat or some other such nonsense. And Malin might still be watching…also Neeshka and Khelgar were still about here somewhere, she didn't want them to see this. "That...display?" She snapped, her voice a savage whisper.

"That was for your own good" Bishop glanced down at her, unapologetic "And for hers too, more than likely" Phaedra blinked, with a growing frustration. He was going to have to work hard to explain that one! "Malin's desperate…" He continued "She was still waiting for me to come back. Now she knows better, and believe me she's better off that way"

"I doubt she'd see it that way" Phaedra remarked coldly. "It seemed to me like you were rubbing salt in her wounds because you enjoyed it"

"Yeah, I enjoyed it" Bishop shrugged, as though there was nothing wrong with that. "Because she deserved everything she got"

"I don't care what she did, or you did" Phaedra snapped "But it became my business when you used me like that, for some cheap shot against her. And, frankly, I don't appreciate any of it. Do you have any respect for me at all?"

"You get what you earn, princess" He answered lazily, and she felt a snap of utter rage at him. He was so irritating! After she'd thought on the journey here that she might just have got through to him in some small way, now he suggested openly that she was not entitled to the basest respect! Why could he get under her skin so easily? If it were anyone else, she might be able to just shrug his teasing off, but him...he frustrated her so much!

"Oh really?" She challenged. "And why exactly haven't I earned the right to be treated as more than one of your..." She struggled for a word to express her annoyance, which rather diluted the effect she was trying to have "Conquests?"

"Rather forward of you to ask that, don't you think?" Bishop sneered "Don't ask questions if you're not going to like the answers"

"No" She stood her ground "I deserve an explanation, I deserve the truth"

"Well, that's rich, coming from you" Bishop laughed sarcastically, cruelly. He leaned forward and took her arm in his rough grasp once again. She glared at him, but they both knew that if he really wanted there was no way she could pry herself loose from him. "Come on then, princess" He dared "If that's the way you want to play it let's get out of this shithole for a while. We could take a walk, you and me, and see what we can come up with" She hesitated one brief moment, remembering the last time they had wandered out into the night together. Against her better judgement he had convinced her of something that she still wasn't sure had been her brightest idea, that she was better off with him along for the ride. But this time she had her guard up, she wouldn't be so easily manipulated. And besides it would be better to have this conversation in private. Malin might still be able to hear them, and she was sure one or two of the patrons nearby were listening in. In private, she might be able to pin Bishop down a little better if he had no one else to impress, like she had back in the woods before he turned the tables on her.

"Fine" She said, as though it mattered little to her either way. This time, when they moved, though, she forced herself to the front, and made sure it was her who took the lead on the way to the door. Bishop seemed content to follow, so long as his clasp upon her arm remained secure, and he was quite close enough to her as the inn allowed. He seemed amused by her jostling, but he didn't say anything, which suited her just fine, thank you.

Pushing open the door, she was met by a burst of cool air, that swept over the fetid swelter of alcohol, sweat and heat that had so oppressed her within the inn. She hadn't realised quite how stuffy it was inside there, and, as the cool, hale breeze, washed over her, sending her hair dancing over face, she felt a sudden, strange sense of freedom. Perhaps it was nothing more than getting out of the sad, empty bar, with the oppressive heat of the fire and the weight of sorrow and the sour taste of poor alcohol and wasted dreams, none of which were heavier than her own despair had been as she had contemplated Ember there. Or perhaps it was Bishop. She would die rather than admit it, but that show, that charade, with Malin...it had got her so shaken up with anger that she'd been forced out of the listless despair that had overtaken her as she had contemplated what Amie had told her, and the dark sign of Garius that had so disturbed her. Even now, as they crossed her mind, she felt a momentary shudder run through her, but it passed quickly, as she felt Bishop's warm vital clasp about her arm, and reminded herself that she had business with him and not to forget it.

Port Llast was slumbering now, dark, silent and still, and Phaedra decided she preferred the little village under the night. Without the bustle, it seemed...smaller, and without the judging gazes, the whispers, the shadow of suspicion that had hung over the place during the day, the silence welcomed her. It reminded her of West Harbour far more now, with the rows of the humble cottages still and silent, as they might be now in the Mere. Down near the docks, the sea washed against the floor, the tide's steady hum and the heady scent of the sea drenched the village. The glassy, glossy black water glistened as the silver moonlight danced in glimmers over its surface. Phaedra found her anger draining away...it was quite beautiful.

"You had something to say, princess?" And there it was again, that rough drawl with its twinge of mockery at her ear. She turned to Bishop huffily, resigned to being annoyed by him, despite the chance she might have had to have a moment of peace out here.

"Yes I did" She said firmly "You seem to have some problem with what I'm doing here in Port Llast, and I want to know what exactly it is that so demeans that you can't even give me the respect due to a..." Again she struggled, she'd been about to say friend, but wondered too late if it was truly accurate. How exactly could she qualify her relationship with Bishop? "Companion, and, let's not forget, one you chose to follow here"

"Well, aren't you demanding?" Bishop answered coolly "Pity you can't ever muster the same backbone for the wizard"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Phaedra snapped. Bring Sand into this...typical, after they'd already argued back in Neverwinter. She should have realised the wizard had something to do with it. They'd had a personality clash, most likely, she could see how the urbane, sophisticated elf would set off the worst in Bishop. "Is this all because you don't like Sand...seems to me as though me you don't like anyone so why he should be special..."

"He's nothing special" Bishop spat, suddenly looking annoyed at last. "Just another elf on an ego trip, you seem to pick them up two a penny."

"So then what is it?" Phaedra savoured the rush of fury rather gracelessly. Though she knew it was wrong, she was glad she'd made him angry. At least they were on the same footing.

"This, all of this..." Bishop growled "Coming to this village, trying to connect the dots like this is some kind of game you're playing with that wizard. It sure as the Hells doesn't look like a game from where I'm standing. Luskan wants you dead, and they're not going to play by any damned rules. Didn't what happened in that vigil teach you anything?" Phaedra shuddered at the reminder of that dreadful night, but, fighting through it, she felt another surge of frustration with Bishop. Fine for him to complain and gripe about Sand's strategies, but since when had he offered anything helpful? Besides what did he know what Sand had done for her?

"And I suppose you have a better idea, do you?" Phaedra tossed her hair.

"Yeah I do" Bishop replied, abruptly tugging on her arm as he moved away from the inn door. She scampered on the uneven ground to keep up, not wanting to suffer the indignity of being pulled along by the ranger. He ground to an abrupt halt under the inn's terrace, out of earshot of the uneven noise from the tavern door. It was darker here, only the silver moonlight streaking over the both of them gave its uneven, uneasy light to the scene. It made Bishop seem that much more sinister. But she wasn't going to back down. Bishop, though, remained sullenly silent, gazing down at her with his tawny eyes glinting until she could bear it no longer and spoke up.

"So what is it?" She demanded "Your better idea?"

"Skip all this trial crap" Bishop answered brusquely. "Just take the fight direct to them, kill the ambassador."

"Excuse me?" Phaedra blinked. Even from him, that was shocking. Kill Torio...even if she...even if it were even possible, in the midst of Neverwinter, with all eyes upon her, she couldn't do it. She knew he would find it ridiculous if she began to express her misgivings, but there was a difference between killing someone who attacked you on the field when you had no choice but to respond, and the premeditated, planned assassination he suggested. Torio was an evil woman, and Phaedra would have had no hesitation killing her as she had Ajah when the apprentice had attacked if Torio behaved like Ajah had. Before his brute pragmatism she knew her scruples would look ridiculous, even hypocritical, making such a distinction when she knew she had blood on her hands, but all she knew was that she could not sink to that level.

"Why not?" Bishop shrugged "They tried it first, don't forget" Solace Glade...she had no doubt those assassins had been sent by Torio. But still...she could not respond in kind. Besides she would be breaking Neverwinter law if she killed Torio, and she'd never have the chance to prove the truth about this charge. It would most likely look more like she was guilty of Ember's slaughter if she took such a drastic step. She'd be exiled, forced from the city, if she escaped at all. Even if she fled back to West Harbour, Luskan would be entitled to demand that Neverwinter track her down, and they'd check the village first no doubt. It might never be safe to go home again. She'd be on the run for the rest of her life and she'd never have another chance of clearing her name, protecting herself, or getting any closer in solving any of the mysteries that still remained. "It's the only language Luskan will understand, trust me"

"It won't work, it won't solve anything" Phaedra sighed, she didn't feel angry anymore. The consideration that Bishop's dramatic proposal brought with it were too pensive, too heavy, for her to sustain her childish, almost amusing, rapport with him. "I'd be exiled from Neverwinter, I'd never be able to go home..."

"Who says we have to solve anything?" Bishop leaned in towards her, he was still holding onto her arm, and his grasp suddenly tightened, pulling her slightly closer. She looked sideways up at him, and felt a sudden rush cleanly wipe away the thoughtfulness and sense of self-possession she'd momentarily grasped. No, she promised herself, she wouldn't be taken in, not again. She'd admitted to Elanee she found him attractive. And it was true, she did, and never more than in moments like this, when he lowered his voice to that husky growl, and there were barely more than inches between her, and his heated body. And that was natural, but it didn't need to blur her judgement. Just hold on, Phaedra, keep a clear head. "The world's a big place, princess" Bishop grinned wolfishly, showing his teeth "Plenty of space outside of Neverwinter."

"What's your point?" Phaedra answered, the somewhat exaggerated casualness she put up to mask her unease only ended up coming out as somewhat strained. Or worse, overtly flirtatious. Curse it, why couldn't she do anything right?

"If you don't want to waste time in the court, you could just run from this" Bishop suggested slyly. "And you and I could go find some hidden trail somewhere and just camp out for a year or two, let things blow over" Oh Gods, how embarrassing...how mortifying, Phaedra shrank back in shock, flushing to the roots of her hair. It was very clear what he meant by such an offer. He'd never been quite so brusque, so forward with his intentions before, well not since she'd let him come along. It left her no coyness, no pretended ignorance of his intentions to hide behind. But she rallied her forces of self-possession, reminding herself that Bishop was most likely teasing her, just trying to put her on edge for his own amusement. If she could respond with some witty jibe, she could pretend it meant as little to her as it likely did to him. Now, she just needed to think of something clever to say...

"Please, I've had quite enough of your snide comments" Oh Gods...she was terrible at this. What did that even mean?

"I'm curious" He said slowly "If it wasn't a snide comment, if it was an offer, what would you say?" She paused. As a purely academic exercise she found her mind wandering; what would it be like, to be out in the unnamed, untamed wilds, living each day off nothing more than what you could catch by your own skill, beholden to nothing and no one? Bishop knew. She imagined that you faced few of the worries of her life, there was no way Luskan would reach her if she roamed far enough from Neverwinter. And...she felt a deep, painful icy pang of fear in her heart could she not escape Garius in such a way too? But she was avoiding it, this was Bishop offering. What he was asking, not truly seriously she had no doubt, but still, was to be with him as Malin had...she couldn't stop herself imagining it. Perhaps each day would be like the contest they'd had, hunting, shooting, laughing, bickering, completely free of any burden...and at night, to return to a campfire and be alone with nothing but the darkness of the forest stretching out around them...entirely alone, for it was very clear that this was not an offer to anyone else in the group. Of course she could never ever say yes to any such thing...but... Flushing again, she withdrew against the wall. She wondered if the complex set of feelings the idea awoke in her showed on her face, for Bishop was still looking at her intently, though there was the hint of a smile on his lips, as though something he saw pleased him secretly.

"I'm sure we'd drive each other mad after a few days" She attempted some small levity in response. The truth was, even if she was comfortable with the idea, of course she wouldn't have been able to leave the others. Besides, she wasn't the type of person who could just leave all of Neverwinter behind, and the strange hints of a larger plot that were coalescing together as she traced its footprints on her life. Even if she tried to flee, with Bishop or without him, she'd never be able to leave that truth behind, or her friends, or the memory of West Harbour, or the shard in her chest, or the taint in her magic. Hadn't Garius told her that the taint would consume her if she did not find any help? Sand was her only hope to escape it, and she couldn't take a chance on that. "Look Bishop" She began cautiously "I'm sure you're very good at what you do, but...it's not me, I'm not that kind of person."

"We're all animals, princess" Bishop said softly "We all want freedom. Some of us are just more honest about it than others"

"Well we can't always get what we want" Phaedra replied instantly.

"Can't we?" Bishop raised an eyebrow. Phaedra swallowed, goodness he was about as subtle as some particularly blunt instrument to the head, and relentless about it too. Her composure was as shattered as her pride, as she looked back into his burning tawny eyes and felt herself slowly drown. She was quite out of her depth. What could she do? He smiled roguishly, and she felt the chord of some silent communication run between them, though he hadn't moved he suddenly felt impossibly close to her. "So are you admitting you want it, then?"

"No!" Phaedra squealed, leaping back and hitting her back hard against the wall in her haste to escape. Typical, so typical that he should take that from all this. She hadn't meant anything she said to be interpreted that way. "Of course not..." Stumbling on her words didn't help her cause, and he only seemed amused by her struggle. "I didn't meant that, Bishop...I..." She didn't know what to say. It would be a lie to suggest she hadn't briefly considered the offer, purely abstractly of course, but...she was never going to do it. Wanting it was quite different, it implied...troubling things. She'd admitted something to Elanee, and to herself, but she didn't want to open the door to what it might mean for her and for Bishop on a deeper level. Perhaps she wanted the idea of the freedom Bishop offered, but she wasn't considering the...side of his offer that was far more intimate, the heady implications in his questions. Or was she? She couldn't tell.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" Bishop was toying with her, she knew. But she couldn't help but fall for him, every time. There had to be something she could say, some way she could strike back. "I'll bear that in mind next time we have the chance for a little talk, princess" Bishop inclined his head to Phaedra mockingly "But right now I could use some more ale before I freeze my arse off out here." She flushed again at his coarseness, but he barely noticed. Why should he, after the humiliation she'd already put herself through? Gods, seeing him tomorrow would be unbearable. Right now she just wished he would go to the bar and drink himself into a stupor so she could go to bed and forget about the whole thing. "Unless you're coming...?" He offered, and Phaedra emphatically shook her head. Shrugging, he stepped off the terrace, and loped over to the bar door, moving through the shadows and moonlight with casual ease and with Phaedra's eyes always upon him. As he opened the door the flickering firelight fell over his face and a hint of something predatory and darkly triumphant flickered over his features and Phaedra wondered at it, but then he stepped into the light and was gone. He left Phaedra deeply unsettled, and as she leaned back against the wall she remembered that he had diverted her so completely that she'd forgotten to even ask about Malin and what had made the other ranger quite so disgusted by the sight of him. She doubted she'd have gotten a straight answer, but it would have been nice if she could have remembered to employ at least one thing that just might have put him off edge for a moment. But she hadn't, and Bishop had won again. Still, as she slunk back to the door in his wake, trailing the tattered threads of her dignity, she filed the question away to deploy when he least expected it. Next time, next time she would do better, next time she'd expect him to fire some low blow, next time he wouldn't be able to pull the rug out from under her so completely. Sure, some cynical part of her whispered, employing one of Retta Starling's many proverbs to devastating effect 'when chickens grow teeth'.


	52. Chapter 52

_After a longer break than usual, here's my next chapter! I didn't accomplish quite as much as I wanted to in this chapter, but real life, in the form of a week-long break (very good for my mental health, not so much for story health) has intervened and I thought I better put it up now rather than keep anyone waiting any longer. _

_Thanks to Conrack and wildgrape for the helpful reviews, and to Gaspode, idiotwhocantthinkofapenname, Minxie, slyfoxxy and voltagelisa for regular feedback. _

_Usual Bishop-watchers, this one's for you too! _

* * *

Morning found Phaedra lingering distractedly in the room she'd shared with Shandra that night. What a curious, disconcerting set of affairs she had encountered last night. Unfortunately she couldn't shed the thought, the lingering discomfort, of what Bishop had forced her to admit. Right now she was very reluctant to move downstairs where she knew Bishop would be. She had no doubt he would glance at her, and smile secretly, mockingly as though he knew something significant when in fact he'd just tricked some idiotic slip of her tongue from her. Sitting on her bed, she lowered her chin into her hands thoughtfully…it had been so quick, that these men had changed from being simply friends, or in Bishop's case a severe annoyance, to the centre of a drama that threatened to spill over even her concentration on the fundamental focus of her mission to clear her name. Bevil had been the first, now she thought about it, then there'd been Cormick…now Bishop…and Casavir. She wondered if Bishop thought she had refused his offer because of the paladin. If so she wasn't about to hear the end of it. In truth, though, she wasn't entirely sure whether she had or not. She briefly tried to imagine Casavir suggesting that she run away with him, trying to gauge what exactly she would have said to him in a similar situation…but the image was almost absurd. Casavir would never do anything of the sort.

Frustrated, she stood up momentarily from her bed, smoothing down the simple white dress she'd used as a nightgown last night, then realised it wasn't really viable to pace thoughtfully up and down this tiny two-person room with a single bunk-bed crushed into the wall. Thankfully Shandra was off having a quick morning bath right now or there'd be little more than the space for her to stand. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to disguise her unease from her friend any longer either, Shandra had probably already sensed that something was off when she'd come back last night in a daze, barely speaking until they were both asleep. And Shandra was also the most likely to guess it had something to do with Bishop. This was the problem with telling little lies, soon they took root and you had to tell another one, then another, in order to protect yourself from the first lie. Soon she wasn't going to be able to keep track of who believed what about Bishop and her. She didn't even know what she believed, in fact…

She jumped out of her skin the moment there was a knock on the door…it had to be Shandra. Gods, Phaedra…she would know right away that something was on her mind if Phaedra came to the door in this state. Nervously she padded over to the door, the more she worried about how she looked the more worried she knew she was looking which made her even more worried. Three steps to the door and she knew she resembled a first-order nervous wreck. And how much more so when she pulled open the door and it wasn't actually Shandra standing there.

"May I come in a moment?" Malin, Bishop's former lover and partner, requested nervously, after a moment of uncomfortable silence in which Phaedra simply stared at her, utterly astounded, and she looked back with clear discomfort. "I'm sorry, I just had to talk to you"

"Sure, of course" Phaedra stepped back quickly, and Malin slipped into the room with the slightest echo of Bishop's deadly tread. Echo though it was, it was rather disconcerting to see in a woman, and one of Malin's beauty. The ranger glanced around quickly, as though to make sure they weren't being watched, or listened to.

"Bishop…doesn't sleep here, does he?" She asked, after a moment's pause.

"No!" Phaedra flushed instantly at the thought of what Malin must make of their relationship after that utterly shameless display down in the inn. "No…it's just me…and a friend. I don't know where Bishop is…" While everyone else had grouped together, her with Shandra, Neeshka with Elanee, Khelgar with Sand and Casavir…no one had bothered to see to where Bishop was sleeping. Most likely he would rather camp out in the forest than share a bedroom with any of them, though…she hoped briefly that he would be okay out there. He could clearly look out for himself, but still…

"I see" Malin rubbed her arm uncomfortably. At last she looked straight into Phaedra's face, and her eyes narrowed briefly, becoming at last more confident in their forward gaze. "You're very beautiful and very young" She remarked thoughtfully "May I ask your name?"

"Phaedra Blake" Phaedra answered quickly "Why are you here Malin?"

"Bishop" Malin answered quickly "It's about Bishop…and you" Well, that was self-evident. "I thought…" She paused briefly "But it doesn't matter, you're clearly still falling for him."

"Excuse me?" Phaedra blinked.

"Believe me, Phaedra, I of all people know how insidious he can be" Malin shook her head "I know…" She looked away, as though she were no longer speaking to Phaedra at all "Even when you know what he is, what he's really like…he still has that power…" She swallowed, turning back to Phaedra quickly "I came to warn you"

"Well, you've come and you've warned me" Phaedra answered snappishly. She was sick and tired of this, Malin was only the latest in a long line of people who'd thought to warn her about Bishop. She could damn well handle her own business. Hadn't she refused him last night? Didn't that entitle her to a little slack? "So you can go"

"I don't think you understand" Malin bristled "You don't know him like I do, you don't know what he's capable of…"

"I've seen him kill, like it doesn't matter at all to him" Phaedra stared back into Malin's eyes. "I've heard what he says about me, about everyone…I know him, I know what he's capable of"

"I assure you, Phaedra Blake, that you do not" Malin answered firmly. Though of course she couldn't possibly condone it, Phaedra was actually coming close to realising why Bishop left Malin. What was more of a mystery was what he'd seen in her in the first place.

"And what makes you so sure of that, Malin?" Phaedra tossed her hair. Malin was irritating her far more than she should have done. If this was jealousy, and she had a sinking feeling that it was, then it was a different kind to her sad, thoughtful envy of Shandra and Casavir. No, this was primal and vicious

"Because you said he was your friend" Malin replied coldly. "And Bishop doesn't have friends. If he's with you, it's because he wants something from you. And…" Her gaze swept dismissively down Phaedra's linen gown, before alighting back on her face "I think I can probably guess what it is" By the Gods…she was vulgar too.

"Get out of here" Phaedra hissed "You can't tell me anything about Bishop I don't already know"

"Is that so, Phaedra Blake?" Malin gave a mocking laugh "Is that really so? Has he told you about your little time scouting on the Luskan border…what we did? What he did?"

"I don't care what he did with you" Phaedra snapped "Whatever it was, it's clearly over" Cheap shot, Phaedra…but no cheaper than Malin herself…

"Perhaps" Malin raised an eyebrow "But, after all the wrong he's done, after what he did to me, its damn well fitting that this time he loses out on what he wants…that he loses out on you. And if I have a part in it, I'll be satisfied with that."

"Go on, then" Phaedra challenged "Believe me you can't surprise me" She was so angry that she hastily buried the unease she felt at Malin's confidence in her information on Bishop, information that she knew she probably didn't want to know. But she didn't have a choice now…this had gone too far, and she wasn't backing out.

"We met on the Luskan border about a year ago, travelled together three months after that" Malin began, holding Phaedra's gaze with her own hard, cool eyes. "You're more refined that Bishop's usual tastes, I doubt you can imagine what it's like out there…"

"You think so?" Phaedra sniffed coldly, how utterly patronising.

"Yes, I do" Malin answered softly "I fell in with him, figured I needed a partner, and he was the best out there. It was dirty work, not your kind of thing, hunting down bounties, tracking killers and smuggling mostly. And he fitted right in there, like he was born into it. But that he had me along at all had to mean something, I thought." She looked away briefly, painfully. Suddenly this wasn't the kind of snide sniping she and Phaedra had been engaged in just a moment before, suddenly this was the hurt and pain Phaedra had so easily forgotten from back when Malin had first seen Bishop last night "I was a damned fool." She breathed. Phaedra fell silent in front of her, suddenly and obscurely feeling regretful for her earlier conduct, but unsure of what to say. This was different…this she did not know how to deal with. "The thing is…we didn't just run into scum and low-lifes out there" Malin continued, regardless "There were Luskans too, Luskan patrols, superbly trained killers, and out to get people like us. And Bishop, Bishop hated them…" Phaedra heard a half-remembered echo, Bishop's voice, thick with hatred, as he spoke of Luskan's savagery. The voice of a man…that was capable of anything. "He hunted them like animals, killed them, every single one we came across, I'd never seen anything like it" Malin murmured "But it was never enough just to kill them, soon they had to be trapped, baited, utterly defeated before he'd do it. I've never such hatred, such rage in one man. But…still it wasn't enough for Bishop. So then he started to take them alive…"

"Malin…" Phaedra whispered. She didn't want to listen to this…she couldn't hear this, but Malin didn't even notice the frailness, the weakness of her protest, the ranger was by now swept aside by her own rememberings…she seemed to be scarcely seeing Phaedra in front of her.

"He…tortured them to death" Malin murmured "One after the other. What he did to them…"

"No" Phaedra breathed, her voice ringing in her own head "No, you're lying, Bishop wouldn't…" She'd always sensed the darkness in him, in a way it had been that with which she had been flirting this whole time, playing with fire. But…that had been a game. This, what Malin spoke of, what she hinted at, it was impossible. Because Bishop, no matter how cruel and callous he'd seemed, wasn't like that, wasn't a monster. But Malin seemed utterly sure, utterly sincere. Phaedra could see the horror in her eyes…

"He did" Malin whispered "In front of me …" No one could have feigned this, the guilt and shame as well as horror, and Phaedra's last hope, that she might believe that Malin was lying to her for some malicious purpose all her own, was blown apart.

"No…" Phaedra staggered back, barely catching herself on the bedpost, she felt sick. Lathander, sweet Lathander, this couldn't be happening. She'd been so sure that Bishop…she didn't even know what she'd thought. But not this, never this…

"I'm sorry" Malin said "I know what its like, Phaedra, how he makes us feel, what he makes us think…that he's not really like he is, that there is a chance, somewhere, that we might make him whole again." She paused, swallowed painfully, as she saw the way her every word seemed to drive the blade deeper into Phaedra, but still she went on "But we can't, no one can, he is broken…all he has is hatred, and lust. There will never be anything else…"

"I thought…" Phaedra began, then her voice failed. The worst part of all this was that Malin did seem to know, know what it felt like to be with Bishop, to be near him. And yet a part of her still wanted to believe in him. Somehow it didn't seem right to take Malin's words over her own feelings, what she had seen of Bishop while they were alone together, what she had sensed, what he had said. But, whatever else Malin was saying, Phaedra could not get past the one single, damning fact…Bishop had tortured people, Luskans, warriors, but still people. No one deserved that, not Ajah, not Zeeaire, not even Garius, and no one had the right to carry out such a vile punishment. In a world where her certainties seemed to fall away one by one, she was still sure that something, that this had to be wrong, wrong no matter what. Bishop was not the man she had thought he was. And for mere sadism and whatever twisted sense of justice drove Bishop to hate Luskan, it wasn't right, it couldn't be. Slowly she sank down onto the bed, and raised her hand to her face. There were no tears, she was too shocked, too utterly bewildered…Bishop…Oh Gods, he was sick…torturing people, why? Why? What kind of hatred, what kind of emptiness…? They were meant to be friends, but it turned out she hadn't known him at all.

"I'm sorry" Malin repeated helplessly, she didn't seem to be able to say anything, do anything, but Phaedra would not have welcomed it anyway. Her feelings for Bishop were, as always, selfish in their intensity if not in everything else. "You had to know, Phaedra" Malin said suddenly, her arms reaching forward but touching nothing but the air, as though she hated this, hated reliving her own pain in Phaedra's shock "You had to, so he won't have you like he did me…"

"Malin…please…" Phaedra's voice strained as though it were a taut string stretched almost to breaking "Leave"

"Phaedra…" Malin stumbled back towards the doorway. "I'm sorry" She pulled open the door behind her and fled, her footsteps fading into an empty silence. So she had thought to tell Phaedra her story, her words, her damning condemnation of Phaedra's own feelings as well as Bishop and pass through it unscathed. Clearly Malin had no mind to consequences, the words she had spoken would torment her now too. But that was no comfort to Phaedra herself, as she felt her head fall back against the rough wooden wall behind her, and her heart tighten as though it were a knot pulled in upon itself, a knot of anguish and confusion. Bishop…Malin's words seeped into her memories like poison, as she desperately tried to see through the moments she and Bishop had shared, trying to find something she had missed, some word half-spoken, some whisper of an expression crossing his face, that would stand against this insidious plague running through her memories. It was a vain hope, for each time she visited a memory, Malin's story would follow and its shadow fell upon every word he'd spoken, every touch they'd shared. It was almost impossible to imagine.

If Bishop tortured people, he was evil, and Casavir was right, and Duncan was right, and everything he had said to her had to be a lie. But she couldn't believe that, she just couldn't, her heart, her very core, revolted from it, even as intellect demanded she accept. But how could she? He had been with her, alone, a number of times, entirely vulnerable. Breath seized in her throat as she tried to imagine what he might have been capable of, if he had tortured Luskan soldiers, what could he have done to her, anything, anything in his power. But he had not. He had not, and he had saved her life, and he had sworn to watch over her if Garius moved upon her. Why? The question resounded in her mind, why had he done that? Malin insisted that he was meaning to seduce her, but he'd had plenty of opportunity, Heavens, back along the road she'd been pinned underneath his body and he hadn't even taken the merest kiss. A man who tortured was evil, and Bishop…Bishop was not a good person, but…she couldn't believe that he was evil. She couldn't…and yet Malin's words, her pain, were so visceral. Slowly Phaedra lowered her head, one thing was for certain, utterly certain, if Bishop was low enough to torture people, even Luskans, there was no way she could trust him to be with them any longer, or trust herself with him either. She owed far too much to Shandra, to Elanee, to Casavir, not to act on this, and to saddle them with someone capable of such cruel acts. And yet still she felt a wrenching reluctance, and her mind wheeled through her thoughts, trying to discover some way to excuse him of Malin's charge. She was astonished, had he still so much power over her? With some difficulty she reined them in, Bishop, whatever his intentions towards her had been, was not the man she had thought he was.

"By Chauntea you would not believe the queue they had in this inn for a simple bath" Shandra's voice sounded suddenly as the farmgirl forced open the door, sauntering in with a scowl of indignation. "And I swear there was some dwarf giving me the eye the whole time I was waiting…" She paused the moment she saw Phaedra sitting upon the bed, and took in her all-too obvious unease, the stiffness with which she held herself, the guarded look in her eyes, Phaedra could only imagine how obvious it was that something was wrong. And yet, the Phaedra of old would be here crying upon the pillows, desperately trying to sort through how she had been fooled, but her eyes now were dry as stone. "What's wrong?" Shandra said softly, instantly settling down on the bed beside her. Phaedra gave no answer, but Shandra didn't seem to expect one after all. Instead her friend simply placed an arm gently upon Phaedra's shoulders, and held her close for a moment. Though Phaedra wanted to protest that she didn't need it, somehow she found herself taking comfort from the simple, warm gesture nonetheless. And Shandra simply held her, until she found she could move on her own, and lay aside the weight of Malin's words, and know that she had to move on nonetheless. Thank Lathander for Shandra, even if she didn't know truly what troubled Phaedra, still she would walk beside her now until this was ended. As long as Phaedra knew that, she could have the strength to face what she knew she had to do…

ooo0000ooo

Shit, Bishop skirted with practiced footing over Duskwood's thick, thorny undergrowth, cursing every Farlong and their progeny, adopted or not. This was the Luskan border, on the Luskan border you didn't just stop for a 'rest' whenever you felt like it, but Phaedra obviously didn't think the normal rules applied to her. He could hear her voice now 'Well everyone else needs a rest, Bishop, and we'll have one thank you very much'. What in the Hells was her problem? It had started this morning, from the moment he'd entered Port Llast's sorry excuse for a bar and settled down with a flagon of the piss these villages sold as ale, then Phaedra was there and cold and brittle as some damned ice hag, snapping that everyone had better be ready in the next few minutes or she was leaving without them, and having ale in the morning was a disgusting habit anyway. Then she'd been utterly unbearable on their trek up on the trail toward Ember, even more uptight and prim than she usually was, and without even a word to spare for Bishop, though he'd been waiting for his chance to try and gauge what exactly was wrong with her. Then when that chance came and he'd offered his reasonable assessment of why they shouldn't stop in the middle of the borderlands, she'd cut him down right away. The only consolation was she'd done exactly the same to the paladin when he'd tried to bludgeon her with the blunt sword of chivalry into telling him what she was doing. Slipping effortlessly through the tight-knit trees, he muttered sulphurous curses under his breath…Phaedra, damn Phaedra and all the rest of them.

That wizard they'd picked up had complained incessantly from the moment they'd left Port Llast, his whiny voice always seemed to be behind Bishop like the buzz of an insect until Bishop had been fighting the urge to turn around and throttle the elf, and it was his little act that had got the rest of them setting up a merry little camp on the edge of Luskan. But Bishop wasn't about to set up like that again, his muscles had itched to be doing something, to be hunting something, the whole time they'd been stuck in damned Port Llast. Phaedra had floated around the village like she was in some dream 'oh isn't it pretty?' no doubt it reminded her of home. Well, it had reminded Bishop of home too. And he'd hated every minute of it. Only now, back out in the Duskwood where he'd spent so many a month hunting Luskans and the other scum who were drawn here like flies, he could feel like he was free again.

"Bishop" He tensed instantly at the sudden sound of the voice which had already followed him this far, it was her…how in the Hells had she got here without him even noticing it? Slowly he turned, lifting himself from the ground. There she was, standing there between the trees, and she was about as angry as Phaedra Blake could get. At another time the prospect of Phaedra's fury might actually have been funny and to compensate he managed to allow an amused smile to slip across his lips as he faced her there and she blazed with a cold anger that had strained her tight enough to be almost at breaking point, he was in fact far more bothered than he was going to let on. Mostly because he didn't understand what had got her so worked up.

He'd thought he had Phaedra figured out. And it was important to his plan that he had, so the thought that she was reacting in some way he didn't understand annoyed him. This was business, and Bishop was always precise when it came to business. Sure he wanted her too, but just because she was a woman, and she had a nice body, he'd got a bit of a feel of it in the forest and everything suggested that her promise was matched by the reality. She would be game for it too, if she just let loose a little. He'd had to remind himself that he was playing the long game here, though, just fucking Phaedra wouldn't be enough, she had to fall for him. One would likely come from the other, with Phaedra as virginal as she was, but it was good to keep in mind that he shouldn't push her too far. Which was why he hadn't taken that kiss...yet...It wasn't meant to be like this, of course, this whole thing was supposed to have been just business, just revenge served to Duncan ice-cold. But then she'd been even more chaste than she was supposed to be, and then there was the paladin too, and between the two of them they'd turned this into the kind of challenge he'd been thirsting for all those months under Duncan's thumb. He'd been meaning to find a wench back in Neverwinter, ease off any remaining tension, but then she'd intervened, nearly getting herself killed for a start, then squired, then caught by some damned dark wizard who thought he could claim another man's prize. Right now, after all that, he might even consider having Malin again, as long as she shut the Hells up while they were at it.

"Something you need, princess?" He asked coolly. Last night too, he'd played her like the silly girl she was. He enjoyed playing Phaedra, her reactions were normally something to give him a good laugh. Using her against Malin had been merely a distraction, but their talk outside had been just as entertaining a diversion. His mock offer to run away with her had her dancing like a puppet on a string, vainly trying to deny that she had a thirsting for him. He'd thought it was perfect, and that he'd be able to have a few more laughs at her expense the next morning when she tried to hide what had happened. But instead she'd come down from her room with some stick up her ass that seemed to have her forgetting everything, or conveniently laying it aside.

"Malin came by my room this morning" Phaedra said softly, stepping over. So that was it then, fuck.

"Did she?" Bishop muttered. Malin, damn Malin…he shouldn't have ever got her involved. That was what happened when you let emotions get into a hunt, things fell apart around you. He'd been over-confident and he'd over-shot the mark, a mistake that he should never have made. He'd also been drunk, a day of downing ale to drown out the whining of a village tended to do that to a man. It was Malin too, he'd seen suddenly Malin across the bar room and she hadn't looked as though she'd learnt anything from their brief entanglement, still just as uptight, just as demanding, and just as incompetent. The opportunity to rub her the wrong way had seemed just too good to resist. When she got going, Malin was about as entertaining as she was ineffectual. But he'd been drunk, and he'd been stupid, thinking that bringing Phaedra along for the ride might make things just that bit more satisfying. He'd thought maybe she might start getting jealous, which would be something to see. And he'd thought too that he had Phaedra exactly where he wanted, to use her against Malin had seemed like a bit of fun he could afford, a little pay-back for how much effort he'd put in just putting up with all of them for so long. But of course Phaedra was too decent to take the laugh at Malin's expense they could have shared. And now, it seemed Malin hadn't let things rest after that, and the vindictive bitch had gone to Phaedra herself. He hadn't ever given a shit what he'd done in front of Malin, he'd never thought she'd come back, or that she'd ever be able to hurt his chances on anything important. Turns out he'd been wrong. Damn. But he needed to focus, Malin had done her best to sabotage his chances, and she'd done a good job of it too.

"She told me you tortured Luskan soldiers to death, Bishop" Phaedra glared at him, and a part of him couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed by the cold fury in her eyes, she'd learnt something after all.

"They were Luskans" His eyes narrowed, he wasn't angry with her, yet, why should he bother, though the fact should be obvious to her now, after what she'd heard of Ember, the world was a better place with fewer Luskans in it. It was Luskan...the thought of that place. It always, always...set him on edge. Sometimes he wondered if his hatred of the place was just another tie he'd be better off without, like this tie to Duncan which he would get rid of by using her, but then he'd think of its soldiers, arrogant, confident they could own anything they seized and do with it exactly what they wanted, mould it to what they wanted it to be, be it a woman, a wolf, or a man. And he'd think of how the rulers, the Hostower mages, wanted to control everything, and how the whole city reeked of their arrogance and their lust for control, and how its downtrodden citizens still crowed obediently for every war that they crafted in their shadowed halls, never rising, never fighting, never breaking free of their pens, too scared of death to even move. As if death was any worse than their miserable lives. "They deserved everything they got and more"

"I'm not going to even ask what made you hate Luskans so much" Phaedra breathed coolly, as if she could understand even if he told her, which he never would. That was his life, his secret. It would die with him. "But I trusted you, Bishop, and I was wrong. You're as bad as they all said; no, you're worse…"

"Yeah?" Bishop sneered. He wasn't going to apologise for what he was, for what he'd done, not to her, not to anyone. She wasn't worth that, no woman was. "And if it were you, if that ambassador bitch was right here, you're telling me you wouldn't do the same?"

"No, I wouldn't" Phaedra answered icily.. "Because I'm not like you"

"And that Gith?" Bishop settled on the one thing he knew would force a reaction from her, because she didn't get to pretend she was better than him. "The one who destroyed your home? If it were him, would you be saying the same thing?" She started, something passed across her face, a crack of pain in her pristine aloofness. "You, me, your paladin" He said at last, and bitterly "We're all the same"

"I'm…" He could see the trembling running down through her neck as she swallowed, trying to control herself. Then he understood, the cold anger was just a mask, a protection, behind it was the same old Phaedra, girlish, scared, uncertain, and desperate for the opportunity to be convinced that Malin was wrong. But there was no way Bishop was going to give her that, if it lost him this chance, or not. He didn't deny who he was, he wasn't a hypocrite like the paladin. She had better accept that. "I'm not having this discussion with you" Phaedra's voice quavered as she spoke. "You may stay with us until Ember and help with the investigation, if you want to, but beyond that I cannot have you near me any longer. Once we're done, you will be leaving." She looked up, into his eyes, as her own glimmered uncertainly, as she shook her head slowly "This…all of this, it's over" And then she was gone, a swirl of silk, a footfall that was almost silent, and not the merest glance back towards him before she had fled back towards their camp.

He waited until all trace of her had faded, until she may as well never have walked down through those trees and stood there and judged him like she knew everything about him just because of some cheap shot from Malin, until it was as though Phaedra Blake did not exist, and he was standing here, as he had before, alone upon Luskan's borderlands. Phaedra, damn Phaedra, this was just so typical of her, all of this… but really he knew this whole situation was his own fault. He'd been lazy, over-confident, he'd let his guard down for a second. Now this whole thing was a bloody disaster, Phaedra could run back to her precious paladin and the both of them could safely settle into the warm glow of knowing that Casavir had been right all along. 'You may stay with us until Ember', as if he gave a damn about Ember, as if he gave a damn what he 'may' and 'may not' do. All this time he'd only been doing her dirty work because he knew it would get him what he wanted in the end, but he wasn't going back there like a whipped dog at her feet, like the paladin would. He glanced out into the forest, this was where he belonged, not back there, with that crowd of fools. Phaedra wasn't worth this, she was just another woman. There were a thousand of others like her.

But he knew that was a lie. No other woman was Duncan's niece, no other woman was the only way to hurt the old sot worse than anything else could. And Duncan had to pay, to pay worse than what a quick knife in the gullet would afford him. Phaedra was the weapon and the prize too. He'd have her humbled before their time was done, and he'd let her know exactly what she was to him. When she begged him for it, he'd take what was his due after the effort he'd put into pinning her down. He'd enjoy it, he knew, he'd linger over it, he'd savour his victory, and he'd savour her. He didn't just abandon a hunt because of some minor setback, because of Malin of all people. Why would he let Malin win? He sneered at the thought of his one-time partner. At least Phaedra had the goods to back up that primness of hers, Malin hadn't even been worth the effort of putting up with her whining.

Bishop turned away, slowly, sending a sharp glance into the forest. He could do this, salvage this, and he could do it without grovelling to her. Phaedra was neglectful, forgiving to a fault, if he only found something else to distract her, he could find a way to make her forget this too. Malin may have made things harder, but she'd also upped the ante, he wasn't letting himself be beaten by her, or by Phaedra herself. She couldn't just walk away from him, he'd marked her, and he aimed to collect.

Right now, though, his hunt awaited, Phaedra awaited. There was an idea, a plan that had been growing in his mind since they'd entered Duskwood's boundaries, something to appeal to Phaedra's very dangerous curiosity, that trait of hers to be drawn to that which was worst for her, out of an utterly innocent, utterly unsuspecting interest in it. Right now, it was damn near perfect. He'd need a little help, though, some help from an old friend of his, who just happened to live in these parts. The rest of them were still about a day from Ember, and, at the pace they were setting, it would be easy enough to get into Duskwood and be back before they got to the village. Let Phaedra have a little time to herself, let her start to realise what she was missing. If he knew her well, and he did, she'd start to regret the decision she'd made almost instantly. And then he'd be back, and with what he was planning on bringing, she'd soon forget about Malin. Bishop smiled grimly to himself as he turned away from the camp, from her, and broke almost instantly into a smooth, even sprint. From now on, he thought as the trees of Duskwood raced by, there weren't going to be any mistakes.


	53. Chapter 53

_My sincerest apologies for the long delay! The reasons for it are twofold really, firstly things have become really busy over here, secondly it took me an awfully long time to get this chapter sorted. I kept writing some very interesting Phaedra/Bishop scenes then realising that I'd better continue with the actual story as we've had rather a lot of them lately (Curse them for being so compulsively writeable!). Rest assured these scenes will likely come up later, though. Finally things are sorted out now. I really hope this chapter is worth the wait anyway._

_It may be a surprise for me to say that I introduce a new character in this chapter. I hope he meets with your approval regardless!_

_Thanks to ladyofpuppets for putting me on alerts and favourites, to Wild Grape (long overdue) for some interesting discussion. And to anyone I've forgotten over these long weeks. Lastly thanks to you for reading!_

* * *

Phaedra knew she should be used to silence, the weight of things unspoken should have been a familiar burden, after all she had lived her life with Daeghun, and the thoughtful silences that had attended much of their evenings together had never seemed to strain so much. And yet, as the group within which she had become so used to the buzz of conversation, set out once again towards Ember, she felt the absence of the usual friendly reportee all the more keenly. It was Bishop's absence, strangely enough that so strained them as they walked on in silence. Everyone knew that Phaedra had gone out after him, and everyone knew that she'd returned alone, the rest of it…she wasn't going to tell, and they weren't asking. She felt strained, confused, tight as a taut string fed through the loom. Her feelings fled through her fingers the moment she tried to pin them down, defying her scrutiny. She had made her decision, now Bishop, it seemed, had made his. He wasn't coming back. It was over, and yet she kept feeling as though she would simply turn her head to see him there standing at her back, an enigmatic half-smile on his features, that gleam in his eyes which only she saw. But he wouldn't be, though she had waited, delaying their departure as long as she could without raising suspicions, he had not returned. It was over. After everything, after the intensity of their brief moments together, it hardly seemed possible that this…association she had with Bishop could be severed so quickly, so completely. But it was, it had to be.

For Lathander's sake…he had tortured people, that was the reason she had done this. Next to that it hardly mattered that the forest around her seemed so much more dangerous and inscrutable when she knew he wasn't here to guide her forward, that the journey ahead already fell away, cold and drab without him. Ember, and the truth, lay ahead, and already she'd let these personal turmoils distract her far too long. But she couldn't deny the unease she felt that somehow, by letting Bishop go like this, she might have made things worse for the trial too…had she not originally decided to let him come because he might help her unearth the clues she needed? Or, at least, that was what she had told herself. But, as she walked onward nonetheless, and silence draped behind her like a cloak, she felt her very self begin to harden, a cold icy sheen of pride and shame fell across her. She knew that she could never tell what had passed between her and Bishop, for to do so would not merely prove her own judgement wrong, which her icy pride would not endure, but would also begin to reveal how close things had come with Bishop. If Casavir knew…she glanced back quickly, and met the paladin's striking blue eyes, still upon her…she knew what he was thinking, the questions he must be asking himself. He deserved an answer, an explanation, they all did, but she couldn't give it. It had been hours now, hours since she had returned, silent from her confrontation of Bishop, wounded deep by his words and by the loss of her hope that somehow he might deny what Malin had revealed, show her that he wasn't capable of it. How far away would Bishop be now? Far enough that she shouldn't still feel like this.

And yet, though Bishop was ever at the centre of her thoughts, her distance from him somehow focused her too. He had…long provided a distraction, a blessed distraction it was true, but one that had drawn her away from her obligations, the danger around her, and closer to him alone. Now he was gone, the harsh, cold reality of her situation faced her, and foremost, Garius. Bishop couldn't watch her anymore, he wouldn't. That obligation, clearly, could not survive the harsh words they'd exchanged. Nor should she be able to trust a torturer to watch over her, however oddly, inexplicably safe she had always felt with him. However she could not bring herself still to speak to Casavir, to Elanee, for doing so would have meant explaining why she had kept it secret so long, a question to which she did not even know the answer. And a part of her still fought bitterly against the chains such a confession would no doubt place upon her, revolted from the sincere concerns and puzzled questions that would follow it and yearned desperately still for the kind of wilful freedom she and Bishop had taken, laughing in the closing jaws of peril. But hard duty had its own strength, its own compulsion, and, away from Bishop, she knew that it could never be like that again, nor should it ever have. It hadn't made her any safer, only she could do that herself, without Bishop if she had to. And without him she could be far more sensible about how to go about it. Her first step, then, she decided with this new clarity born of the icy aloneness in which she stood now, had to be to find out more about Garius, about this man who would move heaven and earth to claim her. She had to go to Sand, he could give her that information, and if she was right he wouldn't give her any more than that.

As the party settled down for the night, Ember lying still about another couple of hours journey away and no one eager to continue to the dead village at night, she made sure to sit herself down by Sand, a little way away from everyone else. Nonetheless she waited a fraction of a moment to speak, making sure that no one else was watching.

"Sand" She said softly to him, once an uneasy kind of bustle had settled over the rest of the party, the awkward shuffling around of words and belongings that strained to be casual. Casavir and Elanee were speaking quietly, Khelgar and Neeshka seeing to some of their belongings, with Shandra hovering near them looking unsure of what to say. "May we talk a minute?"

"Of course, my dear" Sand glanced at her as though he'd been expecting such a thing. Phaedra shifted uneasily before speaking, she'd resolved to approach Sand, but now it came to it she longed to get the information while revealing as little as possible why she wanted it. She didn't want anyone else to know, she didn't want to speak of the shadows in her mind, that whisper that still haunted her. But Sand always gave the uncomfortable impression of being able to guess more than she wanted.

"Do you know…of a man named Garius?" She began cautiously "A mage of the Hostower…a powerful one?" She half-expected an instant reaction from Sand, shock perhaps at the question, or a sudden realisation, that would have been oddly comforting in a way. Instead, though she turned her gaze to look deep into his eyes, trying to glean what he was thinking, he was utterly impassive, except for a slight, almost imperceptible, tensing of his posture.

"Now…" He said at last, with a levity that was almost perfectly natural, except that it still didn't reach his eyes. He was feigning it. "Where would you learn of a name like that?"

"I didn't" Phaedra answered quickly. "Unless I should ask how you know it yourself?" He paused, silent and still, and she wondered if she'd outreached herself. This was not a game she could play well, and he was well-practiced at the duel of words himself. She was wagering, though, that he would wish to keep his secrets almost as close as she did hers…

"Well, well" Suddenly, to her shock, he smiled openly, and even the slightest chuckle escaped his thin lips. "A young woman to match me in wits, I knew there was more to you than there appeared to be, Miss Blake" Phaedra blinked, unsure of how exactly to take that. Clearly, though she'd won Sand's cooperation, and his respect as well. That was all that mattered. "It's true, I have heard a little of Garius, keeping one's ears open in the Docks yields precious clues as to which way the wind is blowing, required one knows where to look of course" He smiled as though sharing a private joke. But Phaedra knew as well as he did that he hadn't found this out in the Docks, otherwise he wouldn't be so reluctant to reveal the source of his information. She was growing uncomfortably proficient with this kind of game. "Garius, or Black Garius as he prefers to be known…is, as you say, a Hostower mage." He continued "And a rather low-level one at that, last I heard. Nonetheless he has amassed power at a startling rate of late, the whispers that surround him are far more than his position should warrant."

"He has outside help" Phaedra murmured, it wasn't a question. Garius had discourse with the Shadow Priests, but Sand might already have guessed that. It was hard to tell what exactly he knew, and what he was hiding.

"He must have gained a powerful patron indeed" Sand nodded briefly, considering it "He was cunning, they say, and had some skill with the craft, but not enough to warrant the hum of mystique that surrounds him now." Sand tapped his knee with his long, pale fingers thoughtfully "It would not be the first time that Black Garius has risen on the power of another. In the old days, during the war, he was known somewhat…as a political entity largely. But his power, for magic is the currency in the Hostower, chiefly rested with his wife, who they say was a great mage."

"He had a wife?" Phaedra remembered suddenly that sibilant whisper, alive with yearning, as it spoke of another woman, his wife. Hadn't she brewed the poison that had almost killed Phaedra then?

"Oh yes, once…" Sand nodded briefly "However I have no doubt it was little more than a marriage of convenience. Garius was always a man of cooled passions…" Phaedra shot him another curious glance, she had seen Garius, and his passions were anything but cool, well-hidden perhaps, beneath that cold iron exterior but even stronger, dark and festering in his core, for their concealment. But she would not speak of that…

"Who was she?" Phaedra hazarded a more dangerous question, Garius' wife…she was dead, murdered he had said…but even so surely she had to be key to understanding that cold, dark man and his obsession with her?

"I do not know, few do I expect" Sand answered "She was a recluse, an obsessive. Garius kept her well and truly hidden they say, while he handled the Hostower's politics on her behalf…until, of course, she died, during the war"

"Neverwinter killed her?" Phaedra gasped, shocked. Of course…Garius had said that Neverwinter had taken something precious from him…could it have been his wife? Was that why he wished to attack Neverwinter, even making alliance with the Shadow Priests to gain his vengeance?

"Yes" Sand answered grimly "She was executed" He glanced away "But that is all I know, I am afraid, of Garius and his wife. If you wish to ask any more, you shall have to seek those who truly know the Hostower as I do not"

"Yes, of course" Phaedra nodded, allowing herself to settle into the pretence that she did not suspect Sand's knowledge of the Hostower was deeper than he was revealing. It was uneasy to suspect that he might have had dealings with that dark place, but she trusted Sand, actually, and that was enough for now. She had trusted Bishop too, a voice murmured, but she quickly suppressed it, that was different. Sand didn't want anything from her, Bishop clearly had.

"Phaedra…" Sand said, turning back to her, his gaze serious "My apologies for my bluntness, but may I ask what has occurred with Bishop?" Phaedra stiffened instantly, bristling as she remembered Sand's previous advice concerning her relationship with the ranger.

"No" She said coldly "You may not"

"Is that it, then?" To Phaedra's shock, before Sand could even reply, Neeshka was suddenly in front of them, looming over the sitting Phaedra and Sand, a question Phaedra didn't understand on her lips. The tiefling's pale skin was flushed, her tail flicking side to side with agitation, her crimson eyes burning. "Is that all we get?" She sneered.

"Excuse me?" Phaedra pushed to her feet. Neeshka had not merely been listening in to the conversation, Gods alone knew for how long, but now this was the second time that the tiefling had snapped at Phaedra like this since they'd left Neverwinter. What was Neeshka's problem? And furthermore, why did a part of Phaedra, deep, instinctive, react almost as it had to Malin, tightening as though it faced a threat, a threat to what? She was suddenly aware that this was the first time she'd spoken to Neeshka, properly, really focused on her at least, for an awfully long time. Why was it turning out so wrong? What had happened between the last time they had spoken and now? Her bewilderment left her easy prey to the creeping cold anger that followed it. In truth the words that pushed forcefully at her lips were not really meant, Neeshka was a target only because Torio, Garius, everything that had left her like this, even Bishop, were all out of reach.

"Bishop's gone and you don't even respect the rest of us enough to tell us why or where" Neeshka snapped "Are we just supposed to pretend nothing's happened just because that makes it easier for you?"

"Why does it even matter to you, Neeshka?" Phaedra asked sullenly. It was a fair question, no matter how ungenerous it sounded. And compared to some of the things Phaedra felt like saying… "You don't know anything about him!"

"And you do?" Neeshka snapped "Please…"

"I…do…" Phaedra faltered, her gaze flicking momentarily over the rest of the party, trying to gauge reactions in a second, trying to work out what they thought of this sudden, dizzying confrontation, an attack from the last place Phaedra had been expecting. No one was going to intervene, she realised at once, not even Casavir, who hovered halfway between standing up and staying where he was, his blue eyes impassive as he watched the two young woman, Elanee's hand was on his shoulder, an instinctive grasp that neither seemed aware of. Shandra looked horrified, and aghast, but her interest in the answer Phaedra was about to give was undeniable, and Sand had just asked much the same thing. Only Khelgar was looking at Neeshka, and he looked disturbed at the tiefling's outburst. Everyone had been waiting for some kind of answer about Bishop, now they were letting Neeshka get it for them. "None of this has anything to do with you, Neeshka" She said at last, more quietly "And you should be glad of that"

"I knew it" Neeshka hissed "You drove him away, didn't you? You drove away the only one of us who actually knows what he's doing out here?" Phaedra whirled round to face the tiefling, who watched her, looking suddenly astonished at her own words but still daring her to respond. How dare she…

"There's something in the forest" Elanee's voice, quiet, but trembling suddenly with a half-realised anxiety that had nothing to do with the burgeoning confrontation in front of her. Phaedra froze, so did Neeshka, and the shreds of their conflict drew back at once, not forgotten, but drifting just out of reach for now as the focus shifted to a new danger…

"What?" Phaedra had to swallow, moistening her throat, before she could even speak "What do you…?"

"Listen…" Elanee raised a hand…everyone fell utterly silent. Phaedra couldn't hear anything, except for the wind through the trees, and the rustle of leather as Neeshka stepped back a little, her hands falling to her weapons. "In the trees…" Elanee's eyes fluttered briefly as though she were trying to focus on a distant sense "Something is circling around the camp…" Phaedra breathed out, feeling her heart constrict in her chest, her eyes swept over the edge of their camp, still…no sign of anything. What were they seeing, hearing…?

"Hostile?" Casavir's voice was a bass rumble, barely audible.

"I…can't say" Elanee murmured "The motion…is predatory…I cannot sense what it is though" Possibilities seared through Phaedra's mind, as her heart began to pound, her breathing growing ragged…Garius, undead, shadows, demons, Githyanki, but they were gone. Twilight in Duskwood, it had never been so eerie, so dark and haunting, in Neverwinter Wood. They were nearer Luskan; could it be a Luskan patrol? An unguarded thought caught her wishing Bishop was here. He'd know what to do. "Ah…" When Elanee spoke again it was in a quiet sigh, her voice suddenly tight with realisation, and with a kind of guarded carefulness. "There…" Slowly, feeling her every muscle tighten with fear, Phaedra turned to where the druidess' gaze had fallen. In the thick, voracious undergrowth of the Duskwood, something was stirring…something big. She heard the fall of a padded foot, one after the other, slow, stalking motions, then the broad, ugly leaves parted slowly and the shadows within them fell aside as a very large wolf slowly, almost indolently, padded its way into the grove where they now stood.

Phaedra's eyes widened…after everything she had thought the stalking presence might be, she could scarcely take in the animal, let alone react to it, though how she should have done so she had no idea. It was…large, very large…that was the only thing that went through her mind in that first momentary shock. At its height the slope of its rolling shoulders might have even come to Phaedra's waist. And, the second thing that crossed her mind was how close it was… barely a couple of paces away from her now as it paused, with a leisurely indifference before her. Phaedra's gaze travelled from its fearsome jaws, which were relaxed, slightly falling open to reveal a set of ferocious teeth, over its thick winter pelt, a deep even grey which darkened to sable over its ears and along the fall of its powerful legs, to the slightly raised tail, trying to take in the scope of it, trying in a strangely calm, disconnected way to work out just how large it was. Everything about it was sleek, honed to a killing edge, and yet it too had a weight, a presence, that spoke of its easy mastery of its surroundings. A scar, a pale white streak where no fur grew ran along around its keen eye, and a piece of its ear had been ripped off, but these were old wounds, it was healthy now, and strong. Phaedra was frozen in place, she couldn't have moved a muscle even had it crossed her mind to do so, but she felt the stirring of Sand's magic behind her just before Elanee cried out her warning.

"Stop!" The elf's voice rang out across the grove "Sand, don't provoke him!" Sand let it go, and Elanee stirred, her footfall soft and hesitant. "Phaedra, do not move" She instructed carefully though Phaedra hadn't been about to. There was something quite odd about this, the lucid part of her thought, the wolf certainly wasn't in an aggressive posture, its muscles were loose and relaxed, its pose easy, as it stood there and its gaze travelled from Elanee to settle on Phaedra once again it looked nothing more than slightly disinterested. Elanee's voice drifted upon the cool air, murmuring something in lilting elvish as she stepped over slowly. Whether or not it understood any message contained in it, the wolf hardly seemed to take any notice. Instead it was watching Phaedra again. Phaedra lowered her head slowly, and her eyes were drawn instantly to the glinting eyes of the wolf. His eyes…they were the kind of clear, glassy yellow of topaz, so light they were almost grey. There was something…so almost human in them, savage, yes, but shrewd. She was suddenly, and rather irrelevantly, reminded of Bishop. She'd always thought his eyes were wolfish. "Phaedra" Elanee's whisper sounded very close, and tense and anxious, but still Phaedra couldn't tear her eyes from the wolf's gaze. "Step back, now…" Phaedra didn't move still…she didn't feel afraid all of a sudden, there was nothing threatening in this wolf's eyes. Even when the wolf tensed subtly, the shoulder blades in his back moving beneath his matted fur as he slowly stepped closer towards her, she didn't feel afraid.

But the moment steel slid across leather, and the whistle of a blade cleaving the open air sounded just inches from her, she felt her heart skip a beat. Tearing her gaze from the wolf she found Elanee instantly, standing by her, the sickle she wielded suddenly open in her hands, its wicked gleaming blade pointed toward the wolf, her breaths heavy in her chest, her gaze strained with anguish. The sight of Elanee pointing cold steel at an animal was utterly shocking, but in the next heartbeat Phaedra knew that it was because she stood before the wolf. No other would put Elanee in this situation, no one else could. Only she would make the elf strain her druidic obligations like this. She didn't know whether to be grateful or appalled. Trying to find the words, she struggled to say that the wolf meant no harm, but the sight of the sickle, or perhaps Elanee's suddenly defensive posture, made the animal tense. In a hearbeat the wolf shifted from nonchalance to aggression, his hackles raised, his ears flattened against his head, teeth bared, and a low rumble of a growl emerging from his throat. Elanee gave a shrill gasp, Phaedra stumbled a little with a sudden burst of fear before catching herself where she stood…there were no wolves in the Mere but even through her panic she remembered Daeghun's lessons on how to face a predator, stay still and calm. Movement would only provoke him. Yet through her mind ran a single, panicked thought, the wolf hadn't been about to attack until Elanee had drawn her sickle, so why hadn't Elanee been able to sense that? Why had she seen it and not the druid?

"Hey, steady there" Phaedra's mind in the state it was should not have been able to take any more shocks, but then, looking as calm and casual as though this were a totally normal situation and he simply following his usual wayward will, Bishop walked into the grove on easy, loping strides. To qualify exactly what went through Phaedra's head in that moment would be almost impossible. As difficult as it was to forget an imminent threat to one's life, the wolf was forgotten in an instant. She felt the shock of it almost like a physical blow, all critical, intelligent faculties toppled, leaving only the most instinctive responses intact. Shock, anger, horror, shame, relief…it took her a dizzying instant to even find a semblance of herself. Even as he stepped over, not to her, but to the wolf who stood before her growling menacingly, even as his gaze was fixed upon the animal and not her, she felt the mere fact of his…presence as something almost physical, erasing in the merest instant all her hard work to convince herself that she was better off without him. And so, as she struggled all over again, Bishop came, utterly unafraid, to the side of the fearsome wolf, and laid his hand upon the animal's raised, growling head…his daring took Phaedra's breath away. To her shock, though, the wolf grudgingly withdrew at the touch, his raised fur falling back into matted disorder, the growl dying away, though he kept his teeth bared, and a nasty glint in his eyes as he glared angrily at Elanee. "Now, boy, we're on our best behavior from now on" Bishop said to the wolf, as though this were some performance he was giving and he was thoroughly enjoying everyone else's shock. It was just about crossing Phaedra's stunned mind what exactly was going on. "I know you're going to want to kill some of these people by the hour" Bishop said "But both of us have to restrain ourselves or our dear leader will have some stern words for us, isn't that right princess?" He glanced at Phaedra, it was hard to say what he was thinking. Was he taking stock of how his little ploy had gone, no…it seemed more serious than that. But in an instant even that was gone, and there was only that usual, mocking smile.

"He's yours?" Shandra gasped shrilly. She was pale as chalk, the wolf's appearance had scared her badly, and now this new shock…Phaedra realised she must scarcely look any better.

"No" Bishop answered with barely a glance at Shandra "He doesn't belong to anyone, and you'd probably do well to remember that." Accustomed as she was to Bishop's manner by now, Phaedra recognised that this was not so much a threat as a mere statement of fact. She glanced again at the wolf, he'd calmed with Bishop near, but still looked on edge. It hadn't taken much to set him off, she would have to be careful…wait just a second, she hadn't given permission for this beast to come along yet, and why in Lathander's name had Bishop even brought him? A wild creature, barely trained if at all, how were they going to control him? And what possible use could he be, anyway? "I call him Karnwyr, but he doesn't answer to anyone else" Bishop said, his eyes were still on her when she returned to glance with a growing confusion at him. He was making some kind of point, playing some kind of game, but what? "Your friend, Malin, thought she'd give it a try once…didn't work out too well for her" He continued "If you're smart, you'll keep away from him."

"I assume that this display had some purpose to it Bishop" Casavir remarked with icy scorn and a cold sarcasm Phaedra would never have thought him capable of as he stepped forward slowly. His hammer lay idly in his hand, he must have withdrawn it at about the same time as Elanee did. Unlike her, though, he hadn't returned it to his belt.

"This display had nothing to do with you, paladin so I'd bite your tongue before either of us takes exception to it" Bishop sneered "Some of us pull a little weight around here, if we were all as damned useless as you, she'd be in Luskan already" Phaedra opened her mouth to respond, but Bishop was already pressing in as Casavir fell silent, carved in cold iron and steel "Karnwyr's pulled me out of a couple of tight spots before, I'm thinking he can do the same thing for you" H e said, to Phaedra alone once again "He's fast, good in a fight, and he can search out clues, just the kind of thing you were looking for" Phaedra stared at him, this was possibly the last thing she'd been expecting. How was she supposed to take this… offering of help? As an apology? But that wasn't like Bishop at all.

Abruptly she became conscious, though, that everyone else was once again looking to her, from Neeshka, who looked confused and deeply injured all at once, to Casavir, stoical and stern. With a jolt of unease she began to realise what these events would appear to someone who did not know the full details of why Bishop had left in the first place. It would look like she'd asked Bishop to leave, to find help, and he'd brought Karnwyr back as his answer. That implied something about her relationship with Bishop, implied that she trusted him far more than she should, implied that she'd once again kept secrets from the others for his sake. The choice before her was a stark one, let Bishop have his way and allow them to believe that, or here and now tell exactly why she'd forced Bishop to leave in the first place. But she knew, deep within, that there was really only one option. She didn't have the courage to speak those dreaded words again, to tell the others what Bishop had done, it would be a trial too far for her to bear. And she had promised him the chance to come on until Ember if he wished to, now that he did, what choice did she have but to keep the truth a secret? If Casavir knew what Bishop had done…even Phaedra wouldn't be able to keep him from casting Bishop out, if not attacking him outright. She couldn't deal with that now. And what if she did need Bishop for the investigation in Ember? It seemed Karnwyr too might be able to help. If it would save her from Luskan, from Garius, if it would discover the truth and get justice for those slaughtered at Ember, she had to do this, no matter how disagreeable she found it. But she knew in her heart that all the reasons in the world would simply be a justification, a cover, for the fact that she was too afraid to even speak, to be forced into the choice that words would bring. But she had to say something, everyone was waiting…

"Thank you Bishop" Was really all that came to her, and so she murmured it as softly as she could. "Welcome back" It wasn't enough, it would never be enough. But nonetheless it would have to do.

oooo0000oooo

Death had been a part of the order of things in West Harbour, the swamp fever, which had killed Bevil's father, had periodically swallowed the oldest members of the village in its vapours, and children too, died, sometimes. Lizardlings had slain a member of the militia once when Phaedra had been ten years old, others had simply vanished into the Mere, never to return. And, through all this, Daeghun had told the young Phaedra that the dead no longer suffered, that they no longer needed her pity, as she wept into her books for Harbourmen she had never even known. But, before the burnt-out husk of Ember, such words were as distant as West Harbour itself seemed now. A lifetime away…

"It…" Shandra's voice trembled close to her, her words swallowed in the horror before them, the atrocity…the word itself, or massacre, or slaughter, anything her mind tried to come up with to describe it, none of them could give the true horror of what lay before them as they had approached Ember from the forest path along which they'd pursued the Githyanki. The village was a shell, a husk, the houses gutted by fire, even the pastures around them slashed and scorched. It was empty, still, no stirring smoke above it, no glow of fire about them…and somehow it was all the more terrible for it. And all around, visible even from here against the blackened grass and singed wood, patches of colour that shrouded grim sights, corpses lying where they had fallen. Had they simply been still and cold it would have been no better or worse than the tomb back at Fort Locke, but…some had been caught in the flames…or thrown in them, others had been stripped and mutilated. There was no movement, no sign of survivors, no breath of life. A village no longer, Ember was a graveyard now. And, as far away as West Harbour seemed, Phaedra could not help but see with an unearthly duality her own village subjected to the same fate.

"It was efficient" Bishop said, she wondered absently who he thought he was talking to. She could hardly hear him, all her senses seemed to blur, as though even they recoiled from the sight, and the scent of death and ash on the wind, the awful silence that attended it. "They made a decent perimeter, burnt the outlying farms first…driving the villagers for the centre. This was well-planned, and typical Luskan work" Karnwyr stood at his feet, his neck arched towards the villages, eyes fixed upon it. What did he sense, something Phaedra did not?

"I was…just here" Shandra stepped forward, scarcely seeming to know what she was doing, as though this were a dream, a nightmare. "Just last season…" She glanced back at Phaedra, horror-stricken "Why, why would they do this? None of the villagers were soldiers, they didn't even have weapons…it would have been a massacre" Phaedra was silent, she knew why, she knew why… because she had slain Luskan's allies the Shadow Priests, because she had walked a path that, unwittingly had stirred old forces, dormant threats…and because an aged madman, drunk on power and obsession, would have slaughtered this village and more to claim her. But nothing would come, no words would come.

"It was a massacre, my dear" Sand spoke up at last, not without sympathy. "And accomplished without Torio's usual subtlety it seems"

"Doesn't look like they lingered over it" Neeshka murmured her agreement. Phaedra glanced at the tiefling, and saw that Neeshka had been looking at her when she'd said it, had been watching her for a while now in fact. Neither of them, not even the jaded tiefling who must have seen horrors before, would have brought up their disagreement here, in this place, perversely sanctified by its unholy horror. No one, though seemed quite ready to follow up on Sand's request, except perhaps Bishop who looked as casual as ever and Karnwyr who was straining to explore, watchfully pacing at his master's feet.

"Come now" The wizard turned, his urbane sophistication was dented, somewhat, but something told Phaedra that this was not the first Luskan atrocity he had witnessed, or even the worst. "If we have any chance of bringing the perpetrators of this to justice, we must be willing to do this. It is, in a way, the best chance to show these slain people our respects."Phaedra winced…this was horrible, it would be worse than anything she had done so far…to step into that graveyard of a village, wander through it, look into the faces of the slain…no, that was selfishness, to truly honour these people she had to find the strength to do this. Any less, letting Luskan get away with this, would be the final insult to their memory. She would not, could not, allow that.

"Alright" She said, and walked up to Sand, the others followed in her footsteps. Oh Gods, it was worse with every step she took, the stench on the wind, death, decay and burning…she clamped down on the bile in her throat, desperately trying to force some control into herself. For the people of Ember, she had to be stronger. "What are we looking for, Sand?" Even as it left her lips she thought that the question, its brute practicality, seemed ghastly, horrendous, but she had nothing else to say. No words would make this right, or better, nothing would bring Ember back. All she had now was this chance to find justice.

"Anything that seems amiss" Sand said "Poisons, unusual weaponry…any records that survived might also be useful, if to illuminate Ember's circumstances prior to this tragedy" He glanced again over the village, his keen gaze picking over the destruction with practiced, almost clinical, ease. The wizard seemed to view this horror as something almost academic, a puzzle to be unlocked, rather than a human tragedy. Perhaps he had seen so much over the span of his elven lifetime that such horror could no longer touch him, Daeghun had been like that, in a way. And yet Casavir, who stood between them, must have seen slaughters such as this, and worse, but in his eyes was a pity that had become something more, wise, and true, and enduring, a sorrow past endurance, a hope beyond this vile, vile world. There was nothing naïve, or false, about it, it acknowledged suffering, but it went above and beyond it. And it was Casavir down to the bone. Phaedra felt a helpless sorrow, she was far younger than Casavir, and far more untried, her faith a tremulous uncertain thing next to his stalwart stillness. What right had she to intrude upon his peace of mind, she, infernal-burdened, disobedient of thought and duty, a silly little girl playing at heroism? The thought was so painful she had to look away…back towards the village, and feel the sight of it assail her like another physical blow. There had been no mercy here, no pity, no love, none of the frail threads that made up her little scraps of faith in the goodness of the world. To be sure, she had always known what had happened at Ember, seen it in Alaine's eyes, and of course she had read of things far worse, but to see it now, it made it truly real, forced her to confront it with nothing more than the thinnest cloak of her faith to comfort her. It wasn't enough. Casavir might yet see a justice that soared over the tragedy of Ember, but…justice…even if justice was done, it would not bring back a single one of these people, bring back their lives, their loves, their families. These were gone, unravelled, thrust into darkness…after what had been lost, justice…could only do so much.

It was in silence that they walked onwards, a cold, eerie silence permeated the site of this atrocity, as though life itself could not bear the presence of such cruelty, as though the vileness of the deed had seeped into the earth, into the air and poisoned it. But it was a human cruelty, a human vileness, and, as she glanced at Karnwyr, and saw him unaffected by the atmosphere, trotting onwards unconcernedly enough, his nose to the wind, she knew that nothing in nature, no animal, would ever do something of such wickedness for so arbitrary a purpose, for one young woman, for her. Death was all around her…her heart felt frozen, a knot of rock and ice cold in her chest as she looked again over the scene of devestation. It occurred to her suddenly, though, that Sand was once again speaking, directing them, but it took her a moment to even order her thoughts enough to understand him.

"If anyone finds anything, do not think of interfering with it until you have called me to examine it" The wizard was saying "Any sign of such meddling will be seized upon by Luskan, I assure you."

"These corpses must be sanctified, Sand" Casavir interjected levelly "I mean to see it done" In his gauntleted hands he bore securely the velvet pouch that he had received from the shopkeeper in Port Llast, the wyrmsage to cleanse this place. The paladin looked distant, reverant, and yet…sad. His grieving for these people had the same remote austerity, it tore Phaedra's heart.

"While I am sure the dead appreciate the sentiment, Luskan will not" Sand shook his head "They will accuse us of interfering with the evidence, and believe me it will look like that to Phaedra's judges"

"If necessary I will take full responsibility for the cleansing of this village" Casavir answered, with no hint of anger, only an iron, intractable firmness. "But I will not leave these people here to rot like this"

"Paladin…" Sand spread his hands with exasperation "Justice is all well and good, but we are in murkier waters now. This is politics, there is no place for mercy here"

"Casavir's right, Sand" Phaedra said suddenly, almost surprising herself as well as them "We can't leave these people like this. And that isn't up for debate" Casavir glanced briefly at her, and soberly nodded his thanks. In the end it was her sacrifice to let this go ahead though it might yet damage her chances, he understood that as well as she did. But Ember deserved this, even if…it didn't get justice.

"Very well" Sand sighed, defeated "But please make sure I've at least had a chance to examine these bodies before you begin dousing them in suspect acidic compounds, no matter how holy their supposed effects"

"You know, people might take kindly to it, if you paint it the right way in front of them" Neeshka said hesitantly "I mean, in the end we're going for the people, right, because if they believe Phaedra's guilty, Nasher won't be able to stop them. And they certainly won't care about the legal bits of the trial, we make this look like a heroic sacrifice, an act of mercy, and they'll eat it up" Phaedra paused, Neeshka was right, of course, but…after what had happened last night, why this now? Neeshka knew Neverwinter, and its people, her insights might have been helpful had Phaedra ever sought them out up until now. But she hadn't. Something far more complex than she had thought was going on with Neeshka, she had to talk to the tiefling, soon. But not here, this was no place for that, for anything…but tears and prayers and mourning.

"You know, that just might work" Sand breathed. "Yes, it fits in with the impression we'll be trying to convey" He nodded, satisfied "Very well, we may go ahead with that" Had Phaedra been truly concentrating, she might have found herself vaguely concerned with the way Sand seemed to take responsibility for that decision, her own and Neeshka's decision, but her thoughts had drifted away once again. Drifted as the ash, grey and lifeless, flakes of deathly white, fluttered over her feet: pieces of people's homes, their possessions, their lives…their bodies. Ember was dead, there was nothing here but the ashes now.

As everyone moved off to their own separate duties and searches of this haunted place, Phaedra found herself walking by Shandra, an instinctive move that seemed hardly to have come from her own vague, grief-riddled thoughts. Yet Shandra was taking this hardest of them all, she looked visibly sick now, her steps unsteady, her features ghastly white. She had known this village, known its people, how much worse must it be for her than for Phaedra? Neither of them spoke, Phaedra was unsure how much Shandra was actually conscious of her there, but she had to be near Shandra, no matter what they found.

"The quartermaster's house…" Shandra breathed haltingly, as they paused before one fire-gutted old home just near the gate. Her eyes, unfocused, wet, traced the line of the doorway as she raised a hand to touch the scorched wooden beams. Flakes of charcoal peeled off under her gauntlets, fluttering in the brief, cold wind that broke the haunting stillness for a moment, stirring the ashes and dust upon Ember's ravaged village green. "I remember…every year he'd inventory my cargo for the village records. He took notes about everything…we, Alaine and I, always used to laugh about it, how seriously he took it…"

"I'm sorry, Shandra…" Phaedra whispered "I'm so sorry"

"It's not your fault" Shandra answered, glancing up, her face was streaked with tears. "Don't ever think it was. It's those Luskans, that witch Torio…" She paused, swallowed again, then her eyes slowly travelled past Phaedra, and focused on something just beyond her. "Oh Chauntea" She gasped suddenly, her breaths coming fast and shallow, as though she could not catch her breath "Oh Gods, no" Phaedra turned, and saw a body lying just there across the pathway. They'd just walked past it on their way here, hadn't even seen it. But there it was, an old man in a faded blue tunic, lying there, his face in the dust, his fingers clasped lifelessly in the ashes. They'd stabbed him in the back and left him to die here. Insects hovered about him, black, humming particles of decay, they circled him slowly, darting in to that gaping, blackened wound across his back. Phaedra staggered back, and her heart began to pound as a great swell of pain and bile forced its way up her throat, her stomach clenching as though a fist had closed around it. She felt sick, oh Gods, that was, had been, a man. Her breath caught in her throat, suddenly all she could smell, all she could breathe, was the stench of death. Beside her Shandra clasped at her stomach, retching emptily into the pitiless air. "That…" She coughed "That was him…the quartermaster"

"Oh…Shandra" Phaedra staggered over to her friend, fighting down the waves of disorientation and nausea that struck at her. She caught Shandra before she fell, and held her friend for a moment, they held each other.

"We need to get Casavir here…" Shandra was sobbing, or coughing, Phaedra couldn't tell "We need to stop this" Phaedra's hand, feeling heavy and clumsy, touched Shandra's hair comfortingly as she held Shandra tight, supporting her, supporting herself all at once. They stood like that for a moment, until the heavy touch of nausea abated, and the stench of decay weakened, and Shandra stilled in her arms. But Phaedra knew she could never forget this place, this man, it would haunt her for ever, it would haunt the both of them.

As she let Shandra go, stepping back, Shandra held onto her hands for a moment more. They faced each other, over the ashes and, though there was no blame in Shandra's eyes, Phaedra thought she knew what Shandra was thinking. Had it not been for Phaedra this village, these people would still be here.

"So unnecessary" She heard Sand sigh from just behind them, and turned away from Shandra, letting her hands fall once again, to see the wizard standing just along the path, an appropriately sad expression on his face as he found the corpse of the quartermaster at his feet. Yet, once again, the human cost did not seem to touch him. It was more perhaps a distant distaste at the act itself than a sense of the loss of a life, and even so he was as usual entirely unruffled by it. It was as though he was looking at a diagram in a book, and when he looked away, his keen eyes scanning the burnt husk of the old man's house, she could see that he'd almost entirely forgotten the dead body, left behind like so much dust off his silken robes. "Hmm, now what is this?" As Phaedra and Shandra watched silently, the wizard crouched down in one elegant sweep, and plucked something from the ashes. It was a book, Phaedra realised, a cheaply-bound leather book, singed by the flames but still largely intact. Phaedra moved over to see what he'd found, and so did Shandra. Though she still felt a dull anguish at the thought that she too, could so easily step away like this from so much death for her own sake, what choice did she have?

"It's his record book" Shandra breathed, recognising it instantly "Where he kept notes about the trade through Ember"

"Interesting" Sand leafed through to a page somewhere near the middle, the last page to be filled in with the quartermaster's cramped scrawl. The old man's writing covered the whole surface of the page, numbers, sums, costs…she imagined the quartermaster with his ink-stained fingers in the book taking a great deal of pride in his work, no matter how small it might have seemed to others. Gods curse this, these people had made their lives, their joys and sorrows, their loves, and now all that was ended like this. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. "Look here" Sand's long finger alighted upon the last entry in the book "The old man was getting concerned, no trade caravans had passed through in the last week or so, not a single one"

"Not even from Luskan, you mean?" Shandra murmured "But they always got weekly caravans from Luskan, always…Alaine said it was to remind them who was in charge as much as anything else"

"No" Sand tapped the book "Not a single one from Luskan." Phaedra could see where his thoughts were going. Would it work as a piece of evidence? She wasn't so sure…

"They were occupied by the Githyanki briefly" She said "Luskan might use that to counter the evidence, suggest they delayed the caravan for safety"

"My dear, I am not sure Luskan even knew about the Githyanki being here" Sand shook his head "Tell me, if you were one of these people, would you risk Luskan's attentions like that? I think not…" He nodded, satisfied "It's not perfect evidence, but it is something for the court to consider. Let's see if Torio can explain away Luskan's curious foresight in this matter" He tucked the book safely into the pouch at his waist. "We should keep looking, there may be more yet left undisturbed in this place"

"Where's Casavir?" Shandra stepped forward, almost stumbling as she did so. Gods, she was weaker than Phaedra had thought, this place was sapping the life from her. "I need him to…"

"I'll get him Shandra" Phaedra volunteered instantly, she didn't want Shandra to hurt any more than Ember had already done to her. "You could stay with Sand a moment, try to catch your breath?" Shandra nodded exhaustedly, as Sand raised an eyebrow, understanding. "Sand, perhaps you could examine another part of the village" Phaedra coaxed, being near the quartermaster's body, at least until Casavir had anointed it with wyrmsage, wasn't helping Shandra, or her for that matter. Sand took the hint, and he and Shandra wandered off, him the picture of purposeful investigation, Shandra looking lost once again. They had to get out of here, for her sake as well as for Shandra's, everything was ashes here, and the weight of the dead seemed to drag her down slowly. She couldn't bear it, and hated herself for it, because she should have been able to stand here and look upon the consequences of her own journey, but she could not look down at the bodies she passed, or at the burnt houses. It was beyond her.

She found Casavir standing next to another scorched husk of a home, still and sombre as one of the statues of his maimed God, bearing the open pouch of wyrmsage, the silvery power glistening in the sun, and his hammer. In his open hands they looked like instruments of some austere sacrament, as, perhaps, they were in a way. Stepping up to him, she realised that he was actually praying; though he wasn't speaking, or kneeling, and his eyes were open and upon three bodies lying in a tangle on the pathway but she knew immediately that he was entreating the God of Justice, for what she could not tell. Perhaps he asked for nothing more than rest for the dead, yet Phaedra as she settled there by him and looked up to the cold winter sun hovering over-head, found her own prayers took a different turn. Love, and faith, and all that was good in the world, none of it had saved these people, and justice itself had been turned against them, had been warped, corrupted to serve Luskan's ends and pin this slaughter upon her. Yet she knew had any of them had the dark power she had nurtured unknowingly within the embers of her magic, they might have been able to save themselves, and others, for no Luskan warrior, no matter how strong, would have withstood hellfire at his back. Her power, though, she knew to be evil. And this, spoken without words, was the substance of her prayer, a keening grief and confusion she sent up a pitiless sky.

"Phaedra" Casavir spoke suddenly, his voice was heavy and rough with grief. She opened her eyes, and glanced at the paladin, the sadness in his features was more obvious than ever she had seen feeling in them before. Slowly, horrified of what she might see there and yet unable to stop herself, she looked down at the bodies over which Casavir's prayer had been given. They were children. "They spared no one, all were innocents and yet they gave no mercy" Casavir muttered. "Not even for the children"

"Casavir…" Phaedra breathed "Why…?" She fell silent, unsure of how her question would sound to him.

"Why do the Gods allow this?" Casavir finished immediately. "Could they not reach out their power to save one child, a single child, from the blade of an evil man?" She nodded mutely, he had spoken her thoughts completely, so completely that she wondered how often the same thoughts crossed his mind. "I could answer you that there are laws, for Gods as for men" Casavir continued sombrely, he wasn't looking at her still, his sorrowing gaze fixed upon the dead children "And that our Gods, Tyr, Lathander, are Gods of law. But that is no answer for such a tragedy, for such a question. The only answer I have, the only answer any of us have, lies in our own hearts, yours and mine, where we stand before the Gods alone, and intellect itself fails. There, we both trust that the Gods are good, that ultimately their will is good. If you did not, there would be no question to ask, there would no be no trials of faith. And as we believe that, so we must trust even in the face of such tragedy that the will of our Gods are good, and that they allowed this for some reason, maybe a reason we frail earthly souls cannot understand, but one we will come to know, one day…"

"How?" Phaedra asked softly. Casavir's voice was resonant, compelling, like the soaring vaults of a grand temple raised high above the frailties of mortal wills, resigned to higher things. And yet, as though her own eyes were blinded by the light of its magnificence, she strained to see, but her gaze fell short. The argument was…comforting, but she felt an unease at its centre, something she could hardly articulate.

"Through faith" Casavir answered simply "Faith is the light of our existence, the one thing within us that is pure. For alone of all our impulses faith may lead us on higher pathways, things greater than ourselves. All else fails in the end, faith alone endures"

"And…the evil Gods?" Phaedra felt the question niggling, uncharitable, compared to the beauty of Casavir's preaching. But it had to be asked…surely they, Malar, Talona, the rest of them, some of whom would rejoice in the slaughter in which she and Casavir stood discussing theology, and their followers had faith in them, and did their wills, though such wills were evil. There had to be a difference, but she was relying on Casavir to provide them.

"Faith in something that is evil is no true faith at all" Casavir answered "It is a corruption of that purity, and thus is the most evil of all things." Phaedra glanced at him, there was yet another question, still, that she sensed hanging heavily between them…how did you know whether your faith was in something good or evil if the will of the Gods was so mysterious that they allowed evil to occur even though good themselves?

Casavir did not seem to hear it though, he bent down and sprinkled the silver particles of wyrmsage upon the three bodies before him, a benediction that bathed them for a moment in a blazing light. Phaedra stood by respectfully, but her thoughts were in turmoil. She supposed that her question would come back to the beginning, you simply knew, in your heart that the God you worshipped was pure. She wondered what Bishop thought, she'd never heard him reference a God, not even in cursing. Yet everyone worshipped a God, some just did so less seriously. But she knew Casavir had to be right, he was a good man, a holy man, and he knew the Gods. If he gave such an argument, she would believe it too. And if she had doubts, she would have to keep having faith and find the answers in herself like he said. For if…nothing Casavir said was true, then this slaughter at Ember was an utterly meaningless slaughter, a horror with no purpose, no redemption behind it. She simply could not believe that. When the light of the wyrmsage faded, the bodies had vanished, gone beyond the grasp of undeath. It was over.

"Shandra…knew the quartermaster" Phaedra remembered, as Casavir stood slowly. "He's…lying over there" She pointed to the quartermaster's house. "She wanted you to give him wyrmsage. Sand's already looked over him too…"

"I do not like that wizard's attitude" Casavir said softly "I would give this blessing whether or not he has scrutinised the corpses for his purposes. We will win the trial by Tyr's will not by Sand's cold manipulations" He bowed his head "Will you walk with me then, Phaedra?"

"Casavir, I needed to go look at more of the village" Phaedra answered uncomfortably, mostly because she had resigned herself to Sand's rather than Tyr's will. Was it sinful to trust in Sand's skill rather than Tyr? But Tyr was not her God, Lathander was.

"Very well" Casavir nodded briefly, thankfully he didn't seem to mind. "I will see you once we are done, then" He turned away and moved sombrely down the path back the way Phaedra had come. Phaedra herself immediately moved away, unsure of where she was going, but desperate to move somewhere, to shed the weight of death, though she knew no such release would come until she had left Ember behind, or perhaps it never would. It seemed inconceivable that you could forget such a horror, but she knew that slowly, surely time would erode Ember's memory from the earth. One day no one would even know there had been a village here at all. And then, with Ember forgotten, horrors like it would be repeated again and again. As if in answer to that dire train of thought, she found herself wandering up to Bishop and Karnwyr. The wolf was pacing restlessly around the village, stopping to sniff at corpses and patches of earth, but seeming to have found little of interest yet. Bishop followed him, alternatively scrutinising the ruined village with hard eyes, and watching his companion's careful work. Of all of them, except perhaps Sand, Ember seemed to have affected Bishop least. She supposed nothing less could be expected of a torturer, but the thought did not have the heart-stopping shock it had carried once. Did the people who had done this deserve to be tortured? Something in her whispered that no matter what everyone, even murderers, were supposed to have the chance to be redeemed, but walking in Ember's wastes it was impossible for her heart to accept that. These people had been murdered, this village lain to waste, what punishment was there for such a crime? Even death might not be enough, for each of them must have slain many innocents. She'd always thought herself a civilised person, and yet beneath the grief she felt an echo of the savage thirst for satisfaction that animated ancient, barbaric law, a life for a life. It horrified her, for more deaths would not bring these people back. Yet…she yearned for something to happen to the perpetrators, something, anything…she didn't know what, that would answer this horror in kind.

"So, we're back here after all" Bishop said softly as she reached him and Karnwyr, who gave her what passed as a thoughtful gaze amongst wolves, but quickly returned to his searching. "And here I was hoping never to set eyes on these flea-ridden hovels ever again"

"Don't, Bishop" Phaedra raised a hand "Not here…"

"Right" He shrugged "Believe me these people don't deserve your pity"

"They're innocents" Phaedra answered sadly "Killed because of me."

"They were killed because they were weak" Bishop scowled, no she was wrong, something was bothering him. His anger, though normally fearsome enough, did not usually have this quality of bitterness it possessed now. "Look at them, they were begging for their lives, its here, written in the dust and the blood" He glanced darkly over the path before them, as though reading it now. "We survive because we fight for life, you, me, Karnwyr…he was only a pup and he killed two Luskans before I found him, that's more than every single one of these people managed" Bishop continued, then paused and glanced up at her again, through hooded eyes "It isn't your fault, they brought this upon themselves" He paused, glanced over the village one more time with a cold, steel-hard eye, and Phaedra sensed there was something more to all of this, to his words, to how he looked at the village. He saw something in the village, but what? "And you know what, there'd be a lot less misery in the world if everyone followed that simple rule; either stand up and fight, or be prepared to suffer"

"Bishop...that's awful" Phaedra stammered. She was looking at a torturer, she had to remind herself, speaking to him of morals and rules and laws and innocence, why should any of that mean anything to him? But despite herself she was drawn in, as always. There was something compelling about that philosophy, brutish, cruel, terrible in such a place as Ember for certain, and yet...she could not but find herself yearning to understand it.

"Is it?" Bishop sneered "Maybe when you don't let people stand up for themselves, you end up hurting them more than if you let them take a few wounds. I mean you saved them from the Gith, didn't you, when none of them lifted a finger to save themselves? They had that chance, this time no one came to save them and they died and that's the end of it"

"None of them deserved this" Phaedra replied levelly. The anger with which she might have responded seemed misplaced in this tragic, haunted place, or perhaps it was that mention of Karnwyr before and the brief hint of the origins of their companionship that silenced her retorts.

"Tell me, princess" Bishop leaned casually against the nearby house, as though this were simply in front of the Flagon. "What would have happened if you never fought for anything? Why, you wouldn't have come all this way" True, but she had her gifts, the people of Ember did not. "Seems to me there's a strength in that, and something these fools should have learned from" Shocked by his denigration of the dead, Phaedra nevertheless noticed out of the corner of her eye that Karnwyr had paused by a single, solitary corpse on the path-side and was growling and pawing the ground insistently, but her attention was wholly absorbed by Bishop.

"You saved Karnwyr didn't you?" Phaedra surmised softly, from the scrap of story he'd already told, and from the wolf's clear loyalty to him. A different topic entirely, and yet it was becoming paramount that she ascertain some hint of human feeling in this man. She could have raged against his callousness, but what would that accomplish now? "From the Luskans, I mean?"

"No" Bishop sneered, as though he found the question not merely ridiculous but contemptible "I killed them because I wanted to, because I felt like it, but I didn't even know he was there until he was out there among them, ripping the throats out of the dying men. They'd killed his family, and they were baiting him, torturing him. When I killed them, he figured we were pack, or something. He followed me, even with a limp and bleeding from his ear, for miles, no matter what I did to scare him off. Eventually I decided he might be useful, trained him up a bit and we worked together for a while…then he left to go find a pack in the Duskwood, and now he's back following me again. I don't know what he thinks I am, I don't care, but he's a good killer, and tracker" He glared at Phaedra "I didn't save him, just like I wouldn't save these people again if I'd had the chance" But you saved me, Phaedra thought, silently gazing back at him…why?

Suddenly Karnwyr growled, and the both of them glanced away at the wolf in unison. He was standing by the corpse along the road, a middle-aged man, unremarkable, with thinning hair, his face to the ground, his clothes simple, homespun things. To tell his name, his life would be impossible, no one would ever know his story now. But Karnwyr seemd to think that there was something…wrong with the corpse, he was sniffing it now, his lips drawn back from his teeth and a growl of what could best be described as distaste rumbling in his throat. This was, the growl said, something unnatural, something he hadn't encountered before now. Since Bishop's story, and what she knew of his past, easily suggested that Karnwyr must have encountered plenty of human corpses in his lifetime, it was clear that there had to be something different about this one, maybe something Sand could use. And Bishop knew it too, before Phaedra could react herself he was already crouching by Karnwyr, examining the man's corpse with a practiced eye. Phaedra couldn't do so herself, the stench of death repelled her almost physically. And yet she could not look away, as Bishop lifted the limp hands of the corpse, examining it much as Karnwyr had, he even sniffed the air thoughtfully, as though he too sensed something wrong about this body. Phaedra herself could see little of the sort, it was decayed perhaps more than many others, the pallor of death had acquired a ghastly greyish tinge across the loose flesh, but otherwise, she dared not look any closer.

"What is it?" She managed to say at last, as Bishop raised his head from the body.

"Colouration's wrong, and these wounds weren't enough to kill him" The ranger answered. "Something else did that for them, poison maybe"

"Karnwyr found that?" Phaedra glanced, astonished at the wolf, who stood regal and impassive at Bishop's side. He didn't have the gleeful playfulness of a domesticated animal, but something about the set of his powerful shoulders said that he was well pleased with his discovery, and expected a suitable payment for it. Now, with the beginnings of their past together revealed, if grudgingly, Phaedra found herself thinking cautiously about the wolf. What did he think he was doing here, now, for example? Was he aware of her, and who she was? Did he think she led Bishop, or the other way around?

"He's seen a lot of death" Bishop stood slowly "We both have" Phaedra paused briefly, she'd been so certain that she would not see Bishop again, now things were more complicated than ever before. Their relationship had swung right back round onto a new axis now. She had thought herself strong enough to overcome him when she'd faced him armed with Malin's knowledge of the evil he had done, but now…she could not say where they stood, and which of them was in control.

"I suppose I should get Sand" Phaedra said at last.

"I suppose you should" Bishop shrugged "But it's not my problem"

"Well…fine" Phaedra answered lamely, uncomfortably "I will" That, she reflected as she turned and walked away back towards the village green where Sand had been headed with Shandra, had not been done too well on her part. Karnwyr was clearly here for some reason, a gamble on Bishop's part perhaps. And yet a gamble implied desperation, she could not work out why Bishop would be so concerned with staying with her that he would rely on such a thing. Besides he had always seemed so nonchalant about their companionship, or had, she thought with a strange unease, that but nothing more than an act? She dismissed that immediately, it was impossible. Such an act would be breath-takingly complex, besides she was certain she could have seen through it by now. Karnwyr's presence unbalanced things regardless, he was Bishop's ally, that was certain, and that the ranger meant to use him for something other than simply helping her was just as certain. What was left, then, was her own response to all this. Karnwyr himself might do, maybe there was a way to gain his trust. The thought that she might be able to befriend, even rely on, the wolf certainly removed some of the unease of facing Bishop when he had so formidable a friend at his beck and call. Besides the wolf, and his relationship with Bishop, fascinated her. She wanted to know more, and Karnwyr himself might be able to provide it.

The fact that she was thinking of such things as she walked through a massacured village stunned her momentarily, but she saw that Casavir had cleansed much of Ember now, leaving few of the bodies still. It was now a tragic, awful sight, but no longer quite such a ghastly one. She thought, deadened, that you became used even to this when you lingered too long within it. Sand was by the well, with Shandra, Elanee and Neeshka standing with him, all in silence. Sand hadn't found anything else, and he was deeply sceptical when Phaedra explained Bishop's discovery, but he, and the others, eventually deigned to follow her to that lonely, nondescript body upon in the grass. Bishop and Karnwyr were gone, Gods alone knew where, and Sand swooped down on the body immediately, his over-large nose twitching with interest as he extravagantly sniffed the air.

"Oh" His ministrations completed, Sand glanced back up at her, not grudgingly, but almost in the manner of an academic acknowledging graciously an intellectual defeat. "It seems your half-wild oaf of a ranger and that beast of his were right after all, this man was indeed poisoned" With swift, practiced motions he tore open the man's shirt, examining the mottled pattern of streaked red and grey across his back, reading the dead.

"Where is Bishop?" Neeshka muttered, but Phaedra shrugged, without looking at her. Sand's gruesome work was oddly compelling, if only in its strict professionalism, its expertise.

"I recognise the pattern of discolouration" The wizard proclaimed suddenly. "A little known poison, very rare, and no doubt smeared upon the blade of a dagger which this poor man got the wrong side of." From his belt the wizard drew up a small, silver knife, wicked-sharp, clearly an appliance meant for samples and reagents. The hilt was bound with fine leather and gold. "It's not common in Neverwinter, but it is certainly known amongst the less savoury assassins' guilds of Luskan" Sand explained as he did so, though he was shedding no light yet on the purpose of the blade. Regardless, this was another clue, but they had no proof of it either, unless Sand had some way to drag a body all the way back to Neverwinter. Gods, what a disgusting thought. What was this trial turning her into? Wait, what was Sand saying now? It took her a moment to comprehend to what the wizard had blithely announced. "We'll need a sample"

"What…?" Phaedra began, but the wizard had already taken up the man's hand, the wicked silver knife flashing in the air as it cut, with a single stroke, through his smallest finger. Blood oozed from the wound, sluggish and black, as Sand let the hand fall once again, holding his gruesome trophy only for a moment before he slipped it delicately into a pouch at his belt. Shandra retched emptily again, as Phaedra felt her stomach tighten painfully. That was disgusting, was he really going to bring that dead finger all the way to Neverwinter, present it at the trial?

"Was that truly necessary, Sand?" Elanee asked softly.

"Yes" The wizard stood slowly "Alaine's testimony leaves us very little manoeuvrability, this trial will hinge on the smallest clues, no matter where they come from or what we must do to obtain them" An uneasy thought, just how far was Sand prepared to go? Phaedra opened her mouth to speak, then…

"Ho!" Khelgar's powerful shout rang across empty, silent Ember. "There's someone in the well!"


	54. Chapter 54

_This was a long wait, a really long wait, I'm really sorry it happened to work out to take quite as long as it did. Finally, though, I'm back on track. Hopefully things are sorted out enough to get the next chapter up far sooner._

_Happy New Year's regardless! I'm really glad to give this to my readers at last. Any comments would be great, as we're coming up to the trial itself (at last) where I have a couple of exciting ideas planned. More on that later, though!_

_For now, simply (I hope) enjoy..._

* * *

Unknowingly, perhaps, the founders of Ember had dug their foundations deep, and beneath that innocuous well, the simple stone structure where the people of the village must once have gathered to draw water, to gossip, to live, as had too the people of West Harbour, they had uncovered…something. Here in this umbral darkness beneath the village, within these chill and glassy waters, a half-sensed echo, a hum of power, disturbed the still surface of the underground lake which had gifted its water to Ember for the extent of the village's brief, tragic history. Had the Circle held sway over these lands, this power, this place, would have been regarded as too sacred for anything but the holiest of druidic rituals. Any tresspassers, like the people of Ember, who dared build upon such a place would be murdered quietly and out of sight of those who sent them, in holy, cleansing sacrifices to the Mere's caprice. No one outside the Mere ever discovered the fate of those who drew the Circle's ire, they were simply regarded as more victims of the dangers of the swamp…there had been so many victims, so many deaths. If the Circle had not been destroyed, and if they discovered what Elanee had done, she knew that there was a possibility she might have joined that nameless multitude lying beneath the Mere's waters. But the Circle was dead, and Phaedra's fate hung in the balance, so here she was.

Yes, she was here, in this cave, beneath the earth, filled to the waist with water so dark as to be almost impenetrable to the eye, so freezing that as it flowed over her legs and amidst the material of her dress she felt its chill slowly tighten over her, numbing sense and feeling. She breathed deeply, feeling long-practiced calm settle over her shivering shoulders and over the numbing of her legs which were submerged deep in the well's water. There was some light even here, from the well above her. It was a moss-stained, damp tunnel of stone boring from the ground to the ceiling of this cave, looking up at it now she could hardly believe she had descended it with little more than the small, flimsy rope that hung down, slick with moss, to the water in which she now stood. It opened out into the blaze of the noonday sun, but none of the warmth of the day above reached this world below. The light, enfeebled by depth, did manage to illuminate the sweeping contours of the cave just around the well. The walls had been smoothed to a glistening sheen by the ebb and flow of the water, there was some kind of mineral in the stone here, it glinted like glass, a hundred sparkling motes caught in the rock itself.

"Damn them, what's taking her so bloody long?" Bishop snarled suddenly. Elanee breathed deeply again, trying to calm and focus, the chill of the waters was only part of her trial, and a lesser part in comparison to enduring Bishop's restlessness. He'd been the first down the well, Gods alone knew why, most likely simply to prove a point against the objections of Casavir and Sand both of whom had little mind to the descent. But from the moment Elanee had descended after him, he'd been edgy. It might well be the feeling of being caged down here, the darkness was such that you couldn't see a way forward, and Bishop had always struck her as a man who preferred space around him, or it was that Phaedra, who remained above, was out of his sight.

"It's that paladin, I bet" Neeshka sneered "Simpering over her, like usual. He'll probably be carrying her down here himself." Neeshka did little to make this more bearable either. She'd been the third down, after Bishop and Elanee, and no matter what Bishop said she would add her own simpering agreement, not that Bishop acknowledged her either way. Elanee recognised Neeshka's behaviour, the cries for attention, the snappish sulleness, the childish resentment, but that didn't stop it being rather irritating. Neeshka needed to grow up soon, as the rest of them had, larger things were at stake than her pettiness. After all, look at Phaedra, she was younger than Neeshka and you'd never see her using Bishop as a means of getting back at anyone else. She was far too wise for that. Elanee knew she was being harsh on the tiefling but it was hard for her to be sympathetic when Neeshka made things so difficult for Phaedra.

"Steady there" Khelgar shook his head "They'll be down in a minute, it isn't so easy on the rest of us who use armour with a little more weight than yours" Now there was someone who'd begun to take on more responsibility after an unpromising start, Phaedra could rely on Khelgar, why could she not do the same for Neeshka?

"Phaedra doesn't even wear armour, and neither does Sand" Neeshka complained under her breath. "But I don't see them freezing down here waiting for us, and what in the Hells happened to Casavir anyway?"

"They'll be here in a minute" Shandra answered steadily, faithful as always. She was holding her plate armour out of the water's reach, on top of her sword and shield, and without complaint.

At once a shadow fell across the light of the noonday sun pouring through the well…thank the Gods they were coming at last. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, and then she saw it was actually Casavir descending, one broad hand clasped around the rope, his armour strapped to his back and wearing a white undertunic. And he was, indeed, actually carrying Phaedra alongside him. Neeshka let out an audible groan of disgust. They were…rather close to each other, was the first thing Elanee thought. Phaedra had one arm around his shoulders, the other hand held fast to the rope, aiding his descent as much as she could. He, meanwhile, bore her weight across his knee and in one arm, his legs were braced against the side of the well, the other arm bearing the both of them against the rope. Well Elanee supposed that he'd persuaded her to let him bear her weight, no doubt in spite of herself. Still there was no harm to it, unlike the rest of them, even Shandra who must have trained herself through farmwork, Phaedra had never engaged in this kind of athletic exercise. Casavir's features were strained, the muscles of his arms tensed as he slowly manoeuvred his way down the well with Phaedra's weight. Briefly Elanee wondered what it felt like to be held like that….By Silvanus, she cursed herself suddenly. She had duties, her own vigils, Casavir distracted her far too much already.

She forced herself to look away, to test her strength, and by coincidence, or perhaps not, her eyes found Bishop straight away. To her intense relief, he and everyone else were all too fixated by Phaedra and Casavir to notice where her gaze had fallen, no doubt for all kinds of differing reasons. Bishop watched hardest of all, he tried so hard to be casual about Phaedra, act as though she didn't matter to him, but there were moments when he let his guard down, moments like this one. It was the little things, the tension in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, enough to disturb her nonetheless. What exactly they meant, however, remained an open question, she didn't know what Bishop truly intended. She'd resolved for some time now to speak to him herself, but he was so aggressive, and she had no illusions that he clearly despised her.

The hum of a low, resonant growl, an aggressive, territorial growl, interrupted her thoughts, and instantly her gaze flicked from Bishop to the dark waters about his waist…Karnwyr was there. The wolf was stood within the waters, his head and the fall of his back were raised above their dark surface but he seemed uncaring of the discomfort. His yellow eyes, glinting in the dark, were fixed straight upon her, brazen, strong and assertive, the eyes of an alpha male. He'd known exactly what she was doing, sizing up Bishop's threat, and he intended her to back down. Elanee stared back at him for a moment, Karnwyr intimidated her more than she could ever let him know. Any sense of him was closed to her, meaning he had a remarkably strong will, as well as an astonishingly close bond with Bishop. The pair of them moved as one, the same goals, the same intentions, she'd never seen anything quite like it, and Bishop was not even a druid. She had no idea to what purpose Bishop meant to put the wolf, but there was no doubt that Karnwyr would follow him in it. At once, though, she felt another pair of eyes upon her, Bishop, slowly she found him once again, and she knew he knew what she had seen. He was as hard as steel, facing both his gaze and Karnwyr's was utterly unnerving. And yet she dared not back down, they were animals, the both of them, they respected only strength. But she was shockingly relieved when behind her Casavir and Phaedra slipped into the water with a splash, and ripples spread across the still surface of the lake, giving her an excuse to glance away.

"Gosh…it's freezing" Phaedra breathed softly, the steady seriousness of her gaze as slowly she glanced over everyone, one after the other, belied the levity of the comment. Was Elanee the only one who noticed upon whom her eyes lingered longest? And was she the only one who heard the stirring behind her as he shifted in the water?

"Where's Sand?" Shandra asked.

"Coming" Phaedra instantly glanced back at Shandra. "He's being very cautious about getting his reagents wet" Then, the hum of magic tingled across Elanee's senses; she raised her head, and her sight were blurred by a light that now blazed above them, more powerful than the light of the sun and colder…Sand? A rush of wind, like the beating of great wings, set the air and the water in the well swirling around them, and the sense of magic suddenly rose to a feverish rumble in Elanee's mind. There was a sudden flash, smoke seemed to cloud the air, and the rush whirled to a torrent. Elanee staggered back, and suddenly there was a flash of light and seared upon her pupils in the afterglow of the blaze of magic was the vision of a form more than human, ablaze in mists and magic, the hint of vast wings folded behind it. Then in the next instant it was over, and Sand was standing before them in the waters, brushing the sleeves of his robes with barely a hint of ripples around his body to hint at the extraordinary descent she had just seen. Sand had been using transmutive magic on himself so he hadn't had to climb down the rope, that was all Elanee could guess. But what was blindingly clear was that he was more powerful than she'd suspected, more powerful and more dangerous.

"How ghastly" The wizard complained at once, glancing disdainfully at his new surroundings "Dingy, wet, cold…it's lucky I take such pride in my work or I might file a charge of grievous breach of contract"

"Don't be absurd" Phaedra smiled, she didn't seem surprised at all by that display of Sand's power, but she was more versed in the arcane than Elanee. Nor did Elanee miss how natural that smile was, and how often Sand could bring it to her face when few others could. He made her smile even now after what they'd seen above ground, his arrogance and his sardonic humour gave her some peace and some respite when she sorely needed them. That was one reason why Elanee meant to ingratiate herself with Sand as completely as she could. She knew she had to because she fully intended to make use of Sand's wisdom and expertise, his magic and all his power, just as he had originally come to her intending to make use of hers, arrogant in his presumption that he could manipulate her. In the end, for Phaedra's sake, she would harness Sand if she had to, bind him with a touch so light that he did not even feel it to the same single purpose that had dominated her life for so long, for Phaedra. To protect Phaedra, she would outwit Sand no matter how powerful he was, she would do anything. "You don't have a contract, Sand" She glanced around slowly, her eyes taking in the whole cave but it was impossible to say what she thought. Elanee was used to reading Phaedra easily, but in the village above, the tragedy, something had settled over her, a new reticence that she bore uneasily, but so completely that Elanee struggled to see the heart she had come to love beneath it.

"We should get moving" Elanee said, at least, trying to be useful again, after all of Sand's aid in the village above. "If someone really is alive down here, they might be wounded, or ill. And this water is cold enough to cause hypothermia"

"You're right" Phaedra moved forward at the front, wading through the water with determined steadiness, her simple white underdress floating in the water around her. None of them knew quite what they were looking for down here, but Phaedra had insisted, despite all the difficulties involved, that they descend into the well after the sounds that they'd all heard. She was desperate to find survivors, desperate to salvage something from Ember. Her greatest strength lay in her compassion, but she was so easily hurt. "Is anyone down here?" Phaedra's voice, hesitant and soft, echoed in the expanse of darkness. As Elanee and the others moved to follow, Sand murmured an incantation, and a clear, white light flooded suddenly the whole cave, revealing its towering, sweeping ceiling, adorned with hanging turrets and buttresses of water-shaped stone. It was a vast space, almost a cathedral of stone, and all filled to waist-height with the black water through which the light could scarcely pierce. And there was a way onward, just beyond the reach of the blaze of Sand's spell, where the water lapped the polished edge of a smooth rock shoreline, leading into some kind of cave network that no doubt burrowed deep into the earth. Had anyone in Ember even suspected this, what lay beneath their village, ever wondered where this place could lead or what secrets it concealed?

"I am here" The sudden answer, the voice, soft and yet sure, startled them all. Elanee heard the splash of water as weapons were clasped to sides, as Phaedra stumbled back in the water towards Casavir. And then a shadowed figure stepped forward from the darkness, through the black waters, attended by the sweeping ripples which glowed with a half-glimpsed phosphorescence. Elanee was not the only one who drew back, in shock, in disbelief. For it was a child, though the voice had not been a child's at all, a child, no the child, the boy who they'd met at Ember's gates on their last brief stop here. Then he'd borne with him a weight of power, of foresight, the knowledge of Ember's fate and that he would be spared. And it had all been true, as Elanee had always known it would be. She could sense it now, the boy's power riding the tides of the beyond. One who spoke with such a weight behind it, whose eyes had such a keen blaze within them, they would always speak the truth. Whoever this boy might have been, he no longer existed. There was only his power now. "I knew you would come back" The boy said with that same, almost dreadful certainty, as they had then his eyes travelled slowly over each of them one by one. Karnwyr, Elanee heard as though across a great distance, as though across a dream, was growling again, he sensed it too, and liked it as little as she did. When his eyes settled on Elanee she felt her heart freeze, the future was cruel and hard and inexorable, everything you know will die and perish those eyes said, nothing is immortal, not the Mere, not your Circle, not Phaedra who you love above all else. It was too hard, far too hard, but she could not look away. The boy, Marcus she remembered suddenly, did though, after a moment that seemed more like hours. "Ember is lost, it was destroyed for you, Phaedra" He continued implacably, when his eyes had settled on Phaedra last of all of them. "You must bear this burden now and for ever. But I must warn you now, do not let doubt blight your purpose. There is a great movement of things now, if you fail to do what is ordained many more shall lose their lives than Ember's tragedy"

"This fate…this burden, what must I do?" Phaedra whispered, what was she seeing in him? Elanee longed to throw herself between them, beg Marcus to damn her to this fearful trial instead of Phaedra, but she was frozen in place.

"I cannot say" Marcus replied "There is a shadow about you, a darkness that envelops you and I cannot see beyond it."

"Wait a minute…" Sand spluttered, wading forwards towards them as though he could step between them and intercept this communion of spirits. "You have met this child before?" He looked with dismay at Phaedra, as though he felt her understandable reluctance to reveal Marcus' prior words was a betrayal of a sort. Typically, he thought this was all about him.

"We met at Ember's gates" Marcus answered for Phaedra, but neither of them looked away from the other, Phaedra herself scarcely seemed to acknowledge Sand's existence. She seemed to be in a trance just as much as Marcus, mesmerised by the swirling ether of time within his dark eyes. "I spoke of Ember's fate, and of Phaedra's. I asked for a gift and she gave it to me"

"Wait…" Shandra suddenly looked appalled "You knew this was coming, you knew and you didn't tell me?" She glanced at Phaedra with shock and hurt, and Phaedra staggered, her mouth opening as though to speak but she was still so caught by Marcus before her that somehow she could not. And Shandra fell silent, wounded, this, Elanee realised, would not be the end of it.

"Phaedra's selflessness saved my life" Marcus continued as though nothing had happened "I survived Ember's fall, the survivor they did not intend"

"And they intended Alaine to survive" Sand breathed, reaching towards Marcus with his hands, as well as all his intellect and will. He hungered for the power of others, for all power to which he himself had no access, thirsted to control it.

"Indeed, she is to speak for them" Marcus continued "Speak their lie." He raised his small hand, though the water was up to his chest he did not seem to be feeling it. How long had he stayed down here, waiting, simply waiting, lost in the dream of the future? He was the implacability of the future itself, of fate. This was no child, he never was, he never could be. "I can speak for you, and the truth of Ember's destruction, here and now, and in Neverwinter also." Marcus said "For this trial shall decide the fates of many"

"What can you tell us?" Sand pressed greedily.

"I saw it" Marcus murmured "I have seen it, I will see it…my dreams, my waking moments." He let out a brief, gasping breath, but still he held Phaedra with his eyes, and she shuddered agonisingly, as though she saw the boy in the seer crying and screaming to be free of this awful burden, as though they were bound by a chain too strong for either of them to break. This was so painful for her, but Elanee did not know how to stop it. "It began in the evening" Marcus related, his voice barely more than a whisper in the cavernous darkness around him. "No one expected it, they thought things would be safe again now, but they were wrong. I knew they were wrong. It was so sudden, more sudden than I expected…they poured out of everywhere, fifteen men, all in black, all armed. They herded the villagers towards the centre, killing as they went, and they were led by…"

"Me" Phaedra breathed, as Marcus paused for a moment. Perhaps it was the sheer cold down here, but she was unearthly pale, pale as death. Elanee felt her heart crack in sympathy.

"Yes" Marcus said. "Yes…it was you, a girl in white, bearing a great blade, leading the men of darkness. You burned, you burned with a fury that scorched the very air, a bloodlust that could not be sated even as you cut Ember's people down again and again and again. You cleaved amongst them, a wolf amidst the lifestock, bathing in their blood as they begged for mercy."

"Marcus" Elanee finally found the strength to cut across the boy-seer's dread pronouncements. "That was not Phaedra"

"No, no…" Marcus seemed to collect something of himself, or of the power that possessed him. "No, of course not. They meant him to look like her, a show for their pliant witness Alaine. But I saw differently. I saw him…through you, Phaedra, through a haze of dust and magic. He was there, a vast man clad in black, a berserker, an assassin"

"A Luskan" Bishop's bitter mutter stirred the cool, still air.

"In heart and in mind he was brother to those he fought with" Finally Marcus' eyes left Phaedra, who staggered back in the water free from the weight of that gaze at last but still barely seeming conscious of the world around her, and it was upon Bishop they fell. Bishop hardly reacted, as Phaedra had, but some minute, barely perceptible strain in his muscles told Elanee that he was trying hard to make it so. His eyes glinted with suspicion, he did not like Marcus, or Marcus' power. He certainly did not welcome the boy's attention now. "But he was not of Luskan, like them. His path was a far one, the dark echo of the hero, a torturous road, ever-burdened by the sins of the past, by the flames of fires long since burnt away to ashes scattered by a cold, unfeeling wind…"

"Enough of that, boy" Bishop hissed through gritted teeth. "Or I'll have your eyes" Extraordinary, Elanee thought distantly, what did Marcus see, what was he hinting at? Such vile threats were common enough with Bishop, but normally they were given with cool, callous brutality and practicality, never quite as defensive as this.

"Do as you wish, I am but a small force and a small voice" Marcus answered softly, and somehow there was something far more horrifying about his complete, unfeigned indifference to the prospect of his own suffering than any pleading could ever have been. Bishop's eyes narrowed, and Karnwyr drew closer to him, the wolf's lips drew back in a low snarl, he sensed his master's aggression, or perhaps even sensed the unearthly threat that Marcus represented, something beyond all nature, beyond time itself.

"If we might return to the matter at hand" Sand cut across them before Marcus could reveal anything else, or Bishop could react any further. "This man, do you know anything else of him, anything of real use?"

"Nothing, nothing that would interest you" Marcus answered, again he did not look at Sand, his eyes were still on Bishop. "His path is of death, and death he will reap, alone and empty"

"And you, how did you escape the atrocity?" Sand pressed "I need information, solid, good information. This case must rest on something"

"I came here, of course. I climbed into this well in the midst of the massacre" Marcus replied "A man, one of them, saw me, he followed me down here. They were instructed that no one should survive, they aimed to ensure that." Marcus raised his head, his small, childish breaths were white mist in the cold air. "I fought him, with the dagger that Phaedra gave me, and I drove him away. I stabbed him in the stomach and wrenched out his guts, and he ran into the caves beyond, cradling his own lifeblood in his hands" Elanee shuddered. Silvanus preserve them all, what was this boy? When none of the the villagers of Ember had survived, had fought even, he had nearly killed a fully trained assassin? "His comrades left him, they did not wish to linger here any longer. But he is dead, the blow I struck was a killing blow"

"We need to find this man" Sand turned back, finding Phaedra, who stood there pale as a ghost in the darkness. Elanee instantly castigated herself for her lack of attention, Marcus' story and his altercation with Bishop had so interested her that she'd forgotten to keep an eye on Phaedra. She seemed to have recovered a little from her momentary connection with Marcus, and whatever she had seen, but still she bore a deathly pallor, her eyes were clouded with a new uncertainty. She nodded slowly to Sand's suggestion, as though she heard it only distantly through a veil of the dark water all around them. Casavir stood just at her back, bearing her up with nothing more than the strength of his presence. He had been silent so far, what did he think of Marcus' story, what had he seen in the boy's eyes that promised death even to the immortals? She met his gaze and instantly Marcus was forgotten. She felt the force of his crystalline blue eyes like the impress of a hand upon her chest, crushing her lungs, seizing her breath.

"Marcus, where do we look?" Phaedra said suddenly, her words caught in a vapour of cold white mist and Elanee looked away, praying the darkness hid the flush in her cheeks. "Where?"

"You must go onward" Marcus said. The seer's hand was raised, a single finger pointed into the darkness where the tunnels continued into the depths of the earth. "This tunnel leads to the Duskwood, the source of all magic that festers in these tunnels, there you will find what you require, and perhaps more than you expect."

"The Duskwood?" Sand murmured slowly, processing this "It seems we have a path to travel then" That is not your place to say, to command, Elanee's mind hissed, and she found herself fighting for calm. Sand set her on edge, in ways she could not quite explain at times. She could easily pretend her concern for Phaedra was governable, within reason, but however much she tried to justify herself she knew that her instinct to protect the girl was well beyond what she had any claim to possess. Sand was helping them, he was not trying to steal Phaedra from her but her heart still feared that one day Phaedra would look to Sand as she did to Elanee now, with the innocent yearning for guidance Elanee so longed to provide but could not.

"How do we find the right way, Marcus?" There was more to that question, once again. Phaedra was asking Marcus for something, close to begging in fact. Even Elanee, though, could not sense what exactly it was she begged for. But it was in Phaedra's eyes, in the tremble that ran through her shoulders and in her voice. "These tunnels must stretch for miles, they could go anywhere"

"You already have what you require, Phaedra" Marcus shook his head again, a refusal, then. "For this trial, and others before you." And this time, though no answer was spoken, Marcus finally gave a clear response, of sorts. For his eyes moved from Phaedra, and found, lurking in the watery shadows at his master's feet, the wolf Karnwyr. Elanee felt an involuntary shudder run through her as she took in Karnwyr's massive body again. What was it about him? He was just a wolf, she could trust animals…and yet…when she saw him face Marcus across the darkness that lay between them, a soft growl emerging from his lips, his eyes cold and clear, she wondered what exactly he was capable of.

"Karnwyr could track him, right?" Neeshka spoke up suddenly, echoing Marcus' unspoken message. "I mean, all we'd need was a trail, there must be something we can use…"

"That's the problem isn't it? There's not going to be a trail down here, now is there?" Bishop sneered, the first time he'd spoken to Neeshka since…well Elanee had noticed the tiefling's obvious preference, and it was with thinly veiled contempt. Neeshka, though, flushed and wilted, giving no reply, a deeply unusual thing for the sharp tiefling.

"He drained his lifeblood upon the rocks of the tunnel through which you must travel, that will be adequate for your purposes, no?" Marcus murmured. Elanee could have sworn that Karnwyr almost answered him, for the wolf let out a snort and tossed his dank fur around his head. His eyes were still upon Marcus, glinting with an animal suspicion.

"Is it possible?" Phaedra murmured, leaning over to Bishop when the ranger remained silent, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Maybe if you make it worth our while" Bishop answered softly, more threateningly that mockingly. He was so on edge, Marcus had made him so. It seemed the boy seer had spoken to each of them differently, just as fate would when the time came for its realisation.

"Do it, Bishop" Phaedra shook her head, that gesture as always giving some silent, secret meaning to him. Bishop glanced at her for a brief instant, his eyes glinting. Then he touched Karnwyr's head for a brief instant, and murmured something rough and barely distinguishable to the wolf at his feet, and then, in the next second, Karnwyr was off. It was as though the black water all around him scarcely existed, his powerful limbs clove into it, drove his bulk through it as easily as though it were not even there, sending rippling swells of it lapping against Elanee's robes as she, and the others, watched him go in silence. He reached the rocky shoreline in seconds, rising from the waters smoothly and silkily, with a predator's grace. Against the rock and standing between the light of Sand's spell and the darkness ahead, he loomed like a vast shadow, beadily examining his surroundings, searching out the trail as the party stood there, even Bishop, and watched him. Elanee shuddered involuntarily, if Karnwyr had been simply a wild beast she would not have found him so unsettling, but his obvious intelligence, his animal cunning and acumen, perversely frightened her far more than any of the Mere's instinctive and bestial predators had ever done. He found it, the trail, before Elanee could follow through on her thoughts, immediately she saw that tensing of his back that spoke of his readiness to race off after it, to chase down this new prey of his. But he did not, and that unsettled Elanee further, instead he paused, and turned back, and his wolfish eyes, clear and glinting, settled upon Bishop. He was waiting, he said with that glance, not in the manner Elanee was used to her own communication with animals, nor in the manner of a domesticated animal to a master, but as though to an equal and a pack member. What was Bishop's past with Karnwyr, never had she seen wolf and man in such a relationship, and Bishop of all people…

"He's ready" Bishop said simply.

"And so must you be" Marcus added softly.

"Marcus, you should come with us" Phaedra stirred herself and stepped forward in the waters, the sleeves of her robes falling away as she reached towards the boy, revealing the stark whiteness of her arms, so delicate, so fragile, veins dark beneath almost translucent skin.. "We must protect you" Shocked Elanee opened her mouth to object, Marcus was…unhealthy, for Phaedra, for all of them. He saw too much, too deeply, it would do no good for her to gaze into those eyes any longer.

"No, you have seen more already than you should, Phaedra Blake" Marcus shook his head, almost echoing Elanee's thoughts "To know all things that I am permitted to know, it is the most monstrous of curses. I could have saved Ember, I could have saved them, but I did not. And now I look at you, and know what you are to suffer, and I could save you also, but I do not speak. I am a monster, you want no more part in me, Phaedra, no more than you have taken already."

"You are not a monster Marcus" Phaedra shook her head, to Elanee's astonishment she saw tears glistening in those bright green eyes. "You are a child, with a terrible gift, a child desperate to be free of it, a child desperate for innocence."

"I cannot speak of this, Phaedra Blake, but I thank you for the words nonetheless" Marcus seemed momentarily shaken, and in his voice was a strange, tremulous uncertainty that was so different to its usual dread, authoritative steadiness.

"Where will you go?" Phaedra asked quietly.

"To Neverwinter" Marcus answered "I will find you there, when the time comes for me to speak what I know. Beyond that, my fate is my own" He stepped forward as if to go, and Elanee and Phaedra, and Casavir also, moved aside to let him pass through the dark waters with his steady step through the still lake towards the rope that hung down still linking the earth and this strange underworld. He would climb it himself; Elanee had no doubt, though there seemed to be no strength in that frail frame equal to such a task. His determination truly was inhuman, because he moved with a purpose that was far more than human. He would travel to Neverwinter on the fastest road, nothing would stop him on that way.

But suddenly, faster than Elanee would have thought possible, Bishop moved, and his arm shot out with the speed of a striking wolf and grasped Marcus' shoulder in the tight grip of his hand, forcing the boy to pause and move to fix Bishop once again in that dark, steady gaze. Though Bishop's grip looked harsh, no pain showed on Marcus' even features. He had been expecting exactly this…

"You're not going anywhere, boy, not until you give back what's mind" Bishop growled.

"Yes, it is time it is returned" Marcus nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact, not even blinking. "The debts we owe must be paid, in all things" With a small hand, he reached down to the leather belt tied around the ragged rags draped over his emaciated shoulders, and drew from it a single, sharp blade. Elanee knew it right away, the crudely leather bound hilt, the roughly forged blade…it had been Bishop's in the first days of their hunt of the Githyanki until through Phaedra's entreaty and her offer of a debt he had handed it to Marcus. "I have added another Luskan to its grim tally" Marcus said softly, offering the blade hilt-first towards Bishop, who was looking at him strangely now, with the reminder of his precocious murdering of Luskans, almost with a kind of respect. "But it shall be bathed in blood many times yet, be wary that you do not drown yourself"

"I want none of your foretellings, boy" Bishop answered harshly, he seemed reluctant almost to reach forward and take the blade somehow. "The knife's mine, that's all I need to know"

"Perhaps it is" Marcus replied cryptically "But the things we feel we own firmest may well turn out to be owning us in the end" Bishop sneered, but he did not speak again, simply reaching forward to envelop the knife in his rough grasp, and letting go of Marcus at the same time. As he drew up the knife he held it to the light for the briefest second, a frown crossing his features, then he quickly slipped it once again into the long-empty sheath at his belt before Elanee could examine it any closer. His burning eyes dared the rest of the party to question him, but no one did.

ooo0000ooo

They found him, or Karnwyr did, after what seemed like hours under the earth walking onwards in silence. Bishop knew it the moment Karnwyr stopped over him, he'd seen so many dead Luskans over the years. Still that didn't mean he'd lost that sense of satisfaction when he found one of those bastards like this, with his guts ripped open, though he preferred to be the one gutted them himself. But it was good enough, knowing that this warrior had been cut down by a little boy, humiliated by his own victim. He must have screamed as he'd crawled in the dust and rock and bled slowly to death. And now, he was dead, just another corpse, lying on his back against the rocks with his stomach ripped to shreds by the scavengers that had got in here first, a non-descript enough looking man underneath the last, defiant scream frozen onto his face and the slackening skin where decay had already begun. He wore only a black tunic, a uniform, a badge of his service to Luskan's fine leaders, a brand. They were all the same, these men, slaves who couldn't even see their chains.

"It is interesting enough…" As Phaedra hung back, pale and silent, gagging on the stench and the sight of the man's slick entrails hanging from the cavity in his chest, as usual it was the wizard who slipped into the lead, sneaky bastard. "But he bears no obvious markings, no clear signs of his allegiance."

"They wished to remain untraceable" The paladin added, well yet another blinding insight from the holy warrior. How fortunate they all were to have Tyr's guidance.

"Indeed, but perhaps…an oversight remains" The elf crouched down, his robes sweeping the dust around him. Bishop sneered, at least the wizard had his uses but that didn't make putting up with him any easier. Phaedra's insistence on playing by the rules, rules Luskan would ignore the moment it came down to it, meant she needed him, but that didn't mean Bishop had to like the wizard.

"Steady, boy" Bishop murmured as Karnwyr tensed at his feet. Slowly the wolf raised his head to meet Bishop's eyes, his own narrowing with distaste. So far he wasn't very sure about this whole arrangement; he didn't like it much and, despite their past together, he wasn't about to restrain from letting Bishop know it. He never had, and back in the day Bishop had tended to listen very closely to what Karnwyr had to offer, but this time Bishop only gave his wolf partner a slight, knowing smile. Karnwyr would learn, soon, that this journey was well worth the inconvenience of putting up with these people. Even he wouldn't be able to understand the need Bishop had to get back at Phaedra, and end things with Duncan at the same time. But, judging by the way things were headed, there'd be plenty of Luskans to kill along the way, and that, he knew, would well-compensate Karnwyr for this wizard and all the rest of them. No doubt Phaedra, and that elf bitch of a druid, were right now wondering what it meant that Karnwyr was here with them, he'd seen it in Phaedra's eyes, and in her little questions back in that slaughtered village. But the truth was simple, the reason they worked together was because the both of them benefited from it: Bishop could work and kill far more efficiently with Karnwyr in on his plans, while Karnwyr understood that Bishop led him to the kind of hunts no wolf pack would ever be able to provide, the chance at revenge, and the thrill of tracking down prey that fought back. That was it, all of it, honest in a way only the accord between two hunters could be. And that was why he could rely on Karnwyr, trust him to be where he was needed to be. "Not now, Karnwyr…soon" Bishop lowered his head, as the wolf's teeth emerged from behind his lips, a growl rumbling in his throat. Let the others look at them, let them wonder…not even the druidess would be able to guess what he meant, that one day he'd find the chance to rip that arrogant wizard to pieces. Karnwyr only tossed his snout in answer, snorting with dissatisfaction. You and me both, boy, Bishop shrugged.

"Now…what is this?" Sand announced suddenly, swooping down over the dead Luskan like a carrion crow, in his fingers he seized something from the Luskan's hand, and held it up to the light of the spell hovering around his head. It was a ring, a small metal ring, silver or iron maybe. "A ring…how interesting." He muttered, presenting it now to the rest of them "Perhaps it is a mark of his allegiance, a sign of an initiation?" Bishop tensed suddenly; he knew that ring, Gods damn it, he knew that ring. The wizard's nasal voice faded as the surge of recognition turned to bitter anger, an anger he knew all too well. Damn it, that was done with, he'd had his revenge, taken his due, what had happened back then should have no hold over him any more. They were all dead, forgotten, time to consign them to the dust in his mind too. Any less, and they won in their struggle to force their brand onto him, just as Duncan was trying to chain him, just as Phaedra was. Karnwyr glanced questioningly up at him with a slight growl, but he silenced the wolf with a savage gesture, he was fine. He forced some ease into his posture, struggling for a moment. No one could know, damn it all, no one needed to know. It was done, over, dead and burned over.

"Wait just a second…" The farmgirl's shrill cry sent Bishop's teeth grinding. "I've seen that before" Bishop's gaze snapped to her instantly, taking in the wide blue eyes, the dishevelled blond hair, the skinny peasant's body under scuffed armour, and wondered how in the Hells could she of all people have any idea what this ring meant. "Phaedra…we've seen it" But Shandra, as everyone looked to her immediately, in fact only turned to Phaedra her voice falling quieter. "Haven't we?"

"What?" Phaedra looked up, with what seemed looked honest confusion, as though somehow she had managed to miss the entire discussion. He saw it in her eyes as her clouded gaze travelled over them all; that boy Marcus. Marcus who'd held the skinning knife close to himself like the boy Bishop had once been, thrilled by the sense of power it had given him. Except he really wasn't, not at all, and he'd had his own power. Bishop had never wanted the kind of power Phaedra had, sure it killed well enough if you wielded it like she did but it was too much a thing of prices paid, or allegiances and philosophies, teachings he had no time and even less patience for. He could kill just as easily without it, and without Phaedra's incessant hand-wringing on the side. Marcus' power, though, was something different. But just as he couldn't deny Phaedra's talents, he also couldn't deny that Marcus had seen something. Something, but not Bishop's future. Because Bishop, no matter what Marcus had said, no matter what he had seen, would make his own fate. No man, and certainly no God, would ever decide it for him. Only fools and beggars whined about destiny. "Oh yes, of course" Phaedra finally found herself, focusing on the ring in Sand's fingers with a shocked and suddenly clear gaze. "We have" She reached into the pouch at her belt, the pouch where the shards were, but instead drew out a second, silver ring, identical down to the pattern of blades carved into it. Bishop felt another lurch of cold recognition when he saw it.

"My dear" Sand stood immediately "How did you discover such an important piece of evidence? And you kept it from me…?"

"The assassins, in Solace Glade" Phaedra answered softly. "Their leader was wearing it"

"By the Gods, then we have her" The dwarf exclaimed "This proves Luskan was involved in Ember, proves that ambassador was…"

"Unfortunately not" Sand shook his head "It's evidence to be sure, but in the courtroom all it will be is two rings. Torio could easily and she will, believe me, simply deny any connection."

"Still it's something" As always irrepressible, the dwarf answered only with un-dented enthusiasm. He was a fool, Phaedra's tool, a mindless weapon in his loyalty to her as much as her bow.

"Why, yes it is" Sand answered, with a nod of self-satisfaction. "If I may, my dear, perhaps it would be better if all the evidence were gathered in one place" Gathered under your eye you mean, Bishop thought darkly, with a cold glare at the wizard. Still the less he had to see or think about those damned rings the better. Phaedra, though, merely shrugged and handed her own ring over. If she had ever sensed anything about Sand's intentions, she was hiding it well now as ever.

"We're just going to leave him here?" The farmgirl murmured softly, looking down at the dead corpse with heated hatred. There you go, she was learning at least Bishop thought. Shandra, now if there was a chance he could have the farmgirl on the side as well as Phaedra…that would maybe make putting up with her most of the time more worthwhile. She had slightly more sense than Phaedra, certainly, and he'd had far worse in his time, he'd cure her of her pathetic little crush on the paladin quickly enough. If he could get the both of them at the same time…that would be something.

"What can we do?" Elanee's whine cut into that fantasy quickly enough. He wouldn't touch her definitely, well, not without a couple of strong drinks anyway. Elanee could so easily pretend to be a mother hen to the wayward children of the party at moments like this, but she'd been seething with jealousy of Shandra this whole time. "He's dead, nothing more can be done"

"I know" Shandra looked up, shook her head helplessly. "It just doesn't seem like enough…just to leave him here, after what he did. Damn him to the Hells"

"Do not give yourself to this bitterness, Shandra" Casavir, his cold, temple dulled eyes heavy with his prayers and the weight of his self-appointed moral magnitude, stepped up beside Shandra. "He will be judged by the Gods, and Ember's dead will find their peace in that. Trust in that, anger will serve us nothing now" Meaningless shit, Bishop thought darkly. As if Casavir had never felt such anger, as if he'd never thirsted for another man's blood with all his being in one unguarded moment, or if his temple had cured him of that too it had taken away everything it meant to be a man from him.

"I know" Shandra shook her head, suddenly she was a whole damn lot less attractive, as she always was when simpering around the paladin. "It's just hard, knowing that he did all those awful things and I won't be the one to put a blade to his neck, and all the rest of them got away with it too"

"Not for ever" Casavir answered "If they are not served justice in this life, they will find it in the world to come."

"And the Gods ask us to lay aside our anger and just wait for that justice to come?" It was surprising that Phaedra answered at all, but more surprising was the note of disbelief in her tone. She wasn't even looking at Casavir, really, but at the dead man, blankly and without emotion. Nonetheless Bishop felt a stirring of pride on her behalf, here was someone who knew what it was to feel that anger Casavir denied. He remembered the face of that Githyanki as she'd swept him aside, as she did too no doubt. "That" She added quietly "Is a great deal to ask"

"Yes" Casavir replied softly, with a sideways glance at her. "But their will is done in the end, in us, in everything" Casavir was as much a slave as the dead Luskan in the end then; Bishop thirsted to be there when he realised that, hopefully the same moment he was dying with exactly the same dagger in his guts. Well…maybe things would work out that way, he'd wait and see.

"As blindingly insightful as this all is, we do have a job to do, or at least some of us do" Sand interrupted suddenly. "Marcus said there was more to discover ahead, in the Duskwood. I suggest we follow his advice" It was enough to silence them all, and briefly everyone paused to gather themselves before they set out, leaving the dead behind. No one spoke further, no one continued the hopeless discussion. As Phaedra turned half-away and touched her hair briefly, distant and cool again, Casavir followed her with one brief glance that distantly behind all its bleakness hid pain. Fool.

"Come on, boy" Bishop muttered to Karnwyr, when the wolf briefly lingered there in the dust. His eyes were on Phaedra more than anyone else again; as they had been, in fact, this whole time, they were neutral, assessing. So…he'd realised who led this 'pack', it was easy to forget how wolves thought and Karnwyr was smart in his wolfish way, smarter than many men were. Bishop could read Karnwyr well enough, though, to see that he had yet to decide what he thought of this young female leading them all and leading Bishop too in her own way. Briefly he wondered what Karnwyr would come to think of Phaedra when he saw her at the height of her powers, but in the end it hardly mattered. He and Karnwyr had their strong bond of comradeship, and the wolf would see him through on this hunt as he had on so many others.

It was no surprise when the caves began to lead upwards, and the light of Sand's spell began to give way to a familiar watery half-light, the light of the Duskwood, pouring in from an exit perhaps just another curve ahead, just like the boy had said. After you'd tracked the Duskwood as long as Bishop had, you got a feeling for it, knew when it was near. He'd marked the forest, after all, in the years he'd spent there, sometimes hunter, sometimes hunted, but always in total control of this environment, which was why no matter where he begun in the pursuit he always ended up on top. And he'd known about these tunnels beneath the forest also, caves that riddled the treacherous ridges of the forest, hidden beneath shrubs and ferns and fallen rocks; he'd used them too, refuge, ambush site, taking what he needed from the forest and moving on. That had been his life then, and he'd liked it that way, no attachments, no obligations, just living each day as it came, and killing plenty of Luskans along the way. Then…one stupid mistake, and since then he'd been looking over his shoulder.

They emerged from the caves soon afterwards, passing through a dank and hidden entranceway carved into the cliffs where the undergrowth of the Duskwood met the rocks that sloped up from the forest's heart. Bishop was immediately struck by a feeling that something was not right in his one time home. The mist, for one thing, thick and heavy, muffling the Duskwood's usual sounds to an eerie, deathly silence, and obscuring any sign more than a few feet ahead, it curled around the trees sending them standing out in sharp relief, shadows against the thick fog. He'd never seen anything like it in the Duskwood before. And more than that, it had a heavy smell upon it, something sweet and heady, something he couldn't identify. It masked any trace of animal sign he should have been able to catch on the wind. The forest somehow seemed completely lifeless. Abruptly Bishop shook himself together, he wasn't like the druid, grasping at omens and intuitions in the shadows. If the forest had changed, and why it had changed, what was that to him? He'd planned to return here, once everything was done, but if things had changed in the forest so what? It wasn't like these damned trees meant anything to him. He'd go somewhere further, somewhere like Amn, it didn't matter to him. Once Phaedra was done with, he'd have no ties left anywhere. But he noticed anyway the way Karnwyr tensed the moment he caught the smell of the Duskwood on the wind, how the wolf's hair stood on end as they entered the fog and his teeth emerged from behind his lips in a low snarl. It made him remember something, how quickly Karnwyr had found him when he'd entered the Duskwood on its outskirts, how eager the wolf had been to get away with the forest, and something else, tracks he'd seen on the edge of the forest, animals, including a wolf pack that just might have been Karnwyr's own, leaving the Duskwood behind. Had they been driven away, by what? Slowly he drew his bow, no matter what it was that had changed in the Duskwood, he'd kill anything that got in his way.

"I hope we know where we're going exactly" The tiefling was complaining again. Bishop tended to simply zone her out these days. "This place gives me the creeps"

"The true perpetrator of the massacre was here" Sand answered "I'm certain of it now. We just need to pick up his trail"

"Bishop, can you find it?" Phaedra said softly. She'd changed, already it was clear that what she'd seen in Ember would change her, but she still was the only one who had the guts to ask Bishop to do his job. He needed to do something, something to get her attention, something to remind her of everything he'd told her already, something to prove it to her.

"If we move down from here, toward the centre of the forest, maybe we'll pick up something" He answered her straight "Can't guarantee it, though"

"Okay" She nodded distantly, with that new remoteness she had swept over herself like a cloak since they'd left Ember, like only a part of her was here at all. "Just do what you can then"

Bishop had thought he'd covered most of the Duskwood when he'd spent a year and a half tracking Luskans and bounties through the forest, but it very soon became clear that he'd never made it to this part of the forest before. Even Karnwyr didn't seem to know this area. The trees were old, large and tall, and the undergrowth was so thick they had to cut their way through as they travelled down towards the groves below, impenetrable briars and large, sallow ferns. Still there was nothing really alive, no movement, except for their own slow progress through the fog. It smelt of an ambush, but he'd never seen a Luskan with the balls to come this deep into the forest, and, though the animals of the Duskwood might well be savage enough to attack, the only signs of them were weeks old at least, and fading fast. But still a prickle ran down his spine, much as ignored it, as though somewhere in this fog someone was watching them. If anything was out there in the shadows, it had better stay hidden. Bishop was in the mood for killing something.

As they descended towards the valley below the cliffs, and the trees became older and thicker, the earth more fetid and rank, the shadow of a trail began to reveal itself to him, one that was both far more recent than the tracks of animals, and far more human. It was in the upturned earth, broken stems and grasses, a careless footprint here and there…a dozen men, maybe more, and here no more than three days ago if the state of the tracks was any judge. He'd found their murderers, and they'd come into the Duskwood, and this far as well. They had been up to something, sneaky bastards. And he'd find out exactly what it was.

"Oh…thank Lathander, look Karnwyr's caught the trail" He'd ignored the others up until now. If they trusted him, fools, let them follow him, he didn't need to explain himself to them and his work was his own, but when he heard what Phaedra said he instantly glanced back at her. She'd paused momentarily, and had a hand held out to Karnwyr, who stood at Bishop's heel facing her. "What good work, boy" She smiled wanly. She wasn't quite touching Karnwyr, still cautious of that, but her hand was quite close to his snout, and he wasn't yet showing no sign of snapping at her, simply looking up at her curiously. Bishop's eyes narrowed…Karnwyr hadn't found the trail, Bishop had. It might look different to her, but Karnwyr had just been following his lead. And what was she trying to pull anyway? Karnwyr didn't work with anyone else, no matter how nice they played with him. She'd better not be trying to get cosy with him behind Bishop's back.

"Of course he did, he always gets the job done" Bishop sneered, with a warning glance at Karnwyr, who then withdrew cautiously. "I taught him, didn't I?" Phaedra looked up at him briefly, her stare level, but she withdrew her hand back into the folds of her gown without saying anything further. "It leads down there, towards the centre of the valley if you were wondering" He continued, with a hint of warning in his voice "Seems like they had something they were getting to there"

"Any clues as to their purposes here in this forest?" Sand murmured, almost as though putting the question forward as an open request, rather than sullying himself by addressing Bishop directly. What an ass.

"Nothing" Bishop answered, although he could tell that they'd had some purpose, the path was straight as an arrow. No need for the wizard to know anything more than he already did, let him tremble at the closeness of the wilderness all around him, it had teeth and daggers at the ready. "But we should keep moving, we're too exposed out here" That shut them all up. There was definitely something wrong in this place but he damn well wasn't going to let it get in the way of his trail, whatever it was. If he found it, and if he got half the chance, he was going to rip it to pieces.

oooooo000000ooooooo

Following silently behind Bishop, Phaedra hardly noticed as their descent grew steeper. Her thoughts were heavy, dark, and distant. The forest seemed a haunted place, but she hardly saw it at all, all of her was turned inward, and she heard little else but the echo of Marcus' words in her mind. She struggled to grasp what he'd been trying to tell her, but she knew one thing now and for certain. She could not have escaped this, the shard in her chest had condemned her from the very beginning, had condemned Ember as well. Marcus had spoken of fate, and that fate now seemed entirely implacable. She struggled to accept the implications, what did it mean for her? Could she ever escape the dire things Marcus had implied lay just ahead? She shuddered, trying to focus herself on the outside world; it didn't matter now, she had her task regardless. But she sensed the swell of despair within her, just waiting for the moment she gave into it.

The party stumbled on the rocks and ferns at their feet, but the trail was still clear and true, leading down the rough, uneven cliffside still toward a small, enclosed basin in the centre of the forest. Surrounded by heavy rock-faces, it was doubly protected by a thick and even cloak of the dark Duskwood trees, their leaves a mesh around it that seemed to drift almost unencumbered in the fog. But the fog drifted apart further down into the gorge, and as their path became level it seemed to part around them leaving the way forward suddenly, ominously clear. There was a grove of sorts there, a dark place under the shadow of the trees which even without the fog was unclear and indistinct, but a single great tree stood at its centre, where the rest of the forest seemed to fall away.

"There is a poison in this forest" Elanee said suddenly, as they paused a moment to peer into the shadows there. "And its source is here" A poison…Phaedra felt it too, in the very silence of this place, the silence of death.

"If the Luskans came here, we need to find out why" Phaedra murmured, that was all that mattered. "It's our only chance"

"What is this place?" Shandra breathed anxiously as they passed through the trees, stepping slowly, cautiously into the grove. The trees formed a close, pressing wall around it, at their feet the thick spiny undergrowth of the Duskwood gave way to bare, soft earth, ripe with the smell of decay. And that single vast tree loomed at the centre, a huge living monolith, gnarled and aged, its branches spreading out in a great mesh fluttering with its small spiny leaves. The silence was absolute.

"Lorne…" Suddenly there was a voice, and a name, an impossible name, echoing through the grove. Swearing, Bishop tore an arrow from his quiver and slipped it into his straining bow string, but the voice seemed to be coming from all around them, and there was no target in sight for his arrow. "Lorne, why have you come back?" The voice continued, louder now, and the crushed leaves stirred at their feet under a cool, faint breeze, it was a woman's voice, lilting and girlish, but hard and yet strangely lulling. "Our bargain is fulfilled, our reckoning complete. Your return will only aid your enemies after all" Astonishingly, the great tree before them began to tremble, sending a shower of dry, crackling leaves down towards the forest floor as its branches creaked and quivered, groaning like a wounded beast. Then there was movement upon its surface, no, within the bark itself, it seemed to flow away from itself, budding, shifting, as the party watched in shock and astonishment. In an instant, it had shaped into the vague form of a human body, arms slipped from the wood itself, sprouting fingers, a neck, shoulders. In the next, it was stepping forward from the bark itself, fully formed, fully grown, a person, a woman, carved entirely from living, moving wood, her hair a flow of greenery over her slender shoulders, wooden lips upturned in a secretive smile. Her eyes were like two drops of amber, and surveyed the group with a strange coyness. She was quite beautiful, and completely, entirely unclad. Shocked, Phaedra tried to keep her gaze upon the creature's amber eyes, but others, she saw, were being less careful and astute. Specifically, Bishop and Khelgar…eugh…

"A dryad" Elanee breathed, echoing Phaedra's next thought. Dryads, protectors of nature…this creature held sovereignty over the whole of the Duskwood as guardian and queen. And her powers, as a fey creature, were formidable. But here she was, seemingly in league with their Luskan foes, with talk of bargains on her lips, and addressing someone she assumed was here, someone who could only be the man who had worn Phaedra herself like a mask, someone whose name, impossibly, was Lorne.

"Did you come back for me, then, Lorne?" The Duskwood dryad stepped closer. Her steps were light as the footfall of a deer, scarcely stirring the leaves at her feet. "Have I charmed you so completely?" A giggle, like a little girl's laugh, escaped her lips. "And you still wear the girl's cloak, how amusing. I had no idea you enjoyed such games"

"This…is weird" Neeshka murmured. Phaedra was almost too stunned to react to this strangest of all propositions, but the fire running down her pale cheeks betrayed her anyway…clearly all those shocking stories about dryads and the men they ensnared were true, and her bargain with whoever this Lorne was had been…well…intimate.

"Struck dumb, Lorne?" The dryad paused momentarily, toying with her elegant fingers in the fall of her leaf-like hair. "Surely you have one kind word for me?"

"Yes, Lorne" Sand murmured at her side, with clear significance. "Don't you have something to say?" Phaedra shot him an appalled glance, but he merely shrugged and with a wave of his pale hands urged her to continue the deception. But she couldn't, it was just too much. This dryad thought she…no, she couldn't even think about it.

"I…am sorry" She finally managed to say, with excruciating embarrassment "You…seem to have made a mistake" What else did you say to this, what else could she say? But the instant the words left her lips, everything in the dryad's demeanour changed. She drew back as though stung, and suddenly there was a twisted wildness in her girlish features, full of a sudden, fiery rage. A snarl ripped through her girlish features, her eyes burned, her lips parted in a snake-like hiss, and in an instant she scarcely looked human at all, more a beast, a cornered wild cat, than the beautiful woman she had been mere seconds before. Phaedra stumbled back, throwing up her bow at the last instant as she realised, but the dryad somehow did not attack, though the effort of that restraint was carved into her now bestial features. In all the stories of fey creatures they were changeable and mercurial, but nothing could have prepared Phaedra for the sudden vision of this dryad's true wildness.

"So…" She hissed, even her voice was different now, seeming to echo with the harshness of the wilds and all their cruelty. "It's you…"

"You know me than" Phaedra said, gathering herself after the series of shocks. She was forcing herself to ignore that name the fey creature had murmured lovingly, Lorne. There must be many men with that name, it couldn't be the only one she knew, it couldn't be Lorne Starling. No son of Retta would ever do what he had done, no Harbourman. But still she doubted…

"Of course not" The dryad sneered "But I know of you, I know a man hunts you at the bidding of those greater than himself. I know he slaughtered that foul, flea-ridden little hamlet to get to you"

"You helped him" Phaedra stated, her voice quiet, steady, cold as ice, she barely recognised it as her own. But she knew now, this creature had aided the attack on Ember, now she spoke with that crude contempt of its suffering. A deep, dark and iron-hard resolve began to stir in her…

"Yes" The dryad tossed her hair, she was padding upon the floor, pacing the grove, circling like a predator, but something was holding her back. What was she waiting for? "We were lovers once" She nodded, her movements and her voice were jerky, uncertain, and Phaedra faltered. This dryad…she was…half-mad. "When he blundered into my grove fleeing pursuit from old masters he'd chosen to discard. I remembered him, he was a clumsy lover, but an eminently satisfying one, and he remembered me as well, it seemed." She let out a hollow laugh "Few men forget me, you know, as they will always forget you, little girl, pale and insipid thing that you are. As it was, my magic, he knew, was his only chance of pinning Ember's destruction upon you." She smiled coldly "I gave it to him gladly, a powder of my own devising that disguised him in your shape. How amusing it was to see that bull of a man trapped in your pretty little form, but he knew well what to do with it…yes, it was a glorious slaughter."

"Why?" Elanee asked, deadly and venomously quiet. "You are a guardian of nature, it is your charge to protect life, not to destroy it, never to destroy it!"

"Don't preach to me, you wasted and shrunken druidess" The dryad snapped "The people of Ember stole from me, they cut down so many of my trees for their homes. I was glad to see them slaughtered, thieves, all of them." She smiled cruelly "This forest is mine, and everything within it is mine, to use, to discard, to mould and shape as I will it" Wind whipped through the grove as she spoke, scouring over Phaedra and the others, tearing at her hair and clothes. It sent the dead leaves upon the ground whirling and scattering into the air and her hair violently swirling around her, giving her a sudden and dreadful majesty.

"Then it was you" Elanee said suddenly, sadly and firmly, all her venom gone. "You've destroyed this forest around you, infected it with rage and poison." They'd all sensed something wrong in the Duskwood, now they knew what it was. This dryad, mad with hatred, had destroyed her own home around her.

"Yes" The dryad breathed, suddenly quietened now herself and strangely pensive, the wildness gone from her in a flash. Elanee's words somehow had calmed her, they made her look strangely regretful, but that could still change in a moment. She was so unstable. "I meant to keep intruders from my realm, intruders like those peasants from that hateful village. But they came anyway, they left me no choice" She looked up, and found Phaedra with her amber eyes glinting "We too should make a bargain, child." She said softly "Lorne and his plans are nothing to me now. Leave this forest in peace, leave me here, and I shall give you what means you need to prove your innocence" She opened her hands, and from them seemed to blossom a kind of pouch, a shell of fibres woven around a container, and within it glistened a thin, silken powder like flecks of gold. "Here, the secret that I gifted Lorne" She murmured.

Phaedra paused, stunned by the sudden change in the dryad's manner, this sudden and strange offer of hers, but still some part of her heard the stirring, the tensing behind her, and some part of her knew who it was, and what he was about to do. Her mind, unconsciously attuned to his every movement, cried out to her to do something, but she hesitated, remembering the dryad's heinous crime and in her second of hesitation she heard the string of Bishop's great bow release and an arrow whistled past her, barely inches from her head. Gasping she turned, and saw him standing there with that bow held across his hands, only ever in battle had he seemed like this, cool, implacable, a true killer and it always scared her. Elanee suddenly screamed, and Phaedra whirled around to face the scene before her; Elanee staggering back looking utterly shocked, and before her the dryad, that fey and powerful creature, stumbling to the floor with Bishop's arrow deep in her chest. She was shocked, her amber eyes rolling in her head, her wooden hands clutching at the wound from which a sap-like fluid, golden and thick, seeped over her fingers. The pouch fell to the floor, open, its contents spilling out open the grass in a golden stream. She looked suddenly child-like, no wild beast, no cold beauty, but simply a confused and dying creature. "What…?" She breathed, staring at Bishop with her eyes wide and fearful. The ranger didn't seem to even care, striding forward suddenly past the stunned Phaedra and the staggered Elanee and reaching the dryad in a few steps. Harshly, he grabbed the creature's leaf-like hair, bared her neck and pressed his dagger against the hard, wooden skin under her chin.

"No deal" He muttered, hard as steel, then before Phaedra's stupefied gaze, he drew the dagger across the dryad's neck. That thick sap-like blood splattered out across the ground, and Bishop callously let the dryad's body drop to the floor, limp and lifeless, on the dead leaves and the damp earth at her feet. Silence reigned abruptly once again, Bishop standing there in the centre of the grove, as though he had nothing to apologise for, and didn't care if anyone thought otherwise. Then the great tree looming up over the grove behind him gave a sudden almighty groan, as though it were actually crying out in pain. Its branches quivered, and the leaves high above them suddenly began to fall, dead and dry, desiccated and lifeless until, as Phaedra finally found the strength to step forward further into the grove, she did so in the midst of a great storm of the brown, falling leaves.

"You…" Elanee whirled on Bishop suddenly, scattering sheets of the leaves from her hair and her shoulders. She looked aghast. "She was the centre of this forest, the centre of all life here. You've destroyed…everything"

"It was already dead" Bishop answered callously.

"Yes, but…" Elanee shuddered and fell silent. She looked utterly devastated, but Phaedra could only stare at Bishop before her as she stepped forward slowly, her feet rustling in the dying forest. She was still half-stunned by the suddenness of his movement, of his murder of the dryad, but what thoughts could come through swam in confusion. Why had he done it? The dryad…had offered a bargain, they could have walked away but…wasn't this what she had wanted? She'd wanted those who destroyed Ember punished, she'd wanted it so fiercely. And this dryad had been responsible, she'd given Lorne the means for his terrible plot. But still she struggled, the dryad hadn't even been going to attack them. And why was it him who'd done it? Why then? He was giving nothing away, though he watched her as closely as he ever had when she reached him. She remembered something as she stood there for a moment in silence in front of him, that Malin had said they'd hunted in the Duskwood, that he'd found Karnwyr here in the Duskwood. He must have spent years here…now he'd struck the last blow to the forest's diseased heart, she couldn't understand it. And how...coldly he'd done it...

"You had no right to do that" She managed to say at last, knowing even as she said it that it sounded appalling. He'd just felled that creature, Duskwood's heart. And was that all she could say?

"You have no idea" Bishop answered softly. Phaedra swallowed, tried again.

"You murdered her" She gasped out. "She wasn't going to attack us"

"Does it matter?" He shrugged. "I don't let my enemies just walk away" Phaedra stepped back, shaking her head. She hardly knew what to do, how she could reign him in anymore, and with her own thoughts and her own principles in such a disarray as they were now after Ember, after Marcus, her drive to do so was waning dangerously. The world was such a cruel place, and his pitilessness sometimes seemed her only way to survive.

"What's done is done" Sand moved over, and gathered up the fallen pouch the dryad had dropped in her dying moments, carefully spreading as much of its precious cargo as he could back into it. And that was it, for him, it touched him no longer, but their discovery became far more important to his probing mind. "But this…this is incredible" As he stood with the pouch in hand, he lifted a couple of its sparkling grains upward, studying them with interest "Powerful magic, indeed, and certainly not a commonplace sort. Torio will try to explain it away, no doubt, but with this on top of our other evidence we have a firm case. I think, Phaedra, that we might just win this trial" But at what cost? Slowly Phaedra glanced away, into the poisoned silence of the Duskwood, she had paid a heavy price this journey, for each one of the clues that would save her from Luskan. She could not have done any differently, but the cost weighed upon her now heavier than ever. And Neverwinter, and the trial, still awaited her. Would it all even work? And even if it did, she thought, almost feeling the light touch of Marcus' prescience upon her, what more would she have to pay before it was done?


	55. Chapter 55

_Here it is, far sooner than my pattern over the last few chapters would have predicted, hopefully you're pleased!_

_A number of very interesting things in this chapter...including something I hesitated over a long time, something from Black Garius' point of view. I've had this in storage for ages, working on it, but I kind of had to get it out now. I actually found it really disturbing to write, going so deep into someone like that. Quite emotionally draining really...but maybe you'll see that. _

_And, though she's had some bad press lately, I'm unfortunately not doing Elanee any favours in this chapter either. Oh well..._

_I'm sure we're all tired of waiting for the trial to start, so next chapter finally we'll get down to that. Let me know if you feel anything is extraneous by the way. I do have an awful lot of threads to manage for this story, so any advice on what could be left a little more to the side would be welcome._

_Anyway, that's all for now. Thanks for reading. Thanks to Gaspode and idiotwhocantthinkofapenname for keeping up with their fantastic reviews even after my long absence._

* * *

Black the silken hangings upon the shadowed walls, and black the rich velvet curtains upon the shadowed windows. As darkness gripped the small tower room so tight as though it would never relinquish its possession of the place it seemed to drain all the colour from the sumptuous riches that draped the room in a magnificence that was as hollow and empty as the night beyond its restricted confines. And blacker still even than the clawed night was Garius' mood as he stood amidst the darkness, utterly still, his pale eyes fixed upon the night-cloaked lands beyond the window by which he stood, his back to the magnificent bed behind him. He was alone, but then again even in the midst of this stillness, with the shadows so thick they almost muffled even the sound of his own breathing in his chest as though he were already lying at her side in her tomb, Garius had never felt quite alone, not since he had first seen her. She surrounded him still, yearnings, imaginings so strong that they felt far more real than the splendid opulence of his surrounding. For so long now, it had seemed as if the world around him was only half-real, a partly-glimpsed shadow; even power, with all its satisfactions, was as cold to him as the blood that flowed through his veins. But she…she had always been the only thing that felt real to him, and as the arctic wasteland of his mind stirred once more under the sweet song she wove about him, always and for ever. He closed his eyes and listened once more. Visions of her dancing over the cold, merciless crags of his mind floated upon the wind and the fire, she stirred in her passing.

He understood well what he was, what the world would come to call him when all was done, he was no fool like those pretentious masters of the four-pronged tower in Luskan, whispering of their noble goals in dirge-like chants, as hollow as any ritual in the temples that seethed with the desperate masses. As if they'd ever concocted anything remotely noble in all their time, as if they'd ever seen past the relentless climb to power up the spires they clung to so jealously, their petty games of politics, their desperate drive to wrest every grain of sand they could from Neverwinter, their whining self-pity. Their minds were as fossilised as the stones of the Tower they adored so much, as if it afforded some protection from the smoke of corruption reeking from the city beneath them, too blind to see that Luskan's miasma truly poured from the Hostower itself. And they had the audacity to claim they advanced the study of magic in some way! When was the last time a Hostower mage ever pushed the boundaries? He would be the first in centuries, and none in history had ever even remotely conceived of anything as revolutionary as he intended. Why, even Phaedra, a rogue sorceress burdened with the self-destructive fury of a Hellfire Warlock, had crafted magic to something none in the Hostower would be able to even recognise, let alone harness themselves. How they would scoff to see her, how they would laugh to think of Black Garius, casting geases on teenagers, obsessing over a swamp-born half breed novice with a flair for self-annihilation but secretly they would fear her, fear what they could not understand, what they could not control, yes…he could imagine their fear, taste it. Long after the name of every single master of the Hostower vanished beneath the ashes of their precious city his name and Phaedra's, would live, for ever intertwined.

Slowly he turned, he was no longer alone…and the room was no longer dark either. A silvery light, a spectral glow, poured now over everything…streaming out from the figure traced out in magic upon the heavy velvet sheets where once he and his wife had shared so much more than a physical passion. There too, upon hearing of her murder, he had come and brought them to his lips, his eyes as arid and dry as his heart had been since that day, soaking up the last traces of her perfumes. He had kept everything the same since then, even had everything in their room in the Hostower moved and completely re-constructed in this Gods-forsaken keep far from Luskan. He had spent many days since then here…he would sit upon the bed for hours in complete silence, gazing up at the tapestry of the Map of Faerun, upon which she had once lain back as they made love, with the rich and heady scent of ultimate power the ultimate aphrodisiac for the both of them. But now…the bed was occupied once again, the symbolism, though he had of course arranged it himself, could not have been more perfect. Phaedra…she had come again, as she would every night he chose, dreaming, since he had marked her deeper than she would ever know. They were linked, for ever, now…deny it as she might, fight it as she would, she would never be able to escape him. It was a seed of a sort, a seed he had planted deeper than she could ever see. Now each night he sat at her side the whole night through and waited for it to grow, to flower…her guardian, her captor, part her lover and part her slow, inevitable destroyer.

He knew well in his mind that the sleeping girl upon the bed was actually nothing more than an image, a Sending of a sort, linked to Phaedra herself wherever she lay out in the darkness. But…the heart makes it own realities. And she wore, as she always did as she slept, pure white, a simple farmer's smock, and she was surrounded by the light of that magic. Since his wife's death…the notion of fate had seized upon his mind, an obsession that had dominated the workings of his world since then. It was fate that he had lost her, it was fate that had guided him to the power that would remake him, and all this world, and now fate had brought him this, light to his darkness, woman to his man. He knelt at her bedside slowly, adoring her, venerating this beauty, she was all purity, all goodness, and she would redeem him as this power that thrummed in the very stones of this fortress destroyed and re-made them both. In eternity, in an eternal shadow that she would light for him like the dawn, they would be together. It would no longer matter that he was old and she young, they would both be re-made in a single image. He grasped at the bed, thirsting with a fierce thirst to take her hand, to press it to his lips and breathe her in. But his hands clasped nothing but the empty air, passing through her as though she were but a fragile vapour, a mist.

"Phaedra…" He gasped, his voice sounded hoarse and strained even to his own ears. Only here, with her, could he show such weakness. "Phaedra Blake…" Her name burned through him, and she heard it, of course she heard. In her sleep she stirred upon whatever harsh and unforgiving ground rested this most precious of burdens, her perfect features settling into a puzzled frown, but still she slept on, as his magic wound around her, slowly, drawing her deeper and deeper into this cold and lifeless dream that life had become, into his darkness. "Nothing is as it seems, my love" He breathed close to her ear "Nothing…it is an act, and we must both play our parts, but the time is coming when we shall let fall our masks. Remember this…"

"Lord Garius" For a moment he thought she had replied, so strong was his sense of her drenching him that he could almost imagine it was her voice which sounded suddenly in the silence. He could hear an echo of it, light, teasing, full of the mystery of music and love, but he knew, of course, that she would never have spoken like this, sultry, slavishly obedient, and utterly insincere. Torio… "I did not realise…you were occupied" The Ambassador murmured, with a faint ring of scorn and hatred, as he lifted himself, turned towards where she now was suddenly seated, in the chair by the bed. She was, of course, another Sending, this one from within Neverwinter's own walls. This magic, subtle as it was, was one of many gifts he'd already received as a token of his 'benefactor's good will'. And once again, it was a thing of contrasts. Torio's form, in a sleek gown of garish silk, was weak, faint, flickering like smoke. Beside the blaze of Phaedra upon the bed, the blaze, in fact, of Garius' own magic enveloping the girl…she was as nothing…

"I am always occupied, Torio" Garius chided as he stood slowly with a hard glare at the ambassador. Torio was nothing, worth nothing, a toy, an amusement…and one that was fast becoming tiresome. She'd been little more than a girl when he'd raised her from Luskan's streets, because he'd sensed a glimmer of potential in her, and because just once, when she'd looked at him in a moment of weakness, he'd seen a flicker of his wife in her eyes. It had been a mistake, the girl was brothel-raised, and she'd never be anything but a cheap whore spreading her legs for whoever threw her coppers. Young as she was, precocious thing indeed, she'd soon wandered into his bed and he'd let her, hating himself for it, and hating her as well. She'd been useful for a time, spying on the other masters of the tower, slipping in and out of their beds as she did so. But now none of them mattered to him anymore and neither did that garish Hostower, in which she'd lived for so long that he could smell its stench upon her skin, and it was identical to the stench of the brothel she'd never truly left. Her ambition, too, he'd once found amusing, but now everything she conceived of was so small, so worthless…like that plot she was hatching even now with her toy brute Lorne to lure Phaedra from his careful observation and kill her. They'd already tried once, that assassin's assault on Solace Glade…so desperately unsubtle. And Phaedra had risen to the challenge then, as she always had. Her power was so much greater than the flicker of Torio's small gifts. "You were not to disturb me again, Torio" Garius breathed dangerously.

"I understand, Lord Garius" She leaned forward, practically throwing her bosom in his face. What a vain, ridiculous creature she was…once, true enough, she'd seduced him in his weakness, the child-whore she was still thought she could pretend to be a lady and an ambassador if and when he required it, but that was done now, over with. From the moment he'd seen Phaedra it was done. If she still thought to control him by the scent of her musk, she was going to be deeply disappointed… "But there has been a development…"

"A development?" Garius moved to the other side of the bed slowly, leaning over Phaedra sleeping there like an effigy burned in light…forcing Torio to look over the girl's body if she was to keep her eyes upon him. He savoured her clear distaste, the uncomfortable, hate-filled glance she sent down to the burning image…she was desperately envious of Phaedra; how laughable, as if she was even worthy to look upon Phaedra's perfection, as she had never been worthy to lay within this bed. "This had best be important, Torio; my patience wears thin"

"Yes" She swallowed, her flesh paling even through the werelight of the Sending. For an Ambassador, her ability to hide her own fear was decidedly second-rate. Perhaps it was best that Luskan began to look for a replacement, Garius did not foresee that she would survive long in the new world order he intended to create. In fact, he was counting on it. "It is, of course, this matter in Neverwinter. We've received word that the girl is returning to the city, any day now Lord Nasher will give us the word and we can proceed as planned…"

"As planned!" Garius sneered "Torio, none of this has gone as planned, as you assured me it would" In fact, the trial was a small matter, Phaedra would come to him regardless, but he had made certain that Torio herself believed that it was her last chance to save herself after her numerous and costly miscalculations thus far. Truthfully her fate was already decided, no matter which way it went. Garius was not a man to tolerate any kind of failure, let alone the catalogue of blunders Torio had left in her wake. "First you lose the girl to Nasher and his lackeys, then you allow her to leave the city unimpeded…"

"Lord Garius, Nasher assured us…" Torio spluttered inarticulately "The trial…"

"The trial is our last chance, Torio!" Garius thundered and she shrank back in horror. Her arrogance was astonishing, had she truly expected that she could come before him reeking of failure and act as though she intended this all to occur? She had been straight-forwardly out-manoeuvred at her own game. "You let her go, you did not even possess the acumen or the nerve to have her followed. Gods alone know where she's been now, what mess she's discovered that you and that idiot Lorne left behind"

"Garius we were certain that…" Torio squealed, like a sow caught in a net "We left nothing behind, Garius, no traces…"

"I am highly doubtful of that" Garius snapped, pacing in front of the bed. Phaedra still lay there peaceful and oblivious to the argument in front of her. "Someone skilled at this game is with her, someone who knows how to play the rules."

"Our evidence is irrefutable" She whined. "Alaine…"

"A single witness, Torio, may I remind you" Garius shook his head. "It will not be nearly enough"

"Which is why I've used Phaedra's absence to delve into her past, her companions" Torio quickly leapt into the opening he allowed her "We've discovered some very interesting things…scandal, intrigue, the people will lap it up. Lord Nasher won't be able to resist their demands once I'm through with her" She smiled smugly.

"Don't underestimate Nasher, Torio" Garius shook his head, his voice softer, more thoughtful now. "And, under any circumstance, do not underestimate Phaedra." This interview was over, Garius had no interest in the sordid details Torio would no doubt try her utmost to uncover. She had a whore's mind, after all.

"Of course, Garius" Torio thought she was off the hook, she truly believed she could so easily manipulate him. However he saw fit to execute her, he would make utterly certain that in the moment before her death she understood just how wasted all her efforts to deceive him had been. He knew everything, the clandestine love affairs, indeed he knew that, given her recent proclivities with her bestial lieutenant, only now she must barely just have risen from Lorne's sweat-stained sheets. He knew too of her political opportunism, including each and every contact she maintained in the Hostower, despite his instructions to sever all involvement with the Arcane Brotherhood. "I will see it done, I promise you my lord" She glanced once again down at Phaedra's light-wreathed body upon the bed, and a far-from secret sneer touched her thin lips. "The girl will be in our hands within the week"

"Go, Torio, I am tired of these endless assurances" Garius waved his hand dismissively. She slipped away in a sudden blink of magic between one moment and the next, obviously relieved, obviously reassured. But Torio, and Torio's plans, were as hollow now as anything else, Garius no longer needed her, he no longer needed anyone, except his saviour, his destroyer, Phaedra. She slept on in front of him, innocent of the power she held over him, that her merest glance would either redeem or damn him. She, this girl, this angel, would see him re-make the world. She deserved nothing less. "Phaedra…" He murmured again, as dawn's light began to stain the distant horizon of this desolated farmland before Crossroad Keep. "It is time for you to wake, my love, time for you to leave me for now. Phaedra…wake…"

oooo0000oooo

"Wake, Phaedra…" The half-heard, half-remembered whisper echoed within the vaults of her mind, as she struggled to consciousness, as though breaking through the surface of the dark sea of shadows her dreams had become. Some half-conscious part of her grasped vainly and desperately at the harrowing familiarity of the voice that haunted her, at the blurred and fading images she re-called from her long night's rest, but they vanished like smoke before she was even fully aware, retreating into some dark recess of her mind and leaving her all of a sudden without even the memory of the haunting voice that had pulled her from sleep or the dream that had preceded it. As she stirred she felt a vague anxiety touch her lightly, like the last echo of a night terror, something she could not shed as easily as her heavy sheets when she sat slowly, but she pushed it as far back as she could. She was safe, secure, back where she had lain down her head last night, here on this lonely copse by the road to Neverwinter, and it was dawn. The nightmare, whatever it had been, was over.

Combing back the fall of her tangled and wiry hair with her hand and longing desperately for some kind of bath, she glanced around the quiet, peaceful grove. Everyone else, it seemed, slept on, it had been an exhausting journey for them all. Phaedra felt a twinge of regret, as she glanced over the sleeping bodies of her friends and companions, lately things hadn't been quite the same for many of them, Neeshka mainly, and Casavir too, even Elanee, nor could she even barely remember the last time she'd tried to help Khelgar with his monastic quest, what with the stress of her own trial hanging over her so heavily, over all of them. Maybe, just maybe, once they had pulled through this ordeal she could finally find the words she needed to express her gratitude that they had always been there for her, even if she hadn't been able to appreciate it. But, for now, Neverwinter lay barely half a day's journey away, and each moment brought her trial for Ember's destruction a moment closer. But, at least, she would see Duncan again, and the Sunken Flagon. After everything that had happened, the simple warmth of her uncle and his inn would be…so welcome. Another curt glance around the grove, deciding that she had better let the others sleep on, found her suddenly and inexplicably face to face with a pair of sharp, yellow eyes. She gave a start of surprise, it was Karnwyr, sitting watchfully and guardedly in the dappled shadows under the trees, just across the grove from where she sat, and watching her curiously. Phaedra blinked, startled for a moment, just how long had he been there? He was so well disguised in the shadows, despite his size, that she'd completely missed him before, she could tell why he and Bishop made such a good team. Speaking of which, where was Bishop? His bedroll was still where he'd lain down last night, but it was unoccupied, and he hadn't seemed to make any effort to tidy it up either. Really…she supposed his past hadn't had many civilising influences, but she'd grown up in a Mere village too and she at least had some manners. She glanced back at Karnwyr, he was still watching her, his head slightly inclined to one side as though he were once again assessing her. She wondered if Bishop had left him there on purpose.

"Hello, boy" She said at last. Her voice was soft, but his ears pricked up, he had sharp hearing just like Bishop. "What are you doing there?" He looked at her sideways again, then stretched lazily, bearing his fearsome teeth in a very intimidating yawn. But it was clear he meant no harm; Phaedra had sensed from the beginning that Elanee was inexplicably fearful of the wolf but it was something she couldn't understand. Of course, he was fearsome, and a killer, let alone what else he and Bishop must have gotten up to in their day, but she had seen nothing threatening in his behaviour, he just seemed, well, curious. "Do you want to come over?" Remembering her long-distant riding lessons with the old farmer Orden, how he'd told her and Amie and Bevil to let the animal make the first move, to become accustomed to you first, she held out her hand to Karnwyr, coaxing. "Come on, Karnwyr, come on boy" His response was quite obviously amused disdain, he tossed his head and sniffed as though to say 'do you really expect me to fall for that?' Phaedra felt rather affronted. "Bishop's not here, is he?" She said "So you don't have to behave like that. I just want to say hello" Karnwyr cocked his head, beadily examining her again but once again he didn't move in the slightest. In the end she shed her blankets and stood, resolving that he was waiting for her to make the first move. On slow, cautious steps, she walked across the grove towards him, spreading her arms to make sure he knew she was no threat, to make sure that he knew she was just curious. In the end she stopped, near the edge of the the grove, and bent over, stretching out her arm towards him. Karnwyr shrugged, then at last, he began to move to meet her halfway. His tread was utterly silent as he came closer, winding his leisurely way towards her, his lazy, aloof footfall revealing he was only doing this for her, and didn't much care either way. At last he stopped, inches from her outstretched fingers, and Phaedra held her breath. She'd never been quite this close to him before, and, as she knelt beneath his fearsome snout, it felt like he was towering over her. But at last he brought his snout to her fingers, and sniffed cautiously, his breath was warm, and ticklish, but as she stared into his eyes, that fearsome gaze held her tight in place. There was…such an astonishing depth within them, and that luminous glow was transfixing.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you" She literally jumped in place at the sudden, entirely unexpected voice from behind her and withdrew her hand immediately, it was Bishop. Karnwyr showed no surprise, and she shot him an indignant glance, he could have let her know that Bishop was there, right behind her. He wasn't apologetic, and now that Bishop was back, he was unreadable. Phaedra turned her head; yes, Bishop was indeed right behind her, standing, and much more intimidating even than Karnwyr. She scrambled to her feet, but seeing as her frail half-elven frame hardly came up to his chin and he was, as usual, wearing his armour and weapons, it didn't actually help all that much. "Be careful of Karnwyr" He raised his eyebrow nonchalantly. "He's as likely to bite off your hand as he is to get friendly, just depends on what mood you catch him in"

"Like you, then?" Phaedra retorted; half the time pretending he was here to help, the other half being as unpleasant as he possibly could. Like now, she couldn't see what the problem was with her just getting to know Karnwyr a little. Briefly she shied away from confronting him, but as usual her wilful pride got in the way. She'd done nothing wrong, it was for him to explain himself. She had more than one bone to pick with him already, what about what had happened in the Duskwood?

"Still got your hackles up about that bitch back in Duskwood?" Bishop cocked his head, the motion uncannily echoing Karnwyr's own frank assessment of her. "Trust me, it's not worth it…"

"I'll be the judge of that" Phaedra hissed. "Where were you anyway?" She demanded, as Karnwyr watched the altercation enigmatically, giving nothing away. "Don't you ever sleep at all?" Daeghun had been like that, snatching a few hours before dawn had kept him up for days. But it made her uneasy thinking that Bishop had all that time, who knew what he did with it?

"I've got to keep an eye on you, don't I?" Bishop answered carelessly.

"I never asked you to" She stiffened at the implication that she needed his help, one which struck close to the bone of her stubborn pride. She had got by fine, better in fact, before she'd ever picked him up.

"Yes, you did" Bishop leaned closer, though his voice had in it that same levity, the words were heavy with unwelcome implication, striking at her with the same deadly accuracy with which wielded his bow. "Don't you remember?" In an instant Phaedra felt herself go from pale to burning crimson, that moment…against the Flagon's wall, when she'd taken what comfort she could from him, when he'd held her for a moment that she'd excised from her memory, but which came flooding back all in an instant. And why…why she had asked him…

"Don't…" Phaedra raised a hand, her voice sounded rough, hoarse all of a sudden, and she struggled for words. "Don't you dare…even speak about that…" She swallowed, trying to find her voice, as she fought with her own fear she buried it beneath a sudden wave of frustration at Bishop himself. Her darkest terrors weren't his toys! "It doesn't matter" She breathed, hoarsely, closing him off, closing that off.

"Fine" Bishop shrugged dismissively."What's on your mind, then, princess?" He asked, mockingly. "That we're barely a day from Neverwinter, that Luskan's waiting patiently for you to just serve yourself up on a platter…"

"I'm doing no such thing" Phaedra insisted, shaken and off balance suddenly at his callous reference to her impending trial. When her own confidence hung only by the thin thread of Sand's assurances, that he would cut quite so deep shocked her, that he even could was another matter entirely. "We have the evidence, Marcus, and Sand's doing all he can…"

"A mangy boy who's apparently some kind of seer, a couple of rings, some bloody sample, magic powder…" He snorted dismissively. She hadn't even looked at the evidence like that, so bluntly, without any of the horrific stories surrounding each of the little pouches at Sand's belt, and Marcus too, but that, she suddenly realised, was the way the actual court would see them. And with Torio casting doubt at every turn… "You don't think that whore isn't going to be able to argue away all that and more"

"Sand's confident…" Phaedra was on the back foot, and she knew it. And yet, she wondered if somewhere beneath it, he might think this was for her own good. He clearly despised her habit of putting up illusions for her own safety, and he'd made a habit of shattering those illusions as forcefully as he could. She hadn't truly thought much about what would happen in the actual trial, preferring to leave the details to Sand. She'd been far too scared, was this what he intended, to force her to face the truth of how small her chances really were? Otherwise, why bring up the trial at all?

"Sand's an arrogant little shit" Bishop sneered, and Phaedra blanched, speechless at the curt and crude dismissal. The sudden shock only left her open to the cutting words that came after, where anger might have hardened her against the truth in them. "But you should know better by now, princess. Luskan's in too deep now, that bitch is going to be pulling all the shots to get her hands on you. She'll use anything she can, and the people you have near you are going to be her first targets, she'll use the paladin, the tiefling, even Sand…and if he doesn't realise that, you haven't got a hope in the Hells" The wavering shreds of Phaedra's anger melted away in instant as she realised that he was right…whatever else they'd been arguing about, this was true, it was all true. Luskan had already destroyed a village, the stakes were so high. And she remembered, shuddering, how Torio had already tried to smear her and Grayson, she was capable of anything.

"And she'll use you too" She shot the jibe his way nonetheless, determined not to let him see how deeply his assessment affected her.

"If they remember me" Bishop answered enigmatically, and Phaedra blinked at him, wondering at the remark. What did he mean? Had he ever actually had contact with Luskan, then, apart from what she already knew?

"How could they remember you?" She said quietly, remembering how he'd hunted Luskans and...what he'd done to them. It was so easy to forget, when she was with him and they traded arguments and half-flirtations. But, don't forget, Phaedra; he was dangerous too. There was a dark side to Bishop. "You weren't ever...caught by them, were you?"

"Would I be standing here right now if I had?" Bishop glanced at her sideways, his eyes glinting. She had no answer to that, and he didn't seem willing to discuss it any further. If he even had an answer, she doubted she'd ever find it out. Bishop kept his secrets close, and who he really was even closer. Still she found herself gazing at him intently for a moment, while they both were silent, trying to work him out. What made Bishop tick? Those extraordinary tawny eyes drew her as they always did, glinting in the sunrise's uncertain light with flecks of gold. They were guarded, always suspicious, and never fully calm, there was always that spark, waiting to ignite. Of course he looked back at her, he didn't lower his gaze in the slightest, and there was almost a challenge in his eyes. His walls were always up, and there were no clues in the the rugged lines of his face now. He didn't have Casavir's classical nobility, but the sharp, harsh cast of his features had a feral edge that gave him that distinctly wolfish profile. How old was Bishop really, she wondered thoughtfully. This close she could find traces of the lean, almost hungry, look of a roving, restless adolescent. A bit over twenty perhaps, she decided, a few years on her but not so much. Yet, they'd had such different lives, even if they'd both begun in Mere villages. It wasn't wrong for her to wonder at that, despite the warnings of the others and her own unease.

"Bishop, why did you do it?" She asked, cautiously, aware of what darkness she'd uncovered in his past last time she'd tried to question him about it. "Why did you travel the wilds at all? Surely you could have found another way to live?"

"Sure, I could have done" Bishop answered with a twist of sarcasm. "I could have started an inn, like your uncle, lived out my merry days waiting hand and foot on the scum of the docks, I could have murdered my way to the top of some scummy thief's guild. Maybe I could even have been a hero like you" He was mocking her, again, and she didn't appreciate the heavy sarcasm either. Typical. "Face it, princess, it's not my style" He shrugged "I know what I am and tracking and hunting help keep things in perspective. Out there, in the wild, the whole predator-prey relationship is a little more honest"

"I see" Phaedra fell silent, unsure of how to respond. There was a truth in that. At least, out there you would know who your enemies were, and where they came from, and you knew how to deal with them. There'd be none of this uncertainty, the terror of subtlety, that Torio had unleashed. It was a clean-cut world, kill or be killed. Not a world Phaedra thought she could inhabit, but one in which she imagine Bishop finding a home, of sorts.

But then, curiously, as she was thinking of what to ask him next, she saw Bishop's gaze flick back for one brief instant to some space in the grove just behind her. It was so brief and then immediately he looked back to her, with the usual cynical sneer back in place, that she could easily have missed it, but that she had been unconsciously watching him so intently as they'd spoken. She was about to turn around to see what had caught his eye for that moment, but then he leaned in, with a sly, cynical smirk that told her louder than words what turn his thoughts had taken. It was a smirk she remembered all too well from that night in Port Llast, that night she would probably regret for ever. Instantly distracted, she tensed, knowing exactly what was coming. Curses, she knew he would bring that up again, and she'd very much walked into it by assuming they could have a serious discussion without him trying to make a move on her. It was only a matter of time, even with everything that had happened between them since that moment. He wouldn't let the rich currency of mockery he could have over her for that moment go to waste.

"So, why the sudden interest, princess?" He asked, with that unbearable tone, half mockery, in his voice. "Having second thoughts? Still like to run away, get a taste of the wild life?"

"No, not at all" She argued quickly, leaving behind her interest in his past along with her pensiveness. She wondered briefly if he was using the teasing to distract her from asking any more about him. Regardless, she knew the time had past, and she had to try her best not to embarrass herself again if that was where he was going. "Why would I even want to go anywhere with you? You're unbearable half the time"

"You should ask yourself that, princess" Bishop leaned in, as Karnwyr padded at his feet, watching the interplay between her and him as though he could sense some unspoken dialogue in nothing more than their body language. Oh please...he was as bad as Bishop was. "It didn't seem like that back in Port Llast"

"I must have been half-asleep that night" Phaedra tossed her hair dismissively "I barely even remember what I said, let alone why..."

"Yes, you do" Bishop didn't seem wholly focused on her, as though he were watching for, or listening for, something else around them. But she barely noticed, she was just too irritated with him, and the wolfish leer he sent her way anyway. Why did he bring this up? What did he actually want? "Why don't you just admit it?" He continued, relentlessly.

"Look, Bishop..." Phaedra sighed, touching her forehead impatiently with a couple of fingers, trying to sort out her thoughts. Though she knew it was hopeless, she thought she at least could try to reason with him. She owed it to herself, at least, if not him, to try and be sensible. "I don't know what you want. When you ask these kind of things...look I just don't know what you want me to say to you. Could you please just give it up?"

"I will, once you admit that you wanted to leave this whole thing behind" Bishop answered immediately. Phaedra sighed , torn between exasperation and embarrassment, why was he insisting on this, and why now? "If you're set on what you're doing, this trial, the return to Neverwinter" He continued "You really don't want any regrets before you head into it. So how about you're finally honest and admit that you considered saying yes"

"For the last time, Bishop, no" Phaedra snapped crossly, crossing her arms. So what if she had wanted to for a moment? She wasn't going to admit it anyway. It wasn't any of his business, not any more. Lathander if he would just be quiet for a second and stop looking at her like that so she could think for a second...she'd tried being reasonable and he just wouldn't offer her the same courtesy. What was wrong with him? Why was he doing this?

"Say it, princess, and Karnwyr and I go away" He pressed. "Or are you still lying to yourself?"

"Fine, if you just shut up for a moment, yes, I did want to go with you" Phaedra cried, suddenly breaking with the strain of it, unable to restrain her anger or the truth any longer. "I wanted to run away, and leave it all behind! And, yes, I wanted it to be with you! " She gasped, suddenly, shocked by her admission, but she pressed on, aflame with the rush of it, and her pressing frustration with him, with herself, with everything that had happened. So what if he knew? So what if the whole world knew? "So what? It was stupid, it was a stupid dream, and I know that now." She caught herself, stepping back suddenly, stumbling in the dust. To her shock Bishop only looked down to her with an unreadable expression, no triumph, no self-satisfaction, almost curiously, as though he hadn't expected that to work. "There" She whispered, alarmed by what she'd said but suddenly desperate for some kind of reaction from him so she could know what he'd intended by provoking her to that confession, and what she'd let herself into exactly. "Is that what you wanted to hear, Bishop?"

"No" Bishop shrugged, as though suddenly he didn't really care that she'd admitted it at all. Phaedra blinked with bafflement. "But I'm sure it's what the druidess wanted to hear." Druidess? Elanee...! Phaedra stared at him, suddenly shocked and confused. What did he mean? Could he mean...? "That was the reason you were stalking around behind there, elf, wasn't it?" Bishop's eyes travelled over her head, to a point in the undergrowth behind her, and Phaedra's heart sank, understanding faster than her dazed, befuddled thoughts. Oh Lathander no...Phaedra turned, stumbling momentarily as she did so. The undergrowth rustled behind her, and slowly, softly, on that almost invisible tread which must have kept her hidden for Gods alone knew how long, listening in on Phaedra and Bishop, Elanee emerged from behind a tree. The elf looked brittle as glass, her movements strained and slow, shock and anguish warred on her features...she'd heard Phaedra confess that she'd wanted to leave this journey behind, leave them all behind, for Bishop, and how much of the rest of the conversation, none of which had been...exactly easy to explain. She tried to speak, to explain herself, but words stilled in her throat as her thoughts caught up and she wondered suddenly, slowly, what exactly Elanee had been doing behind there.

"Spying, druidess?" Bishop spoke first, and his mocking, sardonic voice gave an ugly word to that which Phaedra's thoughts had yet to name. She remembered too late how Bishop had seemed to see something else briefly halfway through their conversation, and how she'd ignored it. He must have known Elanee was there. How could ever he have missed her, with his skills in tracking? And yet he'd made Phaedra admit in front of Elanee...that she had, however briefly, wanted to leave with him. She realised, with a sinking feeling, that Bishop had set her up. It should have made her angrier, and it should have made her want to turn on him and demand an explanation, to realise that, but she couldn't get Elanee from her thoughts: Elanee who'd told her it was okay to flirt with Bishop if no harm came of it, Elanee who'd forced her to admit to herself that she found Bishop attractive, Elanee who'd promised Phaedra that she trusted her. Now Elanee caught spying on them. She fought the sudden onrush of bitterness for a moment, knowing that her reaction was an attempt to deal with what Elanee had heard, to place the blame for everything on the druidess instead of admitting her own fault for even giving that admission to Bishop, or wanting what he'd offered in the first place. But, now, as they stared at each other across the trees, Elanee stood there still, she still had no explanation, and she could only look devastated and ashamed. It was as bad as it looked, on all sides.

"Phaedra...I..." Elanee began, but then she faltered. She had nothing to say. Phaedra found she was shaking, with the aftershock, with anger, or with horror, she couldn't even tell. And worse, she couldn't even say. How could she even begin to explain herself? There was nothing to say. Elanee faced her across the glade and she had nothing to say.

oooo0000ooooo

Back to civilisation, at long last, Sand let out a deep, contented sigh of heavy, stench-laden city air as at last the merry band drew up, amidst a crowd of common tradesman swarming towards the markets of Neverwinter like ants or some other delightful species, to the looming, ornate walls of the city he was forced to admit was home now. It was far past time. No more sleeping rough on the hard ground, nothing but pointed rocks and coarse bark to lean against when he had to read and research from the meagre supply of his most basic books, no more trekking through Gods-forsaken wildernesses for hour after hour gathering blisters and hordes of insects, no more filthy, pest-ridden inns in yokel villages, and no more mud, thank Mystra. Three sets of his robes were entirely unsalvageable, as well as countless priceless reagents. They'd joined the highway, and the accompanying crowds almost three hours ago and he'd been longing the whole time for this moment when finally he left the wilderness behind. How anyone, and a number of his erstwhile companions clearly fell in this category, could actually survive out there for any extended period of time, let alone find the ghastly experience something enjoyable was entirely beyond him. That he was actually so elated to return to the filthy, crowded, stinking Docks District in which he'd been forced to eke out a miserable common tradesman's existence for the last thirty years was a measure of just how unpleasant much of their trek had been. He'd enjoyed the challenges to his intellect, of course, so lacking in his life since he'd come to this boorish city, the teasing out of clues, the puzzling together of argument and counter-argument, and, lately, working through the trial itself in his head. He could see it now, a masterful riposte that would not merely vindicate Phaedra entirely but would make a laughing stock of that jumped-up courtesan, Torio, to the whole of the city. After he'd toiled away for this city's interests for the interminable years of his forced servitude to Nasher he deserved some recognition at last. A medal would be nice, so long as it was tasteful, of course. But he needn't get ahead of himself…there was, of course, still a great deal of work to be done.

He glanced momentarily at his defendant, young Phaedra, where she walked with her characteristic lightness of step through the pressing crowds of tradesmen, farmers and criminals pressing through the gates of Neverwinter. She looked pre-occupied and inattentive, barely seeming to notice whether Sand and the others were with her in the crowd at all, but she elegantly, instinctively wove her way through their fellow travellers regardless. She had a more cosmopolitan air these days, having left the wide-eyed Harbourman naivety on the wayside of her remarkable journey, but on balance it would count in her favour if she appeared to be at home in Neverwinter, its truest citizen, in honour, virtue and courage if not in blood, yes that had a nice ring to it. They'd still need to re-do the overall image as a first point of call, dispense with the bow, the robes too most likely, and urgently do something with that hair of hers to get it under some semblance of control and decency. Still, he could certainly do worse, given the situation. A case of High Justice, political sensitivities and the deep rivalry between Luskan and Neverwinter, a gruesome crime, a beautiful young female defendant, it was enough to send every busy-body and ne'er-do-well in this teeming city into a frenzy. And Lord Nasher, in the precarious position of an ageing childless despot with an unfortunate history of bowing down to mob pressure, was entirely beholden to their every whim. Nasher's own weaknesses were entirely to blame, of course, and this debacle with Torio was the result. What kind of sovereign dispensed justice solely on the sufferance of the mob? At least that same mob were easily plied and distracted, he sensed that the evidence itself would be of less importance than theatrics in this particular case…still that could go either way. Torio, she had always been a sly one, and her tastes ran in exactly the same bent as did the coarse lower orders. But Sand was confident his narrative had a greater power, look at Phaedra, after all, her beauty was something no simple fool in the audience could resist. Paint her as the innocent maiden, virginal, pure and beset by Neverwinter's foulest foe, and the mob would fall for it hook, line and sinker. Plus he was a far better speaker than that screeching harpy.

As they entered the city at last, forced straight away into a crowded, sordid main street, Sand's eye alighted on a watchful guardsman standing to the side of the road and scanning with a trained gaze the seemingly purposeless hordes milling aimlessly about just through the vast gates and blocking the route of citizens who had far more important business. His surcoat had that familiar symbol; the Neverwinter Nine and their lackeys, watching the highways. How comforting to know that their little adventure was so high on Nevalle's priorities. It wasn't like the Neverwinter Nine had any other important duties. As the guard's dutiful gaze found Sand, he suddenly but discreetly stood to attention, raising a questioning eyebrow. Well he certainly was thorough, and thoroughly interfering, much like his busy-body employer. With a quick glance around him to make sure none of the other members of Phaedra's band were watching, no need to alarm them, he offered the guardsman a curt, careful nod. It was done, as Nevalle had commanded, and he had better know it Sand supposed. The guard turned his back and vanished into the crowd, Nevalle would know within the hour, and Nasher too no doubt. Torio and the screeching mob she was hoping to throw against Neverwinter from within couldn't be kept waiting after all.

"Wait just a second…" The nasal, self-important voice common to low-level bureaucratic functionaries suddenly rang out across the chatter and bustle. Sand glanced up over the heads of the boorish humans all around him and his eyes found an altercation already developing at the City Watch post by the gates. Oh…of course, he should have seen this coming a mile off. There was a self-important looking Watchman there, scroll and quill held up like emblems of office and facing up to a very insolent-looking Bishop. How typical, what had that delinquent done this time? "That…is a live animal" The Watchman proclaimed, glancing, with a rather confused air breaking through his official blustering as he bewilderedly looked over that beastly monster that was always at Bishop's feet these days. Sand had hoped they'd dispense with that creature along with its disagreeable habitat when they left Duskwood, but Bishop didn't seem to be in any hurry to rid them of the animal, and Phaedra, as usual, wasn't pressing the point. How Karnwyr would plague them all within Neverwinter's walls was something Sand was not looking forward to finding out, where in Mystra's name would that beast sleep? Despite its usually unpleasant disposition, the wolf did seem comfortable enough even in these crowds, though, but whatever made up Karnwyr and Bishop's no doubt objectionable story was of no interest to Sand. "And the transportation of live animals is regulated by the Guild of…" The Guardsman continued, then blanched mid-speech "Great Tyr, is that…a wolf?" He gasped. Karnwyr growled warningly with a beady stare fixed on him, beastly creature. "I'll need to see your authorisation" The Watchman bristled.

"My authorisation?" Bishop's hand strayed to that all-too-obvious knife at his belt, his fingers curling dangerously around its hilt. "Right here…"

"Stop, Bishop" Phaedra materialised out of the crowd next to them, all sweeping grey robes, rather ruffled beauty, and reasonable, calming tones. She slipped in front of Bishop, forcing him gently to stand down, but, curiously, she didn't even look at him once. The Watchman relaxed visibly, Bishop on the other hand, wasn't relinquishing hold of his blade. Sand, who like all of the party was interested in the volatile rapport between their fair and cultured leader and the practically primeval Bishop though for different reasons, paused where he stood to observe, ignoring the jostles of the utterly insensitive humans thronging the main street. "Sir, this man is with me" Phaedra said calmingly. "Lieutenant Phaedra Blake of the City Watch…" She presented the golden ring on her right hand, the mark of her, albeit temporarily suspended, status. The reaction was instantaneous, even before the man had even glanced down at the ring. Her name alone sent him reeling backward, his swarthy skin paling beneath his beard, he looked so shocked, almost sickened, that Sand knew instantly that word of the trial must have reached him. It wasn't clear whether he believed it, but he knew the rumours clearly.

"Lieutenant…" He stammered pathetically, not even seeming able to look at Phaedra. "Lieutenant…Blake." He tried to gather himself, and failed, sweat visibly glistening on his neck "Of course…you can go…" He nodded feebly. Phaedra showed no visible sign of shock, or sorrow, at being so recognised, but she withdrew her hand without a word, and turned away silently. She didn't look at Bishop, still, she didn't even acknowledge him in the slightest. That was very strange. Bishop was giving nothing away, though, he fell in behind Phaedra with no hint that he'd noticed the very conspicuous cold shoulder she'd given him. Sand glanced away, and saw Elanee immediately, standing just as he was to the side of the street and staring intently at Bishop's retreating back. The unease, and more than that, the perturbed sadness in the other elf's eyes was quite extraordinary. There was something Sand didn't know, he decided.

"Torio has been busy while we've been away" He remarked, sweeping up to Phaedra as she lingered in the crowds, letting the others pass as she waited a moment, catching herself. She looked distracted, and more than that, exhausted, with an obscure, lingering sadness written into her dimmed gaze and into the shadows, like bruises, heavy under her eyes. As Sand paused, there, waiting for an answer her eyes did actually flick after Bishop again for a flash of a second and her features cracked for a moment with something that seemed rather like self-recrimination, before she turned her head to Sand, glacially calm again.

"Oh…yes" She murmured, as though she'd barely heard him at all Deciding she probably wasn't going to notice either way, Sand fell silent and into step next to her.

Making their way to her drunkard uncle's den, the Sunken Flagon, by the fastest, easiest route Sand kept his ears open and found that, unsurprisingly, the whole city seemed to be buzzing with news of the impending trial. Few of those packing the markets and streets seemed to be speaking of anything else. They passed a street crier announcing the 'heinous murder of the village Ember and all within it, the accused being Squire Lieutenant Phaedra Blake'; reactions varied wildly with some abhorring the news and all Luskans in equal measure and others denouncing Phaedra herself in blistering tones that could only have come from the lips of that Luskan witch Torio herself. The snippets of conversation Sand caught in the busy markets and street sides had prejudices running both ways, wild rumours and scandalous half-truths had spread through the city like an inferno, setting the whole of Neverwinter ablaze with a flurry of gossip. Ember had been razed by hordes of demons, its people dragged to the Hells, no, a magical firestorm had consumed it utterly, no it was simply the first casualty in the new war Luskan was gearing up for. Depending on where you paused in the streets, Phaedra was a witch from the swamps schooled in the darkest of magics, or the heir apparent to Neverwinter's legacy of heroism and saviour of Old Owl Well, or a siren so beautiful no man, not even Lord Nasher, could resist her. Of course it all made sure of one thing, this trial was a sensation, which was, of course, exactly how Torio meant it to be. Through the whole sordid display, Phaedra remained stubbornly impassive, nothing seemed to be able to touch her outward composure, and she was all the more splendid for it as she glided through the streets as though rising above the haze of the city's filth. She had her elvish dignity, and thank Mystra for it. Regardless, no one even recognised her from the wild descriptions being thrown around, something else to be grateful for.

Ah…there it was, the Sunken Flagon, Sand even found he was inexplicably glad to see the old place, that trek must have even been even worse than he'd originally thought. At least it was a half-civilised locale, which was one-up on the Duskwood. Duncan rushed at them the moment they entered the stale, ale-rank air, babbling half-coherent greetings to his beloved niece. Sand watched with amusement at Duncan's attempts to hide his long and painful worry under half-baked bluster and what passed for humour in the bar stool culture the innkeeper was so enamoured of. Duncan, unable to know and unwilling to ask what exactly she had seen on her journeys, was so desperate to make Phaedra smile despite them every time she came back to his inn, and she normally had a shrug and a gentle laugh to spare for her uncle's attempts. Not this time though, Sand found himself strangely moved to concern by the lifeless, listless response that met Duncan. Phaedra slipped from his embrace the moment she could, murmuring excuses so soft that Sand could barely hear them. She barely smiled, barely spoke, she hardly even seemed to hear Duncan's jokes, in a few minutes she'd shrugged off Duncan entirely without so much as a backward glance. Despite what certain other members of the party might believe, Sand did in fact care about Phaedra's well-being. After all, they were partners in the experiment upon her own magic, she was also his client, and indeed the closest thing to an apprentice he'd ever taken on. How much safer, how much cleaner and tidier was that than Casavir's smothering devotion, Bishop's power plays and manipulations, or even Elanee's constrictive mothering. When he saw that Duncan had noticed it too, how could he not, Sand slipped cautiously over to the now-despondent innkeeper.

"Every time she leaves…" Duncan murmured, speaking to Sand but watching Phaedra where she'd retired to the fireplace, clearly wanting to be alone a moment. "She comes back older." Swallowing painfully, he glanced at Sand. "What did she see out there?"

"She just needs time" Sand answered. Old friends were a rare commodity these days and a refreshing one, though he'd never admit it to Duncan that he rather enjoyed his friend's rough wit. It hurt Duncan, Sand knew, that he, a former adventurer, was bound by his business to stay behind in the city while his beloved niece went into danger. It would be no use to tell him that, after years of being a civilian, his presence would probably be a liability rather than a help to Phaedra. He loved her, more than Sand would have thought the rather shallow Duncan capable.

"Time?" Duncan choked "Time is the one thing she doesn't have." Sand raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for Duncan to recover himself. "You do know that the trial's scheduled for tomorrow?" Duncan muttered "Noon?"

"No I did not" Sand cocked his head, processing the information. Now how could that be? They'd only just returned to the city, another delay and they might have been delayed long enough to miss this, what was Nasher doing leaving such things to chance?

"They announced it yesterday, heralds across the city" Duncan shook his head "I honestly didn't think you'd make it back in time…" The worries and the sleepless nights suddenly passed across Duncan's face like a shadow. Sand toyed with his robes thoughtfully, Torio was behind this no doubt. If Phaedra hadn't returned to the city in time, she'd have been tried in her absence with a token defence on her behalf, found guilty without a doubt, and seized the moment she'd entered the city. Torio could have her victory without even lifting a finger, that vixen. But the bigger question was where was Nasher in all this? Was his position in the city so fragile that Torio could dictate the terms of justice in Neverwinter? Sand had always thought Nasher's acquiescence to the mob distasteful, but this…this was beyond the pale. Had he no authority at all?

"We'll need to move fast then" Sand said at last, no matter, he still had a trial to win. His thoughts stopped in place as Phaedra suddenly glanced up, unconsciously he'd been watching her just like Duncan. But it wasn't him, or Duncan, that Phaedra's gaze found immediately. It was, of course, Bishop. He'd just emerged from the shadows behind the bar with what looked like it had to be the first of many ale mugs clasped in hand. Phaedra's pale cheeks flushed crimson, and she looked away instantly. And Bishop saw it all, of course, and paused where he stood, his answering gaze unreadable.

"Wait…what in the Hells?" Duncan cursed, his anger, Sand sensed, more to do with Phaedra and her response than whatever issue he wished to take up with Bishop. "I told him never to bring that damned beast in here again!" Ah yes, Karnwyr, how could Sand have forgotten? There he was, padding at Bishop's feet, looking rather bored. Duncan stormed off to confront him, leaving Sand again contemplating the ties between him and Bishop, almost as confused and meddlesome as those between the ranger and his niece. But he had other matters to attend to…

"Phaedra, you don't mind…" He slipped over to the girl quickly and took the seat opposite her.

"Oh, of course not" Phaedra blinked, looking up at him in surprise as though waking from a dream. "What was it you wanted?"

"You remember what I said about theatrics earlier?" Sand asked curiously. She seemed only half here at all.

"Nothing is as it seems" She breathed dreamily, her eyes glazing over again "But we must let fall our masks" Sand blinked, what? "Oh…sorry" Suddenly she found herself again, and shook out her hair with a look of confusion in her suddenly lucid eyes "What were you saying?"

"Well…" Sand paused, moving on from that rather strange outburst. He filed it away for later examination. "We have a number of things to do. I need to get this look exactly right" He glanced up again, found Shandra standing by the doorway looking a little lost, and beckoned the young human girl over. She came gladly, looking a little relieved to have something to do. "Phaedra needs to look a little more presentable, I trust you can handle the basics" Sand said quickly "Do something with this hair, if you can. Simple styling, nothing too ornate. As for cosmetics, try to cover up her tan a little bit but nothing else…"

"Cosmetics?" Shandra raised an eyebrow with what Sand suspected was baffled amusement. Really, her provincial country bumpkin ways were charming at times, but right now they didn't have the license to be flippant. "I don't think we have any of them…"

"Very well, I'll handle that" Sand sighed, a little impatiently. Imagine that, two young woman of their ages and not a drop of anything half-decent between them. He had less to work with than he'd thought. "I'll be heading to the marketplace anyway" He said "We'll need a suitable dress too, nothing travel-stained." Sand paused, tapped his fingers on the table, thinking, as the two girls watched him, mirror images in their identical interest in his words. "Do you think Elanee could help you?"

"Perhaps not" Elanee suddenly slipped up to the table, as though she'd been there the whole time, and had been invited to listen in rather than prowling around where no one had asked her to be. Phaedra tensed the moment the elf appeared, her finger nails digging into the table. Elanee didn't look at her, but Sand saw the strain in the normally elegant elf's smile. Something was going on, rarely had Phaedra disagreed with Elanee on anything, Sand wondered what it was. "I think it best if I accompany you, Sand" Elanee offered. As if, Sand had to stop himself sniffing with amusement. Elanee had almost no taste in clothing, as those distastefully earth-toned and entirely shapeless robes she seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of attested. And yet…perhaps it would be better to have her under his observation for a time, she kept altogether too many secrets. There were depths to her, powers as yet un-revealed. A conversation in private, steered in the right direction, could be most educational.

"Very well" Sand shrugged, as though it mattered little to him. "I suppose we ought to get started right away" He stood, and Shandra made to as well. Phaedra, though, paused and glanced briefly around Sand as though she though he wouldn't notice where she was looking again. Bishop was sitting down, having shed Duncan with Mystra knows how many foul words exchanged on both sides. Regardless, Duncan hadn't managed to get rid of Karnwyr yet, the wolf took the place under his table as though accustomed to it. "Oh, and Phaedra…" Sand said quickly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Elanee's composure crumbled and a look of deep unease escaped her serenity. "Do take a bath as well" Phaedra glanced up at him, and nodded vaguely. There, now that was sorted out. Time to find out exactly what was troubling Elanee so deeply…

Oooo0000oooo

"I can't believe the things some people come up with" Shandra sighed exasperatedly, running the comb again and rather futilely through another fearsome knot in Phaedra's glistening hair. Phaedra sighed, clearly unwilling to discuss the ludicrous comments they'd heard out on the streets. Things were bad enough in village communities, where your troubles were everyone's business, but Shandra had just found out that cities were ten times worse, provided the trouble was big enough. "It looks as though Sand has things under control at least" She commented, finally teasing the teeth of the comb through, and brushing down to the strands of her friend's beautiful straight hair, all the way down to her back. Phaedra had bathed as per Sand's instructions, and she was looking healthy for the first time in days. They were sat upon the bed in Phaedra's room, back in the Sunken Flagon, in comfort again, and Shandra was attending to the oddly soothing task of taming Phaedra's hair to a presentable state.

"What if he doesn't Shandra?" Phaedra murmured suddenly. Shandra found herself shocked, she'd been babbling on the whole time as she ran the comb through Phaedra's wealth of hair, and Phaedra had barely offered a single reply to anything she'd said. And now this…after everything, and with everything that was to come, what a thing to say. "What if Sand doesn't have everything under control?"

"What?" Shandra laid down the comb immediately. "What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking…" Phaedra began hesitantly, as though she regretted speaking up at all. But Shandra wasn't letting her get away without explaining herself; things were bad enough without her having doubts like that eating up at her. "Today, this morning; since, well..." She paused, swallowed uncomfortably. "Since Bishop…" She faltered. Oh, so there was the problem. Shandra ought to have known all along.

"What did he do this time?" She sighed with frustration.

Nothing" Phaedra shifted uneasily. "We just talked" She was looking away from Shandra, up to the window, but Shandra saw the faint crimson flush touch the base of her neck. Hmmm… "But he showed me something…" She continued quietly "And I've thought about it more and more as we've got closer to the city." Finally she turned, and met Shandra's eyes with her own, suddenly she seemed older than Shandra was, with those elvish eyes that seemed like emeralds, old as the rock itself. "Now I'm here, now we've heard all these things people are saying about me, it's become even clearer" Shandra was silent, the inevitable protests springing to her mind but her lips were stilled. "Torio knows people, she knows me, and she is not doing this just to fail. The way Sand sees it, as far as we both know it, with all our evidence and with me dressed up like some innocent village girl against her, a Luskan and a Hostower mage, it looks too easy, far too easy." Phaedra paused, her lips trembled. "So why did Torio do this? She knows something, Shandra, something that will turn all of Neverwinter against me. Shandra…what does she know?"


	56. Chapter 56

_This is an interesting chapter! If I may say so in advance of your reading it, of course! :) Anyway, I found it interesting at least. _

_A word of warning, I made an adjustment to get closer to an authentic voice for Bishop. This involves some rather more adult content, a couple of swear words etc. Hopefully it's nothing too serious. Let me know if it sounds good, or over the top or whatever!_

_Regardless, the trial starts! I always found this frustrating in the game, because Torio's case was just SOOOO bad! She's meant to be a conniving politician, but she relies on Elgun and some random shopkeeper. Even some dumb Harbourman with no courtroom experience can wipe the floor with her even without much evidence. I tried to make things a bit more balanced, focusing on what I think Torio would home in on if she was trying to trash Phaedra's character utterly and completely. It ends on a cliffhanger, so...hopefully I will be motivated to write EVEN faster for the next chapter._

_ENJOY! And review!_

* * *

"There…the finishing touch" Sand placed the silver circlet lightly upon the crown of Phaedra's head, taming the swathes of newly-washed, brushed and gleaming golden hair underneath the single, slender band of shining silver. The metal felt cool against her skull, but it was so finely worked that it seemed to weigh less than a band of silk. Sand had expensive tastes; Phaedra doubted she'd ever worn anything quite so precious or as delicate in her whole life. "No, not another thing more" Sand nodded eagerly, letting his hands fall with the dramatic self-resignation of an artist at the last stroke of his brush. "There now, step back a little and let us get a good look at you" Silk rustled around Phaedra's legs as she gathered up the folds of the sweeping white dress Sand had chosen for this fateful day, as much a theatre piece as a garment. It was a gorgeous creation, spun so daintily that her fingers seemed to clasp something almost as light as air. Delicate embroidery was worked into the bodice, curves and patterns trimmed in pearly cream against the white silk, fine enough to be almost invisible. Though simply cut, it too must have been worth a small fortune, at least in Harbourman terms, and Sand wasn't accepting any kind of recompense for the expenses. Phaedra had often wondered how he maintained his tastes in ever-more exquisitely fashionable robes, but it seemed he had good tailors on call. Now, for example, he wore a lawyer's sombre black, but his robes were riddled with a fine gold filigree of glimmering thread, and styled like a nobleman, or a mage of means.

"You don't think it's a bit much" Shandra glanced at Phaedra sideways. Sand and Shandra had set up a rather surprising rapport during the process of clothing Phaedra appropriately for the trial. In fact, Sand had asked Shandra to stand with Phaedra in the court-room. Since she had known Ember and indeed, though this was unspoken, Alaine, she might be able to deflect some of the power of Torio's account. "I mean, it's not very subtle, is it?" Phaedra blinked, well…that was one way of putting it. As far as she knew, she must look like something stepped directly out of melodrama. But if this was what it took…

"Remember the calibre of the people we're dealing with, my dear Shandra" Sand commented "They only have the capacity to comprehend simple dynamics. Subtlety is quite beyond them." He nodded carefully, with one last look at the full scope of Phaedra's gown. "It's perfect, I assure you" He added. All three of them stood in Phaedra's room, which was feeling rather pokey right now, especially since Sand had insisted upon being there from the very start of this surreal process, including, excruciatingly, when Phaedra had first gotten dressed. Men, even however many-hundred year old elves, just didn't see proper women in their undergarments, but Sand had so flatly dismissed Phaedra's embarrassment and her timid requests for privacy, making them seem so childish and ridiculous, that she'd been forced to let him stay.

"Sand…you shouldn't underestimate people" Shandra answered uneasily, with a nervous glance at Phaedra. She was thinking of their conversation yesterday, it was clear, but Phaedra almost wished she hadn't told Shandra of her doubts. Even Shandra couldn't help her now, no one could except perhaps Sand. And as they'd dressed her Sand had told her of some of his oratorical triumphs in various diverse situations, an obvious attempt to allay her doubts. But still there was a deep panic settling over her heart more and more as noon, and her trial, drew closer, it was only a few hours now, and it was a panic she had to fight her hardest to keep at bay. She tried to tell herself that it was natural she should feel this way, that it didn't mean she truly doubted that Sand really could save her from Torio as easily as he insisted. After all, look who she'd let convince her that something was up, Bishop…what did he know about…oh curses, she seized the thought and strangled it, but the furious blush that followed was too fast and escaped, blooming out into her skin.

"In all my long years, Shandra, they have yet to surprise me" Thankfully Sand was talking, and Shandra seemed engrossed in his answer. Neither of them noticed Phaedra's struggle, as her mind turned inexorably down that path, towards the silent confrontation with Elanee back on the road, and what she'd openly admitted to Bishop, after all her promises to herself not to let him have any power over her. "Rest assured, I know what I am doing" Sand continued, Phaedra only barely hearing him at all. "Torio has done her best, I am sure, but she is nothing but a frankly distasteful amateur. I will do better"

"Alright" Shandra murmured, seeming slightly more reassured than before. But then she glanced at Phaedra, and a concerned frown touched her brow "Are you alright, Phaedra?" She asked with concern.

"Yes" Phaedra hastily answered, her hands automatically running down her sleeves in a stilted attempt to look natural. "It's just…a little stuffy in here" Gods, why was she so bad at this? If Shandra hadn't suspected anything a second ago, she certainly did now. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and it was quite clear which way her thoughts were tending. "Um…Sand, could I get some air?" Phaedra gasped out, quickly looking away from Shandra before she lost her composure entirely.

"Of course" Sand smiled mildly, it was impossible to know if he noticed Phaedra's fluster. He probably did, but it was still easier to look at him than Shandra. "We're quite finished here after all. Just do keep that out of the dust and whatever else your uncle cultivates on this tavern's floor if you possibly can" Shandra made a move as though she were looking to follow Phaedra but Sand raised one thin hand in front of her. "Shandra, if you please…" He said quickly. "I can't help but notice we've left rather a clutter in Phaedra's room. It only seems right that when she returns triumphant and vindicated of all charges, it be to a room in a habitable condition" Which, Phaedra thought, was actually a very nice thing to say, with her own mounting unease about the trial growing more and more powerful. Shandra paused, glancing at Sand for a moment, then sighed with resignation. Thank the Gods for Sand's quick thinking…she didn't want to avoid Shandra like this, but just she couldn't explain herself, not even to her best friend. "Phaedra…don't wander too far" Sand reminded her quickly "We'll be heading over to Castle Never very soon" Nodding quietly, unsure of whether she even wanted to know that or not, she quickly slipped out the door before anyone could decide to question her further.

She wasn't sure where she was going, knowing her costume as it was would most likely startle anyone she came across. Somehow she imagined Khelgar laughing at her…and who knows what Neeshka would say? As for Bishop, there was no way she was facing him. He'd tricked her, but she had done what he wanted, given what he wanted, said what he wanted, and that was the bitterest draught to swallow. Still she couldn't work out why he'd done it, though, and still she wondered why. Passing Elanee's closed door, though, she found herself pausing a moment. She knew Elanee was inside, the elf had slipped there without a word when she'd returned from the markets with Sand yesterday with the supplies Phaedra was wearing now and had not emerged since. What was she thinking? Phaedra laid a hand upon the rough wood, her fingers curling as though in preparation to knock. If she did, what would she say? Demand an explanation, apologise or try to explain? That morning…they hadn't had much time before the others had stirred, but still not a word had spoken by either of them, even after Bishop had slipped away with Karnwyr. They'd simply stared at each other, and Phaedra still saw Elanee's eyes, with all their shock and sadness, and knew her own would have been cold, accusing. Since then Elanee had spoken nothing directly to her…and she had returned the favour. But it couldn't go on, neither of them could…go on like this, not knowing what the other thought, not trusting each other either. At the very least, after everything, they both had the right to something more than this silence.

"My lady?" Casavir's voice rippled down the corridor, and stopped her thoughts of Elanee in their tracks. She turned immediately, startled, saw him standing in the doorway of the stables where he'd been clearly seeing to Halueth and met his eyes. Those eyes, like two shards of a broken sapphire, glinting like the sun upon a glacier, were fixed upon her with wonder in their depths, staring at her, and how he stared! With awe, and with something deeper, something painful, as though she was a ghost, a memory…something so fragile it would vanish with a touch. "My lady" He breathed again, stepping towards her as though drawn by some other force beyond him. "You look…"

"Ridiculous" Phaedra managed to gasp out, trying to be flippant, trying to brush it off, somehow to shield herself from the naked adoration in his eyes, from the truth she knew it contained. Her heart swam within her, tossed this way and that by a sea of feeling that his continuing stare only stirred up. "I look…ridiculous" She stammered as she walked up to him, her voice wavering. "But Sand insisted" Casavir struggled for a moment, that struggle shockingly visible across his normally reticent features, but by the time she reached him he had tamed it, and in his eyes was only a half-glimpsed shadow of that moment's burning adulation.

"Of course, Sand insisted…" He repeated softly, the deep resonance of his voice startled her. Finally, though, he seemed to focus on her though, rather than something he saw in her or through her, and to her surprise he smiled suddenly, a smile all the sweeter for its rareness across his austere features, that somehow lightened them like sunlight streaming through rock crystal. It made him look suddenly younger. "Perhaps a little ridiculous, my lady" He admitted, humour lilting in his voice. "But…you also look beautiful" That compliment, genuine, slightly amused, was so different to that almost awful admiration he'd shown before, and so sincere that she found herself willing to simply accept it, where once she would have simply blushed desperately and escaped it as soon as she could.

"Thank you…" She replied softly, and then struck by a strange, almost whimsical notion she murmured the first thing that came into her head. "You should smile more often"

"Is it so rare for me to do so?" Casavir's voice rippled with an echo of what might actually have been laughter.

"Lately…since…" Her voice faltered as her heart grew cold in her, but they both knew what was she to say and Casavir's smile faded. Since she had been seized in Luskan's plots, since nothing either of them could do was enough to save her, since she'd failed him as she had…repeatedly.

"I have not seen you smile much either" He answered softly, then, to her shock, he reached forward and took her hand in his, his fingers clasping around hers in a firm but gentle grasp. She froze, even her heart seemed to still within her, but she felt the press of his grip, the mark of his hammer across his cool, nobleman's hand. And though she couldn't seem to move through the glacial stillness seeping from him, her thoughts were pounding in her head: what was he going to do, what did he think she would do, what should she do? He only looked at her, his eyes glinting, and she looked back, wondering if the sudden conflict of her feelings strayed across her face. Slowly, gently, he raised her hand to his lips, with all the grace and courtesy of a nobleman greeting a young lady whom he scarcely knew, all of it a picture of propriety except his eyes that looked over her hand and swam in a conflict equal to her own. His lips brushed the back of her hand only lightly, only for a second, then he let her go, and her hand fell instantly to her side, but still she felt the touch of his lips there, like a burn. "I cannot fight for you in this, except in my prayers" He said softly "The suspicion of desertion upon my head means my testimony to your goodness and purity will only do you harm. But I swear I will be there for you, no matter what happens. If it comes to it, I will give my life to free you from her" Phaedra paused, aghast, knowing she should say something, anything, but not knowing what she could. How could she express her gratitude, how could she live up to that promise?

Suddenly heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor, and the thread of that connection between the two of them broke as Phaedra instantly looked away. She knew that tread…Khelgar…to be sure in an instant the portly dwarf raced out from the bar, looking quite indignant, and flushed with agitation on top of alcohol no doubt. As soon as he saw Phaedra he screeched to a halt.

"Lass!" He cried "You weren't thinking of leaving without letting us wish you good luck!" Phaedra felt herself lighten strangely, Casavir's words with all their austere vows had been deeply consoling, and she welcomed them as nothing else, but Khelgar's simple friendship warmed her heart.

"Us?" She chuckled, then Duncan appeared behind Khelgar looking sheepish, followed shortly by Neeshka on a much slower, more reluctant tread…Phaedra's smile faded a little. Neeshka looked awkward, like she wanted to be elsewhere, but that she was here at all, that was all that mattered.

"I'll damn well make sure every sod in that crowd knows the truth" Khelgar roared belligerently "That Luskan is not going to get away with it if I have to get up there myself and shout her down with a good dwarven battle cry!" Phaedra blinked, despite the quite typical sentiment, there was a new intensity to Khelgar, as though…even more than their friendship, this was actually a point of principle to him. When had that happened? Had she missed it?

"What he's meaning to say is that…we'll be there" Duncan offered kindly. "The city's opened the public gallery, we're going to be there to see you win this"

"Yes" Neeshka added, in a murmur. Phaedra's eyes alighted on the tiefling briefly, and she offered a small smile of gratitude, more than she'd given Neeshka in a long time. Neeshka seemed embarrassed, but she didn't look away. They were here for her…that was truly all that mattered. Once the trial was over with, none of all these fights would matter anymore…they could turn over a new leaf. She'd remember this moment then.

"Phaedra…" Elanee…Phaedra glanced up immediately. Elanee's door was open now and the elf was standing there looking ashen and wan, apologetic in her words and in her pained gaze. Even despite everything, she couldn't bring herself to miss saying goodbye to Phaedra, in case Luskan won, in case this was the last goodbye…no, she couldn't think about that…not now…she couldn't let it tar this moment. She couldn't let anything tar it. She still cared too deeply about Elanee to allow it. "May Silvanus watch you" Elanee murmured distantly, after some struggle. Phaedra nodded softly to acknowledge the blessing. She'd accept it, gladly.

"Tyr will see justice done" Casavir offered his own bleak blessing, distant now again in front of the others. Phaedra glanced around again, once more, taking them all in, and thinking of Sand, and Shandra in her room across the hall and how they'd helped her so much already and what they had yet to do. Phaedra tried so hard to make it perfect, tried to feel only joy and gratitude at her friends, that they were here all with her to wish her their blessings. How could she fail with them bearing her up? But it wasn't the fear of failure that left her cold, that made her feel inexplicably alone even here, in the light with her friends…it was…Bishop. He hadn't come. If Luskan took her, she'd never see him again, and he hadn't come back anyway. She knew…that he hadn't agreed with what she was doing and the trial, but…Gods damn it, why did it cut her so? He wouldn't try to comfort her, or offer her anything but the brute truth, and yet she felt his absence so keenly. After what had happened…she should have been glad of it...and yet she couldn't muster gladness. She just wanted to see him one more time, she couldn't explain it, but she knew it in her heart.

"Phaedra" She jumped physically when she heard Sand say her name, and she turned immediately, her breath seizing in her chest, to see the wizard standing there just down the passageway resolutely with a stricken Shandra beside him, his usual sarcastic demeanour vanished behind cool, hard purposefulness. It meant only one thing, it was here, oh Gods, oh Gods protect her… "It's time"

oooo00000oooo

When the sun reached its zenith above Neverwinter and light blazed through the city it at last found it way into a small, confined room somewhere in the Docks District that it had been trying to reach since dawn. Through half-closed shutters it could finally slip, harsh, bright and unforgiving, and into air swarming with motes of dust. It crept, scattering shadows and the last vestiges of night's secrecy, up walls, playing in rough, off-white, flecked and cracked plaster, and along the floor. Rays of light slipped through uneven wooden planks, climbing over piles of clothes abandoned on the floor, creased and dirty: an off-green tunic, a scarlet, low-cut dress, two well-used leather boots cast under the bed, a cracked wooden ale mug fallen on its side. At last it reached the foot of a bed in the centre of the meagre, dirty room, fingers of white light clasping at the foot of the bed, slowly, ever so slowly, dragging their way up onto the dirty, stained mattress. Once rays of noon light were nestled in the hills and valleys of the crumpled sheets, they moved surreptitiously up the bed, and found the body of a man lying there. He was on his front, his head buried into the mattress, naked, and fast asleep. The sheets had been tossed aside during the night, as though it had been a restless one. As the sunlight slowly crept up his lean, muscular back, it further revealed the extent of the scars that covered his body: great glistening burns stretched between tanned, smooth, untouched skin across his neck and upper back, set amidst the wounds of a life spent in combat, faded half-circles where he'd borne arrows or bolts in his back, and the tracks gouged by daggers or other blades into his flesh, but most harsh and vivid of all were the stripes of a whip, great ragged streaks of scarred flesh from his neck to the base of his back. But even in the heavy, sated slumber he seemed vigorous and forceful despite the extent of the faded wounds across his body. The sunlight touched his lean, wolfish features, making his thick stubble stand out in sharp relief as he stirred slowly, muttering a string of inaudible curses.

But the harsh noon sun offered no respite, despite the crushing headache and a gut full of poison, and eventually Bishop forced himself awkwardly upward on one elbow, to scan his surroundings with a gaze that revolted from the strong light but which he forced to take in every detail. His memory was a sodden fog he could barely access through his slamming head, and this definitely wasn't the Flagon. He sniffed the air experimentally…ale, lots of it, and sweat, and sex. He'd woken up smelling of worse in his time, but the room itself reeked a Hell of a lot worse than he did. Likely it was a brothel, one of the cheap ones on the Docks…how he'd found himself here exactly and who exactly it was he'd screwed were lost in the fog at the back of his mind now though. Normally every night he returned to the city after weeks in the wilds he drained the draught of Neverwinter's underworld, blowing as much of his earned gold as he possibly could on drink and whores. That was the only reason he ever came back here. But this looked extreme even by his standards.

"You're awake" In a flash, entirely on instinct, Bishop's hand was under the pillow grasping at where he knew his knife would be. Even blind drunk he always remembered this one thing, to stow it away within easy reach, he was never unarmed. But his fingers found nothing…. "Looking for this?" Finally his eyes adjusted fully, the room was still half under the thick shadows these places always seemed to breed, the harsh light was only on the bed but there was enough of it for him to finally see the form of the woman who'd spoken. A woman who was sitting there on the other side of the tiny room in a chair, her head still in the shadows and a thick black cloak draped over her body, but for a bare arm emerging from it. In her offered hand, though, was his dagger.

"I'd give that back if I were you" Bishop said slowly, dangerously. He'd already lost the knife once for longer than he cared for, thanks to Phaedra, now some whore with sticky fingers had swiped it while he'd slept, he'd never let that happen before. He was never that careless.

"Calm down" A low, throaty laugh filled the room, a whore's laugh "I was only looking after it for you…" The woman continued, and Bishop's eyes narrowed, straining to catch a glimpse of her. That was no gutter-bred accent she had, hardly even sounded like a native of Neverwinter. Clearly trained too, to hide whatever her natural tones were. A whore's trick, maybe, but what would be the point? "Sleeping with a dagger under your pillow is not a very healthy thing to do"

"Neither is stealing from me" He answered coldly, shifting subtly on the bed to a position better suited to a potential attack. You couldn't tell with places like this, she could have thugs or partners waiting outside if she thought she could could get more gold from him. Even nude and unarmed he thought he could get to her and get the dagger back before she could summon anyone else. Say what you want, he thought, with his eyes narrowing at the shadowed woman, but no ordinary thief could swipe a dagger out from under him. So…the only question is what did she was she going to ask for it? Not that he'd give anything, he didn't do bargaining, not with whores.

"I'd guess not" With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she tossed the dagger over, and Bishop's hand shot out to catch it. He slipped it into his palm, ready, if she tried anything else, though he was curious why she'd surrendered her brief advantage. In his experience these whores would do anything to gain an extra copper. "That dagger of yours, very curious, interesting design for a blade of its size" She continued, and slowly she stood, casting aside the cloak she'd worn, brazenly nude once again. Bishop was concentrating on her strange words, fingering the dagger in his hand, but a part of him admired the goods on display. Even blind drunk, he'd picked well. But again, it was only more evidence this whore wasn't quite what she seemed. In the Docks they were scrawny wenches, starving some of them, drunkards, and filthy the most of them. Not that he cared, all that mattered was between their legs. But her body had a lithe firmness, and she was well-groomed too. Had he nabbed some wealthy noble lady out for a filthy escapade into the Docks? Everyone knew those stories… "I've seen few like it" She added thoughtfully.

"And what exactly makes you think that I give a damn?" Bishop sneered dismissively, he didn't, but no one knew any more about this knife than he did. And her pretence to do so grated on him more than it should have done. Besides he wanted out of this filthy hole of an apartment. He'd had what he wanted from her, now he needed to get out of these damned walls and feel the wind again, even only in the Neverwinter slums.

"Ah…very well, be that way" At last she stepped into the light and was revealed. Well, she could still have passed for a whore by face alone, she had that glint of greedy, soulless determination in her steely brown eyes, and there was something crude in the fall of her sharp face, something that spoke of a gutter lineage even if her voice did not. But she was too well kept, no desperation scarred her all-too pale skin. Feathery brown hair, styled and cut short, flopped onto a sculpted brow. Bishop found himself frowning, brown hair…from what he could dimly recall of last night, he'd been sure it had been blonde, long and blonde trailing over his body as he ran his fingers through it over and over again…he scowled suddenly, cutting off that mental image right away… "You were eager enough last night" The woman's full lips scrunched into a pout. He recognised her now, remembered the moment when he'd seen her across some seedy dive in an ale-swollen midnight last night, swathed in that black cloak of hers, and strangely, despite the seductive flashes of flesh beneath it, not being approached by a single one of the primarily male clients. Perhaps he'd approached her first, he couldn't quite remember but somehow they'd ended up practically getting down to it on the bar's filthy counter itself. Then…somehow they'd got back here…she'd been good, eager and clearly well-practiced, he was forced to grudgingly admit despite how little he liked the look of her now.

"To fuck you, not to listen to you" Bishop answered brusquely, pushing himself off the bed and stepping back but never losing eye contact with her. He didn't want to listen to her now either, whoever she thought she was, he just wanted to get out of here, and he grasped for his tunic on the floor without taking his eyes off her.

"Oh indeed…" She laughed again, crudely. "You were quite the animal" Her long, pale fingers stroked her shoulder briefly, where he saw the marks of his own grip blooming into bruises. If she wanted to get a rise out of him, she was going to have to try harder than that. Not that he'd stay anyway. He could find another woman, another time. This one just made the whole room feel that bit more narrow and constricting, something was off about her and he didn't care to find out what it was. "So, tell me, who is she?" The woman murmured. Oh, she was crazy too…what a keeper.

"Unless I'm making some kind of mistake, we're done here, I didn't pay you to listen to your crap" He tugged on his tunic, it reeked but he didn't care. He vaguely recalled leaving his armour and bow back in the Flagon, he didn't need them to deal with two-bit thugs and drunken bar fights. But his belt and boots were here, he picked them up, the pouch with his gold too, pathetic amount it was and reduced since last night, but as much as he knew he should have. She hadn't even helped herself…that was it, she was definitely no honest whore.

"Oh come now…" She tossed her hair, looking at him smoulderingly again under long lashes. "You were…eminently satisfying last night" She purred "But I know men, and I know what you were doing here. So, who is the woman, the one you were trying to forget?" Bishop's eyes flicked to her instantly, feeling a rising surge of anger at her words. He didn't like the feeling. If he got angry, it would be like she could get to him, like she mattered, more than that it might even get her thinking she was maybe right, when the whole thing was a fool's idea. Coming here to forget a woman? Why bother? He forgot them all eventually anyway. Who would it be anyway, Phaedra? That was almost laughable. No, she was just like any other woman, thinking that because he'd rutted with her, she could now read him, she could now pretend she knew him. Just like Malin...and like Malin, now he'd had her, she wasn't worth the effort anymore.

"And now you think you know something about me?" He spat "Funny, that"

"And after everything we shared last night, too?" She tutted, stepping over slowly, utterly unabashed at her nakedness. As she reached him, she lightly touched his bare neck with her one finger, stroking the throbbing veins through which Bishop's blood roared. He wanted to strangle her. "I'd be wary if I were you of disrespecting me so." She murmured, seductively into his ear. "This whole city is my plaything, I could make you disappear in a heartbeat"

"I'll kill you faster than that" Bishop hissed back. That was another matter. He did not take threats well, not from whores. "So don't threaten me"

"You are quite a man…" She muttered throatily "She's a fool, whoever she is, to deny you." She licked her lips, thoughtfully, then she continued "Listen to me, I could have a use for a man such as you" She moved closer, almost to kiss him again "There are many benefits to my favour" A part of Bishop wanted her then, and wanted her badly. He wanted her humbled, begging for it, and knowing as she did that despite her airs and graces she was just a whore to him, like all of them. But he could find some other woman to scratch that itch, one who knew how to keep quiet when they weren't wanted. Besides he wasn't going to dance on some whore's strings like a puppet, no matter what crazed offers the woman made. He was his own man, he used them as he wanted to, and left when he chose. She couldn't make him stay, no woman ever would. "I could make you forget her" She whispered, last.

"No way in the Hells, bitch" He muttered roughly into her face, staring her down into her sharp, hard and utterly cold eyes. He didn't care who she really was, what her insane ramblings really meant, she was just another night he'd sooner forget.

"A shame" The woman answered coldly, but she didn't back off in the slightest, though her features now became as bitter as those frigid eyes. "And you had such potential" Bishop swore at her again, casting off her hand with a violent shrug and shoving past her to reach the door of the tiny upper room. "I could find you, you know, if I wished, wherever you are in this city" Her voice, soft but penetrating, followed him as he tore open the door, and stepped out onto a claustrophobic landing leading down a flight of rickety steps. "Think on that"

He'd got down to the street before he could get that damned voice out of his head, not that he cared in the slightest about her threats, typical jumped-up whore on a power trip. He was somewhere in the slums, he could smell that right away, piss and filth. The buildings were high, rickety structures that looked one severe gust away from blowing down entirely, added to again and again to accommodate the next family, the next illicit brothel, the next black market vendor. The streets were rough, paving stones ripped up, and the ground beneath churned up again and again so that the desperation of the people stuck here seeped into it to the core. And they were everywhere, these people, flies swarming around the bloated carcass of the city, the detritus of Neverwinter, the dirty secrets that people like Phaedra would rather not know about. He wondered how they'd got to that room in the seemingly empty building behind him, but he supposed it was by the coinage of that bitch upstairs. The reminder that she could still come down and appear behind him was enough to prod him forward into the thronging crowds. He wasn't afraid of her, only dimly concerned that he'd lose patience with her crazed threats and slice her open. In full view of a street, even one as crime-ridden as this one, that wouldn't be the smartest thing to do; however satisfying it might be.

Shoving thoughtlessly through the hordes of thieves, beggars, cutpurses, thugs, whores and the desperate souls they preyed upon, Bishop barely spared a glance for any of them. These people lived and died scrabbling hopelessly at the bottom of the heap, like the people of his home village, they lived worse than animals did, trapped, caged and utterly defeated. He'd escaped that kind of life, and nothing would ever hold him down again, from that moment on these kind of people had meant nothing to him. They'd turn on each other as soon as blinking, for a crust of bread, a copper, they'd pull down just about anyone if they could. Phaedra wouldn't last a second here…he closed that thought off too. No sense in spending a moment wasting thoughts on her when he didn't have to.

He glanced, squinting, up at the faint winter sun above the city. It was probably around midday, less than an hour perhaps until noon. Noon? Didn't that damned trial start at noon? Should he bother even going? For a moment he considered it, just leaving her, never finding out what happened in this sham of a trial, and it wasn't the first time. No doubt she'd keep waiting for him right until the moment they had her in their grasp. That was her way, hold on to hope until she died hoping. But what would be the point? After the effort he'd put in to get this far, may as well stay to see how things played out. He'd marked Phaedra, he had a right to keep an eye on things. If she won…then so did he. If she didn't, and that thought only angered him because it meant Luskan would get his prize and his chance of getting back at Duncan as fully as that bastard deserved, he'd be done with this whole act. Either way Duncan would get what was coming to him.

Blacklake swarmed with commoners flocking to the Castle like buzzards to a half-decayed corpse. The Watch was out in force, of course, no chance they'd let the grubby-handed near the nobles unsupervised. For the most part, the people Bishop shoved his way through were too enthralled by the thought of the trial to take the chance to do a bit of casual looting. He'd never seen city-folk keep their attention on one thing so completely for so long before, but the details invented and re-invented were sordid enough even to stimulate his imagination, especially as it was the virginal Phaedra apparently involved in orgies in the Sunken Flagon and peddling her body on the Docks side. Less interesting were the attempts to defend her virtue, all coached in the same desperately painful lifeless language that the paladin would no doubt come out with. That Luskan bitch had a filthy mind, but she knew what she was doing. Maybe Sand could still pull it off, though whatever fantasies that slippery eel had about Phaedra were likely too exotic to appeal to the common man. Elves, whatever outward show they put on, were about as perverted as they came. Bishop found himself wondering what strange fantasies Elanee cherished, probably involved spying and watching…yeah, that was it, she'd just love to get off on watching Casavir screw Phaedra. And they called him perverted…

The doors of Castle Never were wide open to all the common filth and sludge that poured in, a surprising move on Lord Nasher's part. He was probably getting senile, he'd been dying on that throne of his for years now. And look all it took was one treaty and a whispered threat from Luskan's whore of an ambassador and he was letting everything go her way. Maybe she'd fucked him too. Bishop didn't even have to sneak past the guards, and he was carrying a knife openly. But there wasn't much of value on display inside anyway, must have been cleared away in preparation, and they were all funnelled into the great audience hall noticeably empty of any noble presence. Most of the stinking crowd seemed content enough to stay at the back, out of sight of the throne room and the main event but in earshot of whatever came out, but Bishop wasn't going to settle for that. He hadn't come all this way for nothing; he wanted to see Phaedra's face, track every tremor through her body as the whole sorry story came out. Plus he wanted to catch a glimpse of that Luskan woman's face so he knew which Hostower hag to hunt down. To that end, he shoved his way through the crowd, pushing up towards the front. It didn't take too long, those with sense knew to move aside from his path, the rest just needed a little coaxing. But he got there, and found himself a nice, covert corner to observe the goings-on from, positioning himself comfortably against a pillar with the whole throne room in his view. Nasher was there on his huge throne, a tired old man swallowed in his shining armour, and standing before him on the dais a self-righteous looking prig in gold and purple, the High Judge of Tyr. Hail the powers temporal and spiritual, Bishop thought with a cynical smirk. The nobles hung like over the scene upon galleries and balconies on either side, squawking like gilded crows around a gallows. And there, in a prime position just across the hall, were the crowd he knew, the whole lot of them, even Duncan. Well, if nothing else their reactions would be an entertainment if things got dull.

"Enter the Accused, Lieutenant Squire Phaedra Blake of West Harbour!" The Judge's voice rang out and suddenly silence ran like ripples through the thronging crowd pressing up against the cordon of black and gold armoured guards standing between them and the throne. Bishop's gaze swung instantly to the door to the side, opened with solemn ceremony by one of the guards, and Phaedra stepped forward into the sunlight. The crowd let out a shocked gasp as one, and Bishop was staggered to find his own in-drawn, but quickly silenced breath amongst them. Phaedra could never have pulled this off on her own, and Sand had clearly calculated it down to the smallest detail, but somehow it seemed as natural and sincere as the tremble in her timid forward steps that betrayed her fear despite the distant acceptance in her features. She looked like a virgin sacrifice, all white and flashing silver, her hair burning gold under the sun. And the crowd ate it up, they sighed, they trembled, they gasped, a few isolated shouts even rang out proclaiming her innocence somewhere near the back of the hall.

Bishop felt a sudden, inexplicable but rising sense of irritation. Perhaps it was because the whole thing was Sand's work, and he despised the wizard's craft. Perhaps it was because, like this, Phaedra wasn't all that appealing, and that somehow made the whole scheme he'd set up seem a little less worthwhile. He had to remind himself that somewhere in there was the girl who'd screamed as she'd fought tooth and nail to kill that Gith who'd destroyed her home; who'd attacked Luskan-trained assassins with nothing but a tiny knife to save her life, who he'd goaded into revealing that she'd wanted to run away with him because, truthfully, pretend otherwise, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But Sand had his way, and she had obeyed. She just didn't get it, when it was your life at stake, you fought for it, because no one else would. Rely on other people, and you'd end up stabbed in the back and left for the dogs when they got what they wanted from you. She wouldn't be in this position if she'd learnt that. "Her advocate, the Wizard Sand of this city" The Judge continued after a suitable pause "And her companion, Shandra Jerro of Highcliff" They followed in their turn, Shandra looking intensely nervous, Sand unbearably smug. Both were entirely over-shadowed as they took places next to Phaedra. Bishop, watching her as intently as he did, saw the trembling glance she shot Sand, and the encouraging nod he offered in return. He thought he had round one in the bag. "Enter the accuser, the Lady Torio Claven, Ambassador of Luskan"

Then the Ambassador appeared from her side of the room, walking purposefully across the dais toward the throne, and passed right in front of Bishop's suddenly frozen gaze. All lucid thought fled his mind for that moment. In that moment he actually wondered if there was such a thing as fate, and if it were laughing at him. Torio Claven, Luskan's ambassador, was the woman from the Docks, the woman he had screwed…shit…

Oooo00000ooooo

"The matter that stands before us is grim, the destruction of the village Ember and murder of all, man, woman and child, within it" The ringing tones of Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar, Lord Justiciar of Tyr, swelled into the still air, his voice carrying somehow to every expanse of the great room, over the shocked murmurs that followed the confirmation of the crime. "This woman stands before us accused. Lord Nasher Alagondar, by the grace of Tyr Lord over Neverwinter, shall pass sentence. May Tyr, the Evenhanded, Lord over all Justice, guide us all to the truth." Phaedra was so still she could barely breathe, afraid that the slightest movement would break through the fragile shell she'd managed to draw around herself on Sand's insistence. She wasn't sure what that would mean, but every word felt like a cage closing in around her, and her mind railed against it on pure instinct. "Lady Torio Claven, for the prosecution" Oleff Uskar waved a hand elegantly. He seemed a fair man, but the ceremonies and rituals surrounding him were so intense that, like incense smoke thick around a statue, they all but obscured any trace of what man he could be underneath them. He'd held his exalted position at the head of the Tyrran faith for many years according to Sand and, like Nasher he seemed more to be its embodiment, its instrument, than a person independent of it.

"I stand here, a supplicant for righteousness" Torio Claven pressed in immediately, and Phaedra's thoughts faded as she faced her enemy. Torio was the same woman she'd seen in Nasher's halls last time, with the same angular, earthy features, the same hard, flashing eyes, the same arrogance of bearing, the same calculated self-assurance to even the tiniest of her movements and words. But she wore now a gown of deep black, far more conservative in style than her earlier garb though just as rich, and as dignified and sombre as a mourning cloak. Her every word and motion dripped with righteous resolve, sincerity and a longing for justice. She was such an incredible actress, Phaedra thought, sickened. "As a supplicant for the people of Ember slaughtered and maimed before the sight of their own homes, men, women and children killed and cast to rot like beasts, and for all who thirst for justice. A lord is father to his children…" A brief nod to Nasher, who barely acknowledged it, then she turned back to face the crowd, her true audience. She seemed to swell in their sight, spreading her arms as though to embrace them all in mourning. A few isolated cries rang out: cheers, shouts of justice for Ember. Sand had suggested that Torio would pay a few off in the crowds to inspire her point of view, but equally those people out there could sincerely believe her. Phaedra knew, did she not have the horror of Ember and its true perpetrators engraved in anguish on her heart she might have found it hard to resist Torio herself. "And as Nasher looks to his children, seeking to judge and remedy their wrongs…" A hint of sarcasm, subtle as a drop of poison in a goblet, oh Gods preserve them all… "I stand here today as a representative of the city of Luskan, father to those slaughtered mindlessly at their hearths by this heinous murderess"

"Objection!" Sand leapt to his feet like a spring-loaded puppet. Oleff blinked, but nodded, allowing it. "My honourable colleague…" Far-less diluted venom dripped from Sand's sarcasm. "Presumes much. It is not our custom here in Neverwinter to presume guilt before a fair showing"

"The dead of Ember speak strongly enough of your…client's guilt" And there, that subtle pause before 'client', pregnant with meaning. What was she getting at? "But we shall get to that if I am allowed and with your permission, of course, Honoured Judge" Phaedra uncomfortably tugged at her sleeves, suddenly aware that this was entering an arena she had no experience in, with implication and aspersion wielded like rapiers. She felt so helpless…and she simply had to sit by while Torio lied through her teeth about the people Phaedra had seen dead, the people she had ordered murdered!

"Are you speculating on the truth of the evidence, Ambassador?" Sand was practically hopping with anticipation.

"Speculate?" Torio sniffed disdainfully "The truth is what we are here to determine. Everything is in question"

"Excuse me one moment, if you would" Sand raised a hand, now taking the part of a baffled observer, sincere, courteous. "You seem so very certain of the guilt of my client. Are you admitting now that it is also in question?"

"No, it is not" Torio glanced back, too cunning to be taken in quite that easily. "The evidence speaks for itself"

"And yet our evidence far outweighs yours" Sand spread his hands in feigned bafflement and Phaedra found herself letting out a held breath in relief. One exchange was his, a small victory perhaps, but no knock-out blow. They were still only testing each other, circling like two swordsmen and probing for weak points.

"May I remind the court that the evidence has already been presented" Oleff intoned distantly "We are now here to observe the testimony of witnesses. And may I remind the advocate for the defence that it is the prosecution's turn to speak"

"Indeed, such disrespect for the court on the part of the defence, what exactly are they trying to hide?" Torio tossed her head and shot Sand a contemptuous glare. He only smiled back, forbidden to speak but radiating assurance that when the time came he would wipe the floor with his opponent. "Yes, witnesses…" Torio considered, laying a finger on her lips thoughtfully, a philosopher now. "So-called evidence can be spun any way my honoured colleague requires" She continued "Two plain silver rings become marks of an assassin, a decaying finger somehow points to Luskan but to my eyes seems more likely 'evidence' of a lingering psychosis present in those in Phaedra's retinue not to mention gross disrespect for the dead, an old man's book can be altered to show patently absurd records…" She laid out a hand, thoughtfully "But in testimony stands the truth of this matter. Witnesses will bring to light the reality of what happened at Ember, a truth which begins and ends with this woman, this witch, this pawn of darkness, Phaedra Blake" She fixed Phaedra in her cool eyes, and Phaedra forced herself to stare back though the sight of Torio physically revolted her. How could anyone be so amoral? She could see no trace of the lie in Torio's eyes, this vast lie she spoke and the blood upon her hands. Torio knew she knew, but her true soul was buried so deep that Phaedra could not even see the slightest trace of it. That realisation rocked Phaedra to the core. "But what kind of person is a murderer, what kind of woman can slaughter so many innocents?" Torio turned away at last "You see her now, this young woman bedecked in artifice and lies and you think, how could she be capable of this awful crime? She is only young, a beauty even, and she has worked in some limited capacity for your City Watch…but I beg you, Lord Nasher and every good citizen of Neverwinter, do not be taken in." She raised her hands "The truth of Ember awaits us, but first let me show you, through testimony, what kind of woman Lieutenant Squire Phaedra Blake really is…"

"Objection!" Sand was up again, like a jumping jack "This is an attempt at obfuscation, obscuring the issue"

"Overruled" Oleff answered immediately "Character witness is an established precedent, especially when the matter is as murky as this one. You may proceed, Lady Torio"

"This woman makes her home in an alehouse!" Torio flushed with passion, ignoring Sand and Oleff entirely. "The Sunken Flagon, a house of ill repute so loathsome that no good woman should be seen there, and yet Phaedra returns there whenever she may, keeping the company of sailors, thieves, foreigners…" Torio paused dramatically as Phaedra wrang her hands in dismay, on Duncan's behalf as well as her own. She had known this was coming ever since she'd heard the rumours Torio had been spreading, but it didn't make the thought any easier to face. "A few good citizens of Neverwinter have seen her conduct there, and have agreed, through great personal courage and a similar thirst for justice as I possess to testify to her iniquity…Lord Justice if I might?"

"Bring in your first witnesses" Oleff nodded remotely. They came, three men so nondescript in their appearance that when Sand murmured to Phaedra if she'd ever seen them in her life she could give no clear answer. They might have been to the Flagon, perhaps, at some stage in her habitation there, but she couldn't tell. What was clear, though, was that Torio had spared no expense in paying them off. Phaedra had, in their plain sight, been seen to drink ale like a sailor each night and day before her duties at a Watchman, accepted bribes as a Lieutenant to set criminals free, roughed up local merchants in exchange for protection money, swearing, blasphemy. And the men, of course it came to that, she'd offered herself to anyone who wanted her, taking thieves, sailors, criminals to her bed, or even in plain view if she was drunk enough. Men had lined up to have her one after the other on the Flagon's bar. Phaedra had never felt so mortified in her life. Paraded in front of all Neverwinter as some disgusting prostitute…it was appalling. Only her friends being there in the court room where she could see kept her in there and gave her strength: Elanee's visible horror, Casavir's stoic endurance of the indignity beneath which she read how much he yearned to leapt up, to defend her honour, Khelgar's spluttering indignation, the murderous glare Neeshka shot at the prancing ambassador beneath her thick hood, and Duncan's fist-shaking anger. They all helped her close her ears and endure the indignity.

"It's cheap tactics, and the crowd will get bored of it soon" Sand murmured comfortingly in her ear. "She's playing for time, this won't convince anyone"

"No one could believe that about you, Phaedra" Shandra clutched her arm "She's just revealing how filthy she is"

"Hang on just a moment more and I'll try and take some of her thunder" When Torio paused for breath Sand leapt up again, but paused for a moment with a laugh that suddenly seemed as natural and sincere as Torio's outrage. "Forgive me, Lord Nasher" He chuckled "But these are amusing stories to bring before a court-room. Clearly my honoured colleague believes all citizens of Neverwinter are as susceptible to Luskan lies as they were before the war"

"Lies?" Torio repeated, shocked "How very zealous you are in her defence…" Another cheap tactic, Phaedra repeated silently to herself over and over again, closing her eyes to try and stop her skin from burning up with shame. Just another cheap tactic, because she doesn't have anything else, not a shred of evidence and that will come up in time. "But let us return to Ember, shall we, and to the trusted testimony of witnesses, not wordplay and insinuation?" Torio raised a hand "Ember was slaughtered, destroyed, my honoured colleague wishes to distract us from that fact, so let me bring forth the full agony this evil woman's witchery has wrought! Enough of lies and lawyer's tricks, the truth of Ember awaits us, and here it is!" Phaedra closed her eyes in agony, she'd known this was coming too, the whole way back to Neverwinter it had been upon her mind, like a poison seeping through her soul. Alaine…

"No" Shandra murmured "Not this…Alaine…"

"I call on Alaine, the last living resident of Ember, to speak on what she saw that day" Torio spread her hands, turned, and the door behind her was opened. As the crowd murmured and jostled one another for prime seats for the drama, Phaedra was once again hit to the core by the realisation of Ember's real tragedy. Alaine…in she walked, quavering, unsteady steps, echoes upon the bare stone that rang like shouts in accusation across the room. She was dishevelled, still wearing the same dress she'd worn when Phaedra had seen her in Port Llast, her gaze just as absent and unsteady as then. Torio had planned this, dressing up her actor as Sand had done to Phaedra. Curse that mayor Haeromos, Phaedra suddenly thought viciously, how dare he release Alaine into Luskan's hands? No matter what he thought of Phaedra, no matter if he believed Luskan's lies, nothing could justify letting them use her like this! Alaine stood before the crowd, and shrank back from their gazes. "Alaine…look at me" Torio's motherly tone was utterly unconvincing, but Alaine responded to the iron command beneath it. "Alaine, you are the only voice that survives Ember's tragedy, speak now, tell us what you saw…"

"I saw that woman…" Alaine said distantly "I saw her…kill them all" A roar rose from the crowd, a roar of anger and hatred as those who had argued Phaedra's guilt rose up in vindication, those who had pleaded her innocence falling back in shock and horror. Phaedra buried her head in her hands, no, no, no…

"Order, order in the court!" Oleff boomed, but the crowd rose up unabated. "Order, I will have order!"

"Alaine…no" Shandra sobbed.

"Can you say anything Shandra?" Sand muttered out the corner of his mouth "Come on Shandra, we have to change the course of the river streaming from her eyes or we're all going to hang!" The voice of the crowd rose, shouts of condemnation, calls for immediate execution, Torio stood in the middle of it, smiling, and let it wash over her, washing up to the throne where Nasher sat like a besieged castle racked by punishing waves. He had to give in to the crowd, he'd made that clear from the start.

"If you get the chance, ask her if I would travel with someone who would do that" Shandra gasped out frantically "And let her know I was with Phaedra when it happened, she knows me, she'll believe in me! Oh Gods…Alaine…"

"What more is needed?" Torio was crying out now, her voice rising above the crowd and taking on their rage like a new cloak to dazzle and overwhelm her opposition. "A witness saw the massacre, saw this woman commit this crime! Phaedra Blake is guilty!"

"The defence has the right to cross-examine your witness" Oleff intoned "This right shall be upheld"

"To put this girl through more agony?" Torio cried, shocked "Revered Judge…"

"My word is final, ambassador" Oleff thundered, and she fell back, knowing she'd gone too far. The crowd too fell more quiet, though a distant mutinous murmuring continued.

"Alaine, look here…" Sand's gentle coaxing was only a little more convincing than Torio's, but the girl turned slowly and found Sand. It was as though she no longer had a will of her own and it was awful. "I am going to ask you a few questions, Alaine, answer them as truthfully as you can, don't worry about the ambassador…" He stepped slightly aside, let Alaine's weak, trembling gaze fall on Shandra instead. "Do you know this woman, Shandra Jerro?"

"Yes…" Alaine stammered weakly

"Can you speak to her character?" Sand coaxed "Is she a good person, a friend?"

"Yes…" Alaine murmured, her eyes taking on a far-away look but still focused upon Shandra. A small half-smile touched the edges of her lips. Phaedra risked a glance at her friend, Shandra was trying desperately to smile encouragingly back at her friend. "She came to Ember every trade season, many times…we'd talk for hours…I thought of her as a sister…"

"Do you know, Alaine, that this woman, Shandra, has been travelling with the accused, Phaedra Blake, for some time now?" Sand continued "And that Phaedra Blake saved your friend's life?"

"No…no…I did not know that" Alaine blinked and that far-away look was gone, her gaze suddenly confused, doubting.

"Revered Judge, I fail to see where this line of questioning is going…" Torio complained, realising as Phaedra did exactly where it was going…

"Shandra was travelling with the accused when Ember was destroyed" Sand pounced before Torio or Oleff had a chance to reign him in. "Are you suggesting, then, that your friend was responsible for the massacre also?" The crowd was silent again, hanging on every word of this suddenly more interesting drama as tightly as Phaedra was.

"Alaine, listen to me…" Shandra couldn't control herself a second longer, she was up, next to Sand, her hands reached out and imploring Alaine who did not even dare to shrink back. Suddenly her certainty was gone, that last certainty of hers and without it she was awash in that sudden, desperate confusion once again. "Whoever killed all those people, Alaine, it wasn't Phaedra! I would know! I know her…she's a good person!"

"Enough!" Torio snarled, trying to stop it, but it was a futile effort. Things were already in motion, slipping from her control. "The accused has only one counsel and is he not the only one allowed to speak to the witness!" Phaedra leaned forward agonisingly, praying, hoping…Alaine, come on…realise the truth…

"Oh Ambassador, I freely forfeit the right to question the witness while Miss Jerro is speaking" Sand positively dripped with triumph, he was relishing this. "Do I have a choice?"

"When that awful thing happened, Alaine…" Shandra was going on, pleading, imploring, her whole body shaking with her sorrow. "We weren't near Ember, nowhere near it, Alaine!" Alaine tried to look away, painfully, but Shandra wouldn't let her "Alaine!" The farmgirl cried "Think back, please…it wasn't us! Are you sure you saw Phaedra?"

"I…thought I did…" Alaine stepped back, her hands shaking desperately as she raised them to her pale, glistening cheeks. "I thought…so much…" She moaned suddenly, falling to her knees before the crowd, before Nasher. The crowd let out a collective gasp of sympathy, horror and shock. "Maybe I was wrong, maybe I was wrong about everything" Alaine sobbed desperately "Oh Gods…"

"There you have it" Sand stepped forward, brushing an imaginary speck from his immaculate robes. "The witness retracts her statement…this coupled with the powder we recovered that imitates perfectly the form of anyone the user wishes, raise certain questions about Luskan's integrity, questions I am sure the people want answered"

"Enough, Alaine is clearly too traumatised to give her testimony properly" Torio sneered. "And as for your imaginary powder I would think it raises questions about your integrity as a wizard rather than anything else. Imagine such a thing…" But she'd lost momentum, she was adrift now without Alaine to anchor her. And, as Alaine was helped up by a guard, and escorted outside, followed by an anguished glance from Shandra who came to sit back down again after she had vanished, the crowd was murmuring, the murmurs gaining more power as people put two and two together. Phaedra bit her lip, could they have won this already? Torio had to have more up her sleeve. "I call upon the wizard Sand as a witness" Torio snapped suddenly.

"Surely that is irregular?" Sand looked to Oleff, who frowned.

"He is an intimate companion to this woman" Torio appealed "Advocate or not, he yet has questions to answer about his involvement in the massacre at Ember" Oleff paused, rubbing his sumptuous robes between his fingers thoughtfully. Eventually, though he nodded to Torio…who stepped forward in front of Sand as though it were him on trial.

"Tell me, would you say it fair to judge a woman by the company she keeps?" She asked. Phaedra blinked with surprise. That wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"An interesting proposal, and a strange one for this court" Sand shrugged thoughtfully "It would be most educational, I'm sure, to examine the company a Hostower mage keeps…"

"Oh yes, wouldn't it?" A flash of contempt, viciousness, sarcasm glinted through Torio's demeanour of wounded dignity, but there was more to it than that, as though she knew more than she was letting on and was trying to goad Sand with something. But he made no response, it was simply more mind games then. "But it is not I who am on trial, but your client, and the onus is on you to explain the scandalous band who accompanies her on her so-called adventures"

"And so I shall, so I would continue if I were you" Sand answered "Or do you mean simply to bore us all until we forget that your witness retraced her testimony, destroying all evidence against this woman for good?"

"I have my doubts about Alaine's abrupt change in tune" Torio mused "Perhaps you enchanted her, Sand, or Phaedra did?" She shrugged, a weak excuse, Torio, Phaedra thought. But where exactly was she going with this? "But we can prove nothing. What you can help me with is something of the company the accused keeps? Would you deny, first, that this woman wilfully travels with several grown men, none of whom she is related to, and to none of whom she is married or promised? Is this the behaviour of a sterling young woman, a woman the people of Neverwinter would like their daughters to follow?"

"Gods, what a ridiculous thing for anyone to say" Shandra scoffed "And her, of all people…she's a Luskan witch! What man would want a daughter like her?" Phaedra nodded tightly, but everything hinged on how the crowd took it.

"Your presence and your purpose here alone demonstrate why this poor young woman is forced into such a position" Sand opined. "Phaedra's humble service of Neverwinter, outstanding courage in the field of duty and numerous feats of great daring and goodness all in service of our fine city have brought her fame but also the enmity of those who would seek to destroy Neverwinter and cast down its heroes. When Luskan hovered anxiously on the horizon waiting to swoop in and take her, was it so wrong for her to seek male protection, as any innocent maiden bereft would, of true and good men?" Well, that was frankly just insulting. But Phaedra held her tongue, knowing it was necessary.

"Ridiculous, I demand a retraction of such vile insinuations!" Torio snarled "Luskan has no enmity for the girl, only a longing for justice!"

"May I remind the court to restrict their assertions to matters supported by evidence?" Oleff intoned. But the damage was done to Torio's cause, Phaedra sat a little easier as the crowd murmured and gasped at this new development. Oh thank Lathander for Sand, how could she have done this without him?

"Perhaps our honoured colleague would like to explain by such wild accusations why her company includes a traitor to Neverwinter?" Torio snapped, and everyone fell silent in a second. Phaedra's throat caught, a traitor to Neverwinter…that could only mean…oh Lathander save them, not Casavir! How did she know? How had she found out? "Yes, while this fine spinner of words would have you believe that Phaedra was aiding this city, she was sheltering a fugitive from justice the whole time, and well she knew it" Torio continued, smugly, and Phaedra could see the cogs turning madly in Sand's head as he tried to think of a way to stop her before she landed the killing blow. "This man once served the God Tyr, a paladin of Neverwinter's patron who betrayed his God, his lord and his city! How well this city knows the damage such a man can do, bereft of all loyalty" Her voice swelled to a crescendo, as Phaedra frantically found Casavir in the crowd with her eyes. He hadn't moved …oh Lathander bless him, though if somehow Torio know who he was her finger would have him arrested for sure. He stood, grim and hard as stone against the swell of Torio's cruel words, his eyes found Phaedra's and in them was an appeal to her to be strong no matter what Torio said. He knew worse was coming, but he implored her to endure it. "And why…why did this man fall from grace?" The ambassador cried, instantly Phaedra's swung back to her. No…she didn't want to hear this, not like this. She'd let Casavir keep his silence, knowing that he would tell her one day, trusting that he had good reason, but never ever had she wanted to hear the truth from Torio's lips. "For a woman's sake!" Torio crowed triumphantly. "For lust he fell, for lust he now follows Phaedra, killing at her whims for the rewards her bed offers him!" The crowd was in a frenzy, crowing and crying out in dismay, but Phaedra sank back in her chair, utterly defeated. It couldn't be true…Torio was lying, but what if it was? She had no right to know this, she didn't want to know it. And she couldn't look at Casavir…

"What ridiculous, brazen, hare-brained lies this she-harpy spews out!" Sand cried. "People of Neverwinter, she lies!" But it looked desperate, it felt desperate, Sand was working against claims neither of them could have anticipated.

"Order, order in the court!" Oleff cried out ineffectually "Substantiate your claims, ambassador…"

"Enough of your raving, Hostower mage!" Sand suddenly blazed with purpose, and silence fluttered through the crowd in response. "You prove nothing beyond the twisted contents of your own imagination! May I remind this court that this woman represents the power that laid waste to our city in the most terrible conflict Neverwinter has ever witnessed, that even now grapples with Ruathymn for its greed, a power whose currency is lies and deceptions!"

"Be silent!" Oleff thundered "That has no bearing upon the case!" But Sand's intervention had saved things somewhat, people were calmer again. And Torio's raving contrasted poorly with the cold fire of purpose within him. At least that was what Phaedra hoped, it was so hard to judge which way the wind was blowing. "Continue ambassador" Oleff continued, once the court was calm "But return to the case at hand, if you please!"

"Oh I will, Revered Judge" Torio brushed her sleeve huffily. "There is one more though, one who travels with her whose nature is crucial to this case, who this advocate must explain if he can…" Who? What more could she say to ruin everything?

"I will allow it, provided you can substantiate this claim" Oleff nodded to her to continue.

"Outrageous" Sand muttered clearly audibly. Oleff shot him a dark glance, but Torio was already moving again.

"A fallen paladin should be an evil enough to condemn her in the eyes of all who love justice" Torio drew out each word, savouring them, as Phaedra squirmed in her seat. This was awful, she had no right to do this. "But there is another this untrained, wild sorceress keeps in her retinue, a creature incomparably worse" Torio turned slowly, her gaze seemed to pierce the crowd, meeting the eyes of every enthralled observer "Who has not heard of the evil of creatures known as tieflings?" Oh Lathander…oh Gods no… "These creatures, bloodthirsty, rapacious, vicious, are the spawn of devils, of demons, and of dark sorcery, enemies of all humanity next to which any small enmity between Luskan and Neverwinter pales to insignificance" Torio's oratory rose again to a screech. Neeshka tugged with distress at her hood, making sure that it still hid her horns with shaking fingers. Something about the resigned set of her shoulders told Phaedra that she had heard it all before, but never before so many people, all who would turn on her without even knowing who she was. Phaedra felt pity and fear for her friend, longing to stand up, to say something, to do something, but she was pinned here. Thankfully she had Khelgar there though, the dwarf muttered something to her, tapping his axe belligerently and Phaedra saw her relax just a little. "They are the product of the vilest rape, spawned in dark sorcery, nourished by evil, part human and part utter wickedness. Who could not imagine the atrocity at Ember the work of such a fiend?" Torio's trembling finger landed on Phaedra once again "This woman, this sorceress who emerged from that vile, evil swamp in south reeking of untamed, uncontrolled magic, counts such a creature amidst her retinue." Phaedra's fingers dug into her palms as she reigned in a scream burning through her throat. This wasn't fair, it wasn't right! Neeshka wasn't like that! But the crowd were responding, and a groan of anguish and protest arose amongst them. She was feeding on their prejudices, the wild stories they all knew as children…turning them against Phaedra!

"Beyond the pale!" Sand snapped "This woman I cannot even call an advocate due to her utter lack of professionalism insults us all using such base insinuations! This is a court of law, not a mob lynching!" He paused for breath, before racing onward "Can this woman explain to you how Phaedra Blake, supposedly so evil, has helped out this city on countless occasions, saved livelihoods…yes, there must be those amongst you whom her craft has saved!" A few in the crowd quietened down, Phaedra saw shame-faced looks amongst them. Oh thank you Sand, she breathed, her gaze fixed on his back, oh Gods thank you! "Which of you has not heard of her good work with the City Watch?" He thundered "Which of you has not heard of the victory in Old Owl Well, this city's finest in a generation, a victory entirely won upon this woman's skill, courage, and faith? This woman, insulted by this vile accusation, by these disingenuous assertions, by that screeching harpy that Luskan calls a lawyer and a mage, is Neverwinter's finest heroine since…!"

"Since…Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande?" Torio slipped in, with a sudden triumphant smile and a voice rich with irony. Silence, a silence so intense, so profound that even the rustling of the crowd ceased, fell over the whole room. Even Lord Nasher, grim-faced and utterly implacable so far, collapsed back in his chair, raising a hand to his forehead with a sudden agony. Even Casavir seemed shaken. Everyone…everyone knew that story. Phaedra was utterly shocked to hear it now, here, and she herself cast as its leading villainess…the fallen paladin, Lady Aribeth, who became Neverwinter's darkest foe during the terrible war with Luskan. She'd betrayed everything she'd once stood for. Few were more hated, and yet more mourned, in Neverwinter. Torio…had disturbed something deeply sacred.

"You banshee…" Phaedra heard Sand mutter under his breath over the now silent room. "You filthy, over-dressed Docks whore…" Eventually he spoke "Can you not see the crudeness, the disrespect this creature dressed as ambassador shows Neverwinter?" He said, softly, positively shaking with outrage. Did he truly care, he'd shown no loyalty to Neverwinter before, or was he simply acting? Phaedra couldn't tell anymore. "Such a comparison…is unthinkable"

"Why?" Torio murmured "Why should it not be said?"

"Because Lady Aribeth was taken by Luskan!" Sand snapped "Taken from this city's services, by Hostower schemes!"

"Lady Aribeth was manipulated, as Luskan was manipulated in those days, by the Queen Morag of the Old Ones" Torio answered primly "These things are known now, chronicled by your own hero's hand! Luskan bears no fault for the war, as it bears no fault for Aribeth's fall, she owed her allegiance entirely to that ancient evil" But the crowd wasn't drawn in, the reminder of Aribeth, of the war, had roused only deep grief, and a deeper anger…against Luskan. Phaedra felt it in the buzz rising now in the crowd, and Torio was its obvious target. How could she have miscalculated so drastically? "So, tell me, honoured colleague" Torio continued, ignoring the murmur in the crowd, as subtle as the first stirs of wind that beget a storm. "To what dark forces does this young woman, your client, owe allegiance?" She was building up to something, Phaedra suddenly realised, disparate threads of her different arguments weaving together to create a tapestry…that depicted…what? Phaedra couldn't see it yet, but her loom of lies was gathering speed fast…

"How ironic that a Hostower mage speaks of dark forces" Sand spat contemptuously.

"Oh, how ironic, indeed" A triumphant, utterly loathsome smile flashed over Torio's thin lips. Phaedra was aghast, for Sand was its focus. What was she saying? "Neverwinter, witness this canting elf, this preening half-man dressed in fine silk and in lies" Torio spread her hand "How viciously he speaks against Luskan, how coldly of the Hostower…" Sand suddenly gripped the side of his robes, his features were turned away from Phaedra, but she saw his knuckles go white with the strength of his grip…to see him, of all people, lose control, even so minutely, it shocked her to the core. "And yet, let all of Neverwinter hear this, Sand himself was once a Hostower mage!" Torio crowed, and Phaedra fell back in her seat, suddenly dizzy, on the verge of fainting. Impossible…she'd suspected all this time that Sand's knowledge of Luskan meant something, but to think of him, her friend, her ally, at the service of that wretched, evil place…no, it couldn't be! She was lying…she had to be lying!

"Sand…no!" Shandra cried, but Sand made no reply to her or to Torio. He was staring down at the ambassador though, and his whole body was tense with cold hatred. It was true, Phaedra read it in every tense line of Sand's body, the truth, the unforgivable, unimaginable truth.

"And would you mind explaining to the court why you left the Hostower, Sand?" Torio was relishing it, though, relishing Sand's humbling. Phaedra hated her suddenly as she'd hated no one else in her life. Her hatred was like iron, cold and utterly implacable, and it thirsted to drive into Torio's preening body…for Ember, for using Alaine like she had, for using Casavir, Neeshka, Shandra, for her terrible lies…and now for this one terrible truth. It hurt far more to know Sand, her friend, had been an agent of the Hostower than to hear a thousand stupid lies about herself. "Tell them, Sand, why don't you?" He was silent, and Torio smiled greedily, moving in for the final, devastating blow. "You were cast out, weren't you? For breaking boundaries, for pushing the study of magic…too far"

"It was not like that, you banshee!" Sand suddenly snarled. Always so controlled, always so measured, calculated, urbane…to see him like this, with a rage so terrible it made him shake with its power, it tortured Phaedra. "I left that torture chamber, that prison! I left it of my own free will!"

"Of course you did…" Torio murmured, with a viper's soothing hiss. "As you left the Neverwinter Academy of your own free will" She smiled triumphantly…another secret and it looked so awful, oh heaven help them all "So…was the massacre of Ember another of your experiments, Sand? Did you guide this young woman to her terrible deed with your whispered counsels and your pressing, greedy lust for power?"

"Your witness denies this woman was ever there, you evil witch" Sand breathed dangerously, but not it was Torio in control, and him who was clay in her hands. And Phaedra, dazed, shaken, barely able to keep a clear head, could do nothing about it. "None of this vile insinuation proves anything"

"Oh doesn't it, Sand?" Torio smiled, sent another radiant glance across the stirring, aghast and enthralled crowd before her. "So tell me, Sand…have you conducted experiments upon this woman, Phaedra Blake, do you perhaps know the source of her power, the nature of it?"

"She is a powerful sorceress" Sand nodded slowly, he knew this was a trap, everyone knew it. "Her power is unstable, but well within her control. She would be certified safe by any instructor of magic in this city" And Phaedra, behind him, could see that he knew it was a trap in his shaking shoulders. But he walked into it, he said what Torio knew he would say because he could say nothing else without revealing…what? What did he know, what did Torio know? What was she getting at? Phaedra felt feverish suddenly, and faint…had Sand lied to her? And Torio…knew Garius…who had whispered secrets about the nature of her power to her from his bedside, but she'd never told them to Sand…oh Gods, oh Lathander. She was burning with the horror of it…with the aching of not wanting to know the final, terrible truth with every fibre of her being.

"Sand, oh dear Sand…" Torio shook her head, like a teacher reprimanding a favoured student "Let us stop the lies, shall we?" No, no, no… "This young woman, people of Neverwinter…" Torio turned to them, spreading her wings, a preening bird magnificent in her final victory "Is a creature of the Hells, a lover of fallen paladins, a master of tieflings, and the student of this vile monster who terms himself a wizard…" She paused, one last time, and the whole hall of people leaned towards her, aching for the words as fiercely as Phaedra ached never to hear them in her lifetime. "This young woman, people of Neverwinter, is a warlock"


	57. Chapter 57

_Hooray! Chapter 57 at last! Sorry about the long wait (again) but I hope this satisfies you if you missed my story at all! And there's plenty of it too!_

_Thanks to Ilinox again for a fantastic review! There is something wrong with my updates, so apologies if I'm late with replying to these reviews, but I'll try and check this as often as I can so I can get back to you ASAP. _

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"No, you're lying!" In the next moment, the moment when all the world seemed to still itself for one single indrawn breath before the storm broke, a thin, reedy girlish shriek of protest rang out across the impossibly silent throne room. As the soft hum of shocked murmuring began amidst the vast crowd of anonymous faces with eyes fixed in their hundreds upon Phaedra, the voice floated for a moment over the raised heads, and trembled in the high vaults of the distant stone ceiling. It took Phaedra another infinitely slow moment to realise that the pathetic wail that she herself could not even believe had come from her own throat. She fell back, clutching at the folds of the white dress that had been supposed to represent her innocence and felt Torio's words driven into her skull. Her world had fallen from her grasp now, if her life even had any stable foundations left they were pulled out from under her feet. Warlock…no…not that, anything but that...it couldn't be her, not her! It was not her!

"Am I?" Torio's eyes fixed suddenly upon her and for the first time that awful, cold and acrid voice addressed her directly. Gasping, she suddenly found herself pinned under that gaze, pinned to her seat, it had some horrid compulsion to it. And her eyes couldn't leave Torio's which glinted with pure, cold hatred. This was personal for the Ambassador, Phaedra suddenly realised, deeply personal. And Torio was whispering something, murmuring something under her breath…her lips moving slowly as though in incantation. Phaedra tried to fix on what Torio was saying, but suddenly she found her gaze blurring, and the court room swam before her. Nausea crept up her throat, twisting and contracting as though something were moving inside her, trying to force its way out. The hum of the crowd blurred and swelled until it seemed to become one relentless cacophony that seemed to force that word again and again through her fevered head, warlock it cried. Her head span…oh Gods, what was happening? Was this Torio's doing? Her heart pounded, and a feverish rush of heat oozed in her skin. She felt Torio's nails in her flesh, at her ears, and the voice of the Ambassador seemed to echo in her skull so she couldn't shut it out; 'Garius will have you, you simpering little bitch, if I can't kill you first'. Oh Lathander, Phaedra fell forward in her chair retching emptily. Garius, no, anything but that…no…she was sent reeling, whirling down a great vortex into darkness, into Garius' darkness, into that twisted, haunted nightmare. She'd rather die, rather let Torio have her way, than face his poisoned adoration, those hands stained with blood offering her Ember's dead as a sick token of that obsession she couldn't understand and couldn't escape.

But Torio wasn't finished. As if in grim chorus to Garius' name and to the shouts in the crowd that were growing louder and louder as Phaedra rocked helplessly in her chair, she felt the fire rise within her again. It was here, the fire in her blood, in her soul and it flared into furious life. It boiled, searing and churning inside her relentlessly, feeding off her terror and anguish. Its curse came unwelcome, as it always had, but it was strong, and it was desperate to be free. It wanted her, it was like fingers in her skull, on her heart, squeezing her harder the more she fought its awful compulsion. And it called to her in her own voice…it sang in her head and a part of her knew it for it was. It was a part of her, she'd known that all along but she'd hidden from it, vainly trying to avoid the truth. This evil, this devouring fury, it was her! Sickened, she staggered from her chair and stumbled onto the cold hard marble. Fighting for strength, she found her companions with her trembling gaze. Elanee had swooned, staggered, against a pillar, Casavir had stood, almost as though to reach her, and in his eyes was a sudden, terrible turmoil she could never have imagined ever seeing there. Trying to turn away, unable to look away, she unexpectedly met Neeshka's eyes and saw in the tiefling's crimson stare a sudden spark of something dark, something angry. She didn't want to know, she looked away before she could see what it was. Turning, oblivious to everything, blinded by tears, she raised her burning hands to the streaming light of the sun, to Lathander, and begged desperately for His aid.

"Phaedra!" Shandra's scream pierced through her anguish and it was impossibly loud, ringing in her head and shaking the whole room which wheeled around her. No…it wasn't only Shandra screaming, it was the whole crowd, the whole of the city, men, women, everyone. Chaos tore through the ordered silence of the court room in seconds, people pushed and shoved, the whole crowd swelled and broke against the towering walls like the ocean racked by a storm. Stamping of feet, screaming, roars of anger and horror…the crowd suddenly sounded like one organism of rage and horror, suddenly unleashed by Torio's hands. The noise was deafening, Phaedra tried to block it out but she was caught on its swell and ebb, tossed this way and that, deafened and disorientated. "Phaedra!" Shandra cried again "Oh Chauntea…you're on fire!" Oh Gods, it was here, it had come for her. Phaedra, blinking, finally found with her eyes and gazed with horror and shock at her two raised hands held into the blazing sunlight. They were on fire. Tongues of flame swum around her outstreatched fingers, wrapping themselves greedily around her hands until both blazed bright like two beacons above her. It was no hale, healthy fire, this was Hellfire, fiercely hot, smokeless and hungry, and growing before everyone's eyes. Through the flames possessing her hands she glimpsed Torio, saw the satisfied glint in the Ambassador's eyes, a single towering bastion of self-satisfied serenity as the crowd before her descended into terrified chaos. This was exactly as she'd planned, everything that had come before it had simply been an unfolding of this master plan, her theatre, her script. But, oh Gods, the fires hurt…they seared her wrists, clamping around her with terrible, caressing possessiveness and her will faltered. The long suppression, her half-conscious battle with it had only made this evil more famished. And now she knew the truth, that this was her, how could she fight it? She had no way, every other time it had triumphed over her will, but she fought to tame it with every straining thread of her self-control even as she whirled within her aching despair.

"Stop this in the name of Tyr Evenhanded!" Oleff bellowed suddenly, and his voice shook Phaedra's faltering spirit. Her frantic eyes turned upon him, saw his hands raised in an exorcist's gesture against evil…pointed towards her… "End this affront upon Tyr's justice…now!" Amidst the storm, Lord Nasher had frozen, unable to declare himself either way, gripping the sides of his throne with white hands, strain suddenly graven deep into his sculpted monarch's features. Phaedra's stare froze upon him, the man who had her life in his hands, and knew the struggle he must be going through. He'd set this whole plan up to save Phaedra's life, but Torio had outmanoeuvred them all, now Nasher would not merely set himself against his own people if he even tried, but after this how could he even believe Phaedra's sincerity any more?

"No!" Phaedra screamed, raggedly, desperately to him. "This isn't me…I can't stop it, I can't stop it!" She raised her hands urgently, as though somehow she could drop this loathsome fire from her flesh, but it was graven deep into her, and its heat flared through her every heartbeat. But the dreadful wreaths of blazing fire that adorned her in horrendous splendour, only used the opportunity to speak against her, to grasp further down her arms greedily. It caught upon her wrists, and the silken sleeves of her beautiful gown went up in smoke. Nasher's gaze fell upon her, and she saw in his hard austere eyes a lifetime of a ruler's sacrifices, but the resolve to sacrifice once again, to sacrifice Phaedra if he had to.

"So now we know the truth!" Torio cried out then, and the crowd roared in response, in assent. It wanted Phaedra dead! "This woman slaughtered Ember for some dark Hellish ritual! Seize her, seize her and judge her now! Quickly, before she summons the Hells here! Let her be judged for what she is! Now, before she puts us all in jeopardy!" Phaedra shrank back, horrified, seeing now what Torio meant to do. If they couldn't stop this fire, Nasher would condemn her before she had even had a chance to answer the charges, for his people's safety and as they, with every murderous cry, with every outraged gaze, demanded. She desperately tried to focus, tame the fire, extinguish it, but her most strenuous efforts were for nothing but to restrain it where it was.

"Impossible!" Sand cried, appealing vainly, to Nasher and Oleff alike. He stood in front of her, and she gazed woodenly at his back a moment. He'd lied to her, he'd known all along. It was as though she'd never seen him before. Had she ever know anything about the real Sand, or had it all been another act? "That is impossible! It is against all law, against all justice!" He glanced frantically back at Phaedra, and in his eyes was one single desperate question…how had Torio known? How could she control, the fire that was within Phaedra for her own purposes? The answer was that name Phaedra knew but could not speak and it only stoked the flames, Garius….

"Does Lord Nasher dare to stand against the will of all of Neverwinter?" Torio sneered, insolent and revelling in her triumph, extravagantly spreading her arms to take in the furious crowd. It really did seem as though all of Neverwinter were really there, and one seething teeming instrument in the Ambassador's hands. Somewhere amongst them, there had to be people who still believed her, who reacted with shock and disbelief rather than anger and fear, but they may as well not have existed. The crowd was taken up in its own fury, its horror, and there was nothing Phaedra could do. Khelgar and Duncan shouted, and roared against the grain of the crowd, but their voices were lost in the swell, the chaos. Suddenly she saw Casavir fighting to reach her, but she stood, raising her burning hands to try and stop him, trying to cry out but her voice was lost, if anything even came from her throat at all. He couldn't put himself in danger for her! "Against the holy writ that demands such a creature as this woman dies? Take her, take her now!" Though Nasher, high and silent upon his throne with his hands gripping the sides, had said nothing, the royal guard began to move. They were following Torio's orders! Cautiously, with swords outstretched, reluctant to approach but determined and grim in their duty, the men in their golden and black armour advanced on Phaedra. She shrank back again, the blood rushing hot in her head. If they tried to take her…the fire would prevent them, it would kill them and then she would be doubly damned! She clasped her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms and clenched down on the scream in her throat. Don't let them…please Lathander…

"No!" Suddenly Shandra was there, and her arms were around Phaedra before Phaedra could stop her, scream out a warning, because the fire burned and it would take anything it could. But Shandra was holding her, shielding her, and the older girl's arms passed through the fire unscathed, as if it were not even there. And suddenly it was not. It took Phaedra a second to even realize what had happened, but before her stunned and shocked gaze she found her arms bare and free from the fire's awful embrace. It was gone, vanished between one moment and the next. Blinking with shock, she raised her hands to the sunlight, and turned them over and again, flexing her fingers experimentally, as Shandra clung to her back, the other girl's face buried into her shoulders, sobbing into her gown. She felt suddenly as calm as the still sea after a storm had passed, the turmoil and anguish had fled with the hellfire, and probing her magic she found nothing but the warm after-glow of its embers, already fading. It hadn't left her, she still felt its corruption in some dark place within, but it had fled, gone…for now and without even the release it had craved…but how? How had it happened? Had Lathander answered her prayers?

"Shandra…" She whispered, half-turning her head to her friend. Shandra clung to her back furiously, the farmgirl's arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyes were screwed shut as she wept, her plaintive sobs practically the only sound in the now-silenced hall, and the only one to which Phaedra was listening. Slowly Phaedra took her friend's hand, grasped Shandra's rough calloused fingers in her own softer ones. "Shandra…it's gone" She murmured. Slowly Shandra opened her eyes, raised her head slightly and blinked, shocked, at Phaedra. Seeing her face, flushed, tear-stained and dazed, Phaedra felt a rush of warmth and affection, and forgetting the trial, forgetting the crowd looking on in astonishment, forgetting everything, she smiled slightly at her friend.

"In Tyr's name I charge you to explain that brazen, heinous display this instant!" Judge Oleff's thundering voice broke through the moment's peace and reverie. Phaedra turned away, though Shandra still held her close, and her closeness gave Phaedra strength to look back across the grim scene in the courtroom. The crowd had quietened, with Phaedra's fire shed the panic that had gripped the panic had eased behind shock and awe. Now, though, a soft murmur arose amongst those who remained like the passage of wind across the sand, people were discussing what they'd just witnessed, and the shocking turn the trial had taken. But Shandra's intervention and the passing of the fire had given the people a jolt that at least momentarily diverted their rage. Judge Oleff was blustering with sanctimony and righteous anger, shaking up there on the dais in his ornate robes, his previous serenity and control slipped from his grasp, as he tried to find the person to blame. Even Lord Nasher, up until now an immovable sentinel, had risen slightly from his throne to look closer, though he was still more in control of himself than Oleff. His glinting eyes, narrowed slightly, were fixed on Phaedra and Shandra as he leant back into his place. Sand also stared at them, with the shock of one who had just found all his theories displaced before his eyes, but as she glanced at him quickly she saw the clarity beginning to return to his eyes, and his intellect beginning to move, beginning to realise how to harnass this turn of events. She left him to it, and unwillingly she found her gaze moving at the last to Torio. The Ambassador didn't look as astonished on the surface as everyone else did, but the hatred in her eyes had never been so visible or so intense, it glinted like a knife-blade behind her cool, insolent gaze. But there was disbelief behind it, she didn't see how this could have happened, she didn't understand it. But she was rallying her forces once again, her original plan might have failed but she still had the upper hand…

"It is clear what that display was!" She screeched suddenly, her voice rising in the silence like a carrion crow circling a battlefield. "Even though it was stopped just in time, this girl could have killed us all…"

"Be silent Ambassador!" Oleff thundered, and even Torio was unable to stop herself shrinking back from the judge's sternness. "I did not ask this of you Lady Torio, you have said your piece and it has been heard by all" He turned away, and his eye fell on where Phaedra knelt with Shandra. "Does the defence, or her counsel, care to explain what we just witnessed?"

"Honoured judge…" Sand moved to the fore, and somehow the whole crowd fell silent in anticipation. Everyone felt it, the hush before they heard something extraordinary. Phaedra knew Sand better than most, and she read it the sweep of his shoulders, the elegant tread in every footstep. He was composing on the fly, but he knew that what he was about to say was their only hope. "What you, and all this court-room just witnessed, was a tragedy, a young woman under a curse she never sought, never asked for, a curse of which she herself did not even know the nature…" Torio snorted audibly, but no one listened. Everyone wanted to know how Sand would explain things, and he used that interest, subtly turning them away from knee-jerk anger at Phaedra's nature. "Yes, this woman is a warlock!" He went on "And I kept that from her, because I believed it would be easier for her to bear, to control that power, if she did not know the truth." Was he speaking to her, trying to explain to her as well as everyone else? Right now she was far too dazed and in shock to explore how she felt about his multiple deceptions. There would be a time for that… "Listen to me, there are those who seek evil, who embrace it, they are the true evil we as a city must stand against" Sand's extravagant gesture, seemingly careless, in fact was honed to point exactly towards Torio to accompany this statement. "But there are those who bear evil, who have it thrust upon them unearned and undeserved" He continued, and swung to openly encompass Phaedra "Through no fault of their own, they are tainted in some accident of blood or encounter, and they fight that evil inside themselves with every breath in their lungs, with every resource of their spirit. I have witnessed this young woman fight like this, fight every minute to contain her unsought affliction, even though she did not even know the truth. She did this because she wished to protect us, to protect Neverwinter. To hear her slandered, described as a threat…it is an insult to every hero of Neverwinter who ever fought with the same courage! And you need only witness the selflessness, the courage, of her friend Shandra Jerro who flung herself into danger to protect all of us from what the Ambassador foolishly roused, to know that" His ringing voice was accompanied now by a rising stirring in the crowd. Phaedra glanced back at Shandra, to see her friend blushing furiously, and somehow managed to smile. "It may be the way of Luskan to sentence people by what they are through no choice of their own, but here in Neverwinter we follow the rule of law, of Tyr, or else we give into the tyranny that the Ambassador represents. We must judge Lieutenant Phaedra Blake by her purity of spirit, her towering courage, her extraordinary strength of spirit, her magnificent history of service, her unerring compassion and most importantly by what truly happened at Ember!" Sand paused for breath, and the crowd roared and crowed, cheering, Phaedra dared to think they were cheering. "Yes, Ember…" Sand soared over them "Ember is the reason we are here! The Ambassador openly, shamelessly sought to pervert our purpose, to subvert the rule of law and due process! We follow Tyr's law here, not the Hostower's!"

"That's quite enough of that!" Judge Oleff blustered "You barely answered the question!" But it was doubtful anyone in the crowd heard him. The people of Neverwinter were united once again, and they were shaking the foundations of the castle again with their cries…but this time they were cheering, roaring, pounding their feet…in support of Phaedra! She sank back against Shandra in a daze, it was quite extraordinary. Moments ago they would have killed her, now they chanted her name in joy. She'd heard Neverwinter's crowds described as fickle but this was surreal, like a dream, or a nightmare. Torio's plan had been to distract people, to throw up Phaedra's warlock nature as a smoke-screen once Alaine and her evidence had failed to convince, and to force Nasher into capitulating into giving up Phaedra without due process while the people's rage was fresh, while all they could think about was that she was a warlock, while the awesome theatrics of the Hellfire around her still threatened and dazzled. But Shandra, and the silencing of the fire, had afforded Sand the opening he needed to let people see the truth, to turn their thoughts back to Phaedra's service and everything else he had raised in her support, back in fact to Ember. And once they had, they saw how Torio's presentation of events couldn't make sense, how it had nothing to do with Ember itself! A large part of it had been Sand's natural eloquence, and how he'd anticipated exactly how to reach through their anger. Could they do it, could they truly beat Torio? "May we return to the trial, at last?" Oleff sniffed, once the crowd finally quietened, though their shouts still rang out every now and then when someone decided Phaedra hadn't been vindicated enough. Again, there had to be those who hadn't convinced still somewhere in that mass, but they were keeping quiet. "Lady Ambassador, do you have any more witnesses?" He said huffily.

"I have not" Torio's sneer was pure murder, but she was impotent now, caught in her own net. But still she showed no strain, no sign of weakness. At every setback so far she'd had another back-up plan, another counter-attack…but she couldn't have anticipated what had happened or planned for it, could she have?

"Then, does the defence have any witnesses to present?" Oleff turned grudgingly to Sand.

"Only one, Honoured Judge" Sand stepped forward triumphantly to cheers, and he glowed in the the glory he seemed to judge as his right. "Unbeknownst to all, there was another survivor of Ember!" The single indrawn gasp of shock from every throat in the crowd echoed in the rafters. There was one second where Torio's control cracked, and pure malice and astonishment but also actually fear shone through, but before anyone but Phaedra, who'd been watching her closely, could see, her disbelieving sneer was fixed back in place. Phaedra shuddered, imagining what she must be thinking Garius would do to her if she failed. "A boy, a poor innocent, who was forced to cower in the well as the slaughter went on above him." Sand continued, and the door behind him was opened by a small, steady hand. "This is Marcus, the second and last survivor of the massacre" And the boy walked into the courtroom with an almost silent tread, passing Phaedra and Shandra wordlessly he took his place in front of Sand, in the view of all. There was no fear, no nervousness through that unnatural serenity he bore. The crowd murmured thoughtfully as they took in his wasted appearance, his tattered clothing, but perhaps more than that the otherworldliness he wore so openly. "Marcus is far more than a simple child, however" Sand continued "This boy, people of Neverwinter, is a seer and his gift granted him the truth of the massacre, a truth that Luskan has tried so hard to hide."

"Ridiculous" Torio snorted, but the people's whispers suggested they were more willing to believe Sand than she was. Looking at Marcus, his unnatural control, his adult-like poise, and those extraordinary eyes with their infinite depth, it was very hard to believe he was a normal child. He'd appeared suddenly just before the trial began, while Phaedra and the others were preparing in the side room and offered his testimony as promised. How he'd got past the guards, how he'd even made it in time all the way to Neverwinter from Ember by himself, was yet another part of his mystery they'd never see solved.

"Tell us, Marcus, what did you see?" Sand pressed.

"They attacked the village, men in dark armour" Marcus said, he did not raise his voice in the slightest but somehow it carried to every corner of the vast room. The crowd quietened to listen to his hollow, echoing tone, so unlike a child that it seemed almost grotesque. Everyone sensed the unearthly authority imbued in every syllable. "They were led by someone who seemed very much like Phaedra Blake but it was not her." He went on "I could see through the magical disguise he had…it was not her. It was a man, he was very tall and large, and he wore dark armour like they did."

"A farce!" Torio sneered, but her protests sounded weak and ineffectual over the buzz of interest in the crowd, even if not a drop of her habitual venom had left her voice. How she could still shamelessly lie like this, even now, it was beyond belief. "This is a farce. You bring some kind of supposed child-seer to the stand and expect us to believe his ranting? Honoured Judge I must protest!"

"If you're so sure of that, Ambassador…" Sand positively oozed triumph, and Phaedra knew Torio saw it. But she was caught in a trap now. "Why not test him? A simple question will suffice…"

"I have no interest in indulging your perversities Sand" Torio snapped viciously.

"Let it be noted by all present that the Ambassador refused to back up her accusations of perjury" Sand announced, smugly turning around to face the throne.

"Fine!" Torio snarled. By the Gods, she didn't know when she'd lost, she was holding on like a pit-bull. But really it was her life she was fighting for, Garius would not forgive failure. Phaedra shivered, feeling the cold touch of some distant, half-remembered whisper touch her shoulders with ice-cold fingers. She couldn't feel sorry for Torio, no matter whether she tried or not. But it was grim to think of what awaited her. "Young boy, if seer you truly are, answer me this question" She addressed Marcus with withering disdain, positioning herself before him, with her arm held behind her back, fingers closed around something in her left palm. "What do I hold in my left hand?"

"Your left hand holds an iron ring, seal and signet of your master, who is Master of the Fifth Tower" Marcus intoned emptily, his gaze now fixed upon Torio's face so intently that she almost began to squirm underneath it, a glistening sheen of sweat appeared upon her forehead, though her every faculty was bent towards keeping herself appearing cool and condescending. Having been herself under that gaze, Phaedra wondered what Torio saw, what she knew, while Marcus held her trapped in his dark eyes. "You hold it tightly, so tightly, as if you are afraid it will fly from you." Marcus continued in a hollow voice, and even Torio couldn't speak up to stop that voice, inevitable as the ending of all things "Every time you touch this ring you see his anger when you fail him, and you fear his ambitions. This ring is more a chain than a piece of jewellery. Even more so, though, this ring reminds you of…"

"Enough!" Torio screeched, finally breaking free, her voice ragged, her chest heaving as she breathed harshly, in and out, trying to regain her shattered composure. The ring, and all of what Marcus had said, it had touched a nerve deep within her. Was she truly Garius' lover? What a horrible thought… "Enough" She repeated, brushing down her dress in desperately feigned nonchalance. "It is a ring, yes, the boy guessed correctly, no doubt some cheap parlour trick. The rest is lies, of that all here can be assured" But she wouldn't look again at Marcus, as he turned away and walked back towards the side room, nor would she look at Phaedra, and something of her desperation remained engraved in her features from that moment on.

"Of course, dear Torio, of course" Sand was positively dancing in triumph. You couldn't see a trace of the desperate, astounded, defeated Sand who'd stood before a sneering Torio at the lowest ebb of the trial now; the roles had been firmly and irrevocably reversed and, if what Sand had told her of this procedure was true, there was nothing Torio could do now to stop it. "There you have it, Lord Nasher, Reverend Judge, people of Neverwinter…" Now all that remained was a closing speech, no doubt filled to the brim with cutting barbs "This trial has proceeded exactly as law demands it, despite Luskan's best efforts. At every turn the truth of the tragedy at Ember has been assaulted by every force this Ambassador could muster, and at every turn the truth has shone through nonetheless. The defendant and I have absolutely refuted Torio's testimony, and have shown firmly how the tragic Alaine was deceived and used by Luskan to carry their twisted tale in order to entrap a true and honest servant of this city. We demonstrated how Phaedra Blake, burdened though she is by an evil she never sought, has fought at every turn for justice, truth and mercy, and thus could not be capable of so heinous a crime, a crime whose blame lies rightly at the feet of the Hostower and its minions. And we have brought you the truth of the matter, in Marcus and his visions. The truth stands before you all, shining and resplendent, people of Neverwinter, that Luskan destroyed Ember, that Torio Claven saw it done. Now all that remains is for that truth to be formally declared, for this sacred task I turn to my liege and our ruler in Tyr's name Lord Nasher" Sand stepped back towards Phaedra, giving a formal, florid bow towards the throne as he did so.

A last rousing cheer from the crowd accompanied him back to his place just next to where Phaedra knelt upon the floor, absently held by Shandra still. The two young women, clasped together in their mutual hope for justice, both looked at him, Shandra with betrayal and hurt, Phaedra finding herself unsure exactly how to react. Carefully he shot a cautious, answering glance their way. He had shed that look of obsequious triumph he'd worn before Torio and the righteous scorn of his last appeal to Lord Nasher and the people of Neverwinter, but Phaedra did not know how to take his unapologetic poise, as if he was only waiting to explain away one by one the deceptions he'd forced on her. His eloquence had just saved her from practically being lynched by the mob, and she wanted to be simply, purely grateful to him for that, but how could she simply give license for having been lied to about something that concerned her quite so deeply? But she had to focus, it still wasn't certain the trial was won. Things were closing in, true, but Torio might still have tricks up her sleeve.

"Both parties have spoken, then…" Judge Oleff had found himself again in the old pattern of sanctity and ritualism, and looked extremely relieved to be there. She wondered if he or anyone in Neverwinter had ever seen a trial that was quite so sensational as her own. "And all that remains is for Lord Nasher to pass his final judgement, as Lord and Sovereign over this city by the grace of Tyr"

"May I remind Lord Nasher briefly that this trial is of grave importance to Luskan?" Torio sniped with open bitterness "Its verdict will have consequences" Phaedra winced, drawing back…all this time the politics of the Sword Coast and the simmering tension between Luskan and Neverwinter had been a background to this trial but Torio had never before expressed the threat quite so openly. Was she simply desperate at this point, it had a huge potential to misfire, or did she know something Phaedra did not? Either way Lord Nasher leaned forward and fixed the Ambassador in a cold stare that had all the icy gravity of a monarch behind it.

"You may threaten me with Luskan's sword Ambassador" He said, slowly and clearly. "But Neverwinter has spoken, and justice will be done whether your masters like it or not" It made Phaedra wonder though, and feel uneasy, that for all this time her trial had so much been a thing of political expediency; Nasher setting the will of the crowd against Luskan's demands, borne upon the manipulation of the people's whims. So what place did true justice have here, amidst the gilded halls, honeyed words and back-room deals? He stood, raising his head, the paragon of justice, as though he'd never been prepared to give way to anything other than the truth, but it had never really been so. This was all another illusion, and Phaedra suddenly felt sickened at the thought of all those dead in Ember, and the games she and Lord Nasher had both been forced to play around them "The case before us has been a difficult one" Lord Nasher intoned "But we know now the identity of Ember's destroyer." Phaedra lowered her head, and grappled with the intensity of the last febrile moment, the last charged pause, so tense it seemed suddenly to last for longer than the whole trial that had come before it. It was here now, no more time for prayers, no more time for interventions, words, deeds…the deciding moment when Nasher would seal her fate at the last. They'd done all they could, now it rested in his hands. "The Ambassador Torio Claven, her retinue, and any member of the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan remaining within these walls are henceforth banished from Neverwinter" Lord Nasher declared and finally, achingly, she knew in that moment it was over. The Trial was over, the fear, the terror was over, the crushing tension, the desperation and horror, it was all over. Torio had lost, Garius had lost, and she was proven innocent of that charge and of that awful crime. A crushing weight fell from her shoulders in seconds, and she fell back, gasping with a palpable rush of relief, it was over! Oh Gods, oh thank the Gods, it was over! She barely heard the cries and cheers of the crowd, the exultation, the adulation as they cheered her name and Sand and spat upon Luskan's honour with relish, but she felt Shandra hold her and shudder with a hysteria that was part sobbing with relief and part desperate laughter. She clasped Shandra's hands, and fell back in her friend's arms, dazed. Down there, Khelgar and Duncan were both crowing with joy, but the celebration of the others was far more muted. Elanee stood still and silent, looking down at her hands, as though unable to work out something, some puzzle, her eyes hooded and shadowed, Casavir's gaze was still upon her, unbreakably, and in his eyes was a prayer, and a hope beyond darkness, Neeshka was silent too, her arms crossed, her eyes glittering with confusion. It reminded her that, though she might have won, she had lost...something else, her innocence of what she truly was, and now all of Neverwinter knew. How long would the celebration last once people remembered that she was a warlock?

"What?" She didn't see Torio either, or the sudden despairing look of complete desperation that crossed the Ambassador's composure like a great ugly rip through a flawless tapestry. "This is no verdict, Lord Nasher! To think the Brotherhood responsible…"

"This case was your doing, yet now you debate my verdict with me like a fishwife on the Docks!" Nasher thundered, with more power and vigour than he had shown throughout much of these proceedings. Phaedar glanced at him up on his throne, and in her new-found freedom she found herself forgiving all the grimy political manoeuvrings that had led them all to this place in the first instance. The truth had come through, she was innocent! But there was a whisper in her chest that soured her joy, and she paused a moment sombrely…true she had been vindicated, but those in Ember would still never see their deaths avenged, if that was truly what justice was. The men responsible, the assassins, their leader, Lorne, would all melt back into Luskan's ranks, untouchable by Neverwinter, Torio herself was merely banished from this city, even if she faced Garius' rage at the end. She thought about what Casavir had said before, that the Gods would bring them retribution, it hadn't satisfied her then and it didn't satisfy her now. What was the point of all of this drama if it didn't even bring any kind of peace to the slaughtered?

"I demand the right of trial by combat!" And it was then that Phaedra heard Torio's next cry, clear, cold and deadly as ice, and she heard it perfectly. She felt her heart sink, and somehow she knew in that moment exactly what was to come next, the steps this dance that she'd thought ended but she saw now was in fact entering its final, desperate conclusion would take. She ought to have known it would not finish that easily, she had one final reckoning to have before this bloody, dirty saga reached its end. Silence rippled through the crowd in the wake of Torio's cry, as one by one the people realised what Torio was asking, and what was to come.

"Ambassador" Nasher warned, and his voice rumbled with latent threat "Your game is at an end, Neverwinter will indulge you no longer"

"In a crime so great, in a matter so important you would deny me my sacred right of appeal?" Torio sneered, and the crowd began to wake in outrage and ire, jeering, shouting, crowing at the Ambassador and all of Luskan's treachery. But Torio paid no attention, she no longer needed to court the affections of the mob, her plan had reached its last, desperate gambit. "Can Lord Nasher do that, Reverend Judge, can he place himself above the God Tyr in this?"

"He cannot" Reverend Judge Oleff bowed his head hesitantly, as though reluctant to issue the grim verdict, as perhaps he was in the face of Neverwinter's wrath. "In a court of High Justice, we are bound to the ancient law. The Ambassador from Luskan is entitled to the appeal, as she describes" Phaedra shuddered, she knew nothing of Neverwinter law, ancient or otherwise, but she'd read enough romantic legends and histories to know what was coming. Torio had demanded a duel, a one-on-one duel before the court as a last-ditch attempt to settle upon whom Tyr's favour fell. They'd won, they'd beaten her at her own game in this court room, and it still wasn't enough!

"By the Gods…" Sand cursed, perhaps to himself or perhaps to Phaedra, it was hard to tell. Either way, his cool analytical gaze was fixed on Torio as though he could topple her by will alone. "I was hoping she didn't know about this"

"And who will fight for you Torio?" Nasher peered with outright disgust at the Ambassador. He bowed to necessity, once again…and once again Phaedra would pay the cost and fight for her life! She'd done enough, she'd fought so hard, she'd endured and suffered enough! Everyone in this room knew she was innocent of Ember's blood, Torio included, so why would she still have to fight, to risk her life so desperately in order to satisfy Neverwinter's archaic code? She raged silently in her head, and rebelled against her outward serenity, but she knew truly that she had no choice but to fight and suffer again. She'd cast her lot in with this trial, and now she had to see it through to this bitterest end. It was too late to turn back.

"It is true, I am not the aggressor here" Torio preened, and Phaedra literally wished the Luskan witch dead upon the floor in that moment. "Luskan only wishes justice done." Melodramatically, with a sweep of her cloak, she turned upon the crowd like some desperate petitioner, thirsty for the justice denied to her by the cruelty of official process, hedging everything on a last bet. Phaedra despised her, loathed her, no insult she could have fired at that smug face could encompass the raw hatred that seethed in her veins. If it had been Torio upon that field she would fight, though the witch as ever preferred to let others fight her battles, Phaedra would not have hesitated to burn her from the inside out. "I cannot defend myself" Torio simpered "Or seek justice in this matter. Among you, is there not one who has heard this desperate injustice and seethes against it, is there not one who will fight for the dead of Ember against their murderess and whatever dire forces she can muster?" The answering silence in the ranks of Neverwinter's citizens was deafening.

"I will" But then the crowd parted, and a man appeared to follow the bold, rough declaration. A man unmistakable and unforgettable, a man Phaedra knew at once, somehow, was the man who had imitated her flesh, a man she realised with a sinking desperate sickness that she knew from a far more distant past as well, from a faded memory, from a lost and broken dream. He was absolutely huge, built like a mountain, towering over the royal guardsmen who reluctantly allowed him through to stand upon the dais and face Nasher, Torio, Phaedra and the crowd, and broader across the shoulder than any of them in their magnificent thick plate though he wore only dank, black leathers. His cloak was a whole, practically untreated skinned wolf, its mournful head rested limp upon his shoulder, and Phaedra couldn't help but think of Karnwyr and grip her fingers tight as though to close around a bow. His head was shaved close to the skull, but his thick eyebrows were dark black, and his tanned, weathered skin had been tattooed in a geometric, angular form across his forehead and beneath his lips, some mark of a dark initiation. But it was his eyes that gave him away. They were blue, a deep, mournful blue that jarred with their fierce expression, and around the edges they were stained with a dark, almost black shade that bled and mingled amidst the cobalt. They were Bevil's eyes. And something in the set of his face was Retta's, and there were other, awful shadows of the Starlings in the fall of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, that farmer's build. Even if his size had not given him away, he'd always been the largest man she'd ever seen, she would have known him right away, known him as Lorne Starling, a son of West Harbour, her best friend's brother. Now he stood before her, a murderer, a killer, an assassin, and a servant of Luskan, now he was declaring his intent to murder her in a duel if he could, or die trying. She couldn't tell if Lorne recognised her in turn, and doubted that he would remember her as the child she had been back then, or that Torio could possibly have known of the connection, but it still felt as though someone was mocking her, some dark fate twisting into a horrid irony. She'd left West Harbour and Retta had charged her to find Lorne's fate, now he stood before her alive and having abandoned his family and he demanded that she fight him, kill him. She reeled into a sudden nausea, it was all too much. "I have listened to these lies" Lorne Starling growled, his voice was different from the shadowy memory she had of him. It was rougher, deeper, and he'd hammered any trace of a Harbourman accent from it. "And I will answer them with my blade, in Luskan's name"

"A champion has been declared" Judge Oleff announced, inclining his head prayerfully, as the crowd murmured and a horde of eager gazes compared Lorne's bulk to the slender, kneeling Phaedra. "The accused may also declare a champion, should she require one?" He glanced briefly at Phaedra, who could not have spoken in that moment even if she could have had an answer at the ready. Who could she ask to fight for her, Casavir, Khelgar…none of them would know who this man was, none of them would understand. Though she herself didn't know what she would do, kill Lorne for his crime, or try to save the man she'd once known, the past she'd almost left behind. She had a better chance, perhaps, of getting through to him if it came to that without bloodshed than anyone else. He was the murderer, he'd slaughtered Ember, he had to die, and yet…her heart quailed from the thought. Wasn't this what she'd asked and prayed for, a chance for retribution upon those who'd killed Ember's innocents? If she'd known then…Perhaps it would be better to have someone else, someone who wouldn't be paralysed by this indecision…but she couldn't impart this duty to anyone. It simply touched her far too deeply for that. "Very well, at any time before the duel begins you may yet decide otherwise" Oleff continued thoughtfully. "The Trial by Combat is a sacred obligation" He inclined his head, as though under the weight of that sanctity "It is a sacrament in which the will of Tyr is made known. Both the defender and the accused must thus undergo a vigil, the Rite of Tyr, within the sanctified halls of the Temple of Justice, a night of prayer and penitence to cleanse themselves before they fight in Tyr's name on the morrow" Another vigil…Phaedra's breath caught in her chest as she remembered how the last had gone. But the Temple of Tyr, as much a stronghold as a sanctuary, with its retinue of warrior-monks, ought to be a great deal safer than the isolation of Solace Glade. And the vigil would give her time, time to decide if she would fight Lorne herself, to decide if she even could.

"Very well then…" Nasher stood, and the crowd fell silent once again. "Let the Ambassador Torio Claven and Lieutenant Squire Phaedra Blake be escorted to the Temple of Tyr. They shall spend the night in contemplation, and this matter shall be settled at the last with steel upon the tourney ground at dawn." Phaedra glanced across the court room at Torio one last time, and saw the Ambassador falter. Had she ever suspected that it would come to so desperate a last roll of the dice, betting everything on something as unpredictable as a duel? But they'd beaten her at every turn, and Phaedra resolved that she had to try again, this one last time, alone if she had to, for herself and for Ember alike. "Because, by the Gods…" And at the last she heard Lord Nasher's murmur as he sank back to his throne, an aged monarch exhausted by compromise. "We have not come this far to see justice denied to us this day"

oooo00000ooooo

The Temple of Tyr was heavy with the weight of the ages, with prayer, and with the heavy solemnity of sanctity. It hadn't changed at all since she'd come here once before, with Khelgar in tow, it was still awash with candlelight and the heady scent of incense, hung with banners and torches upon austere stone walls, though the pews and the looming alter were as empty as before, and it came as no surprise when Phaedra was escorted to the high alter and into the presence of the man she'd spoken to back then, Prior Hlarin of the Monks of Tyr. Clearly he was a man of some importance, despite that profound, palpable sense of meditative serenity and prayerfulness he bore. Wordlessly the two grim-faced royal guardsmen who'd escorted her from the court-room bowed, turned on their heels and departed down the nave, their footsteps ringing in the hallowed silence of the temple. It had been them who had, on Nasher's instructions, led her stoically through the thronging crowds there, and outside in the heaving city streets beyond the Blacklake where somehow word had already spread of Phaedra's desperate victory. Though she'd passed feted and cheered like a war hero through the city, Phaedra had felt more alone than ever, cut off from all the jubilation around her as thought it had nothing to do with her. She felt like a fraud. And why not, after all she was still a warlock, how long could people forget that? She herself had barely had the time to begin to sort out in her head what had become so clear, to try to understand what it meant, and what she could do. Torio's challenge, Lorne's re-appearance, they'd come so fast that she'd barely had a second to spare for her thoughts …well perhaps that was what this vigil was about. Slowly she raised her head to meet Prior Hlarin's wise, patient grey eyes, and was relieved to find neither judgement nor admiration in his serene, level gaze. She was glad it was him.

"Welcome to the Halls of Justice, child" He said at last, in that curious, soft but reverberating voice of his that at once seemed to fill the cavernous temple and yet felt as intimate as a whisper. "You come as a supplicant, as do we all, in the hope of self-illumination. That is the purpose of the Rite you are to undergo this night"

"Why does Tyr demand this Rite?" Phaedra asked dutifully, automatically, as though she were a student again before Brother Merring with all the questions of faith on her lips.

"It is a cleansing ritual of prayer, which is always undergone before a Trial by Combat or anywhere blood is shed in the service of justice" Hlarin answered "Purification of the mind, reflection upon one's deeds, it is hoped that these will give the guilty the clarity and strength of mind to admit their fault and withdraw from the challenge without the need for violence. However I do not believe there is much hope for that this night…" Phaedra nodded tightly, yes…Torio would have to withdraw her challenge for there to be any hope of a non-violent end to this. It felt a little like doubting the Gods, but Phaedra couldn't believe Torio would ever give in, not with her back against the wall like it was. "Even so, a night of sincere prayer and contemplation will give you strength and surety in the Trial at dawn tomorrow, it will remind you what you fight for, and that Tyr fights with you should your cause be a just one" He inclined his head "Please, follow me…the Rite is to take place deeper within, in the sanctum"

"Hold there a moment!" Before Phaedra could take a step forward to do so, a heavy, loping tread suddenly rang out in the Temple's prayerful silence, and Khelgar's rough, booming voice shattered the contemplative atmosphere. Phaedra spun round immediately to see the dwarf hurrying down the nave towards her, flushed and looking quite agitated. It was a shock to see him, she'd passed her companions briefly on her way out of the courtroom, but there hadn't been time to say much, and if anyone would have followed her she'd have thought it would be Casavir, Sand, Shandra…Elanee…all of whom would want to hear explanations, or give their own, but not Khelgar. What was he doing here? "This Rite can wait, I haven't had my say yet" Khelgar boomed.

"Khelgar, you're not allowed here" Phaedra breathed, glancing cautiously at Hlarin who Khelgar was really supposed to be impressing if he even had any hope of becoming on of the monks of Tyr any more. She didn't know, she realised with a guilty flush, what Khelgar was planning to do anymore. There'd been a time when she'd been fascinated by his quest, but lately she'd simply taken his continuing support for granted. Regardless Hlarin didn't look annoyed in the slightest at the interruption.

"Actually…" He murmured quietly "This Rite is not a solitary one. Those close to you are allowed to attend to you briefly, to guide you and…to give their farewells in case things should things go poorly on the morn." Phaedra's heart skipped a beat, if the others knew that, they would certainly be here at some point in the night. What would she say?

"Exactly!" Khelgar thundered "And I'm here because I want to take your place tomorrow!" Phaedra crossed her arms, well she hadn't quite expected that, but perhaps she should have done. The matter of selecting a champion wasn't quite settled yet after all, as Oleff had said…and Khelgar would be well suited to fighting Lorne on his own terms. Trust him to not want to miss out on so formidable an opponent. "That…Torio, she's got you matched up with a Luskan-trained killer!" Khelgar continued furiously, as Phaedra blinked, rather surprised at the strength of his indignation "There's no justice in that that viper suddenly bringing a bear out of nowhere to fight you! Let me fight him! He's a dog, not even worthy of you-he fights like a Luskan, through daggers in the back, poisoned daggers even!" He was almost inarticulate with the strength of what he was trying to say, and Phaedra found herself really quite moved by it. Her rather patronising view of Khelgar had just been challenged, this fight actually meant something to him, meant a lot to him.

"Khelgar you don't have to do this" She said softly.

"But I do lass!" He pressed earnestly "I don't mind a fight for fight's sake, but this crime they accused you of, the slaughter of an entire village. It's more than a fight…it's…"

"You feel it is unjust" Prior Hlarin supplied softly but significantly, and Phaedra looked up to him, blinking with shock. She remembered now, the Trial of the Just…to truly really understand why one should fight, to find a just cause and champion it simply because it was just. Khelgar…had found his just cause, he'd found his why of fighting…at the last moment Phaedra would have expected. When, why…had she so completely missed Khelgar's growth as a person?

"You're damned right it's unjust!" Khelgar continued stridently, seemingly unaware of the significance of what Hlarin had just said. He had come here not even conscious of the boon this display was to his cause, there was no guile in Khelgar, no hidden motives. She had underestimated how much of a blessing that really was. "This isn't just a fight, by the Gods, this is honour and fairness, and the lives of you and those people at Ember who were slaughtered. After all you went though, lass, all the searching for clues, and those poor villagers, to lay it all on your head! By the Gods, I want to fight him! I'll show him justice!"

"If you wish him to serve as your champion, you need only say" Hlarin said quietly "I will communicate this to the court" Phaedra paused, thinking hard. She was glad for Khelgar's support, more glad than she could easily say, but Lorne was here for her, and he was from West Harbour, her past and her present interlocked. How could she let anyone else stand against him?

"Khelgar…thank you so much for all you've said" She said at last "But I can't let you do this, this is my fight"

"I thought you might say that" Khelgar didn't seem too disappointed at her decision, thankfully. "It's your way." He glanced sideways at her, and sincere concern for her shone through. "That Luskan…he carries himself like a warrior. He's dangerous, so just be careful out there, eh lass?"

"I will Khelgar" She bent slightly to take one of his rough, broad hands in her own, and he grinned awkwardly up at her. "I…know I haven't been here for you that much…"

"Bah!" Khelgar gave a bark of laughter which cut her off even before she could finish. "Don't even say it lass! I'm not some milksop who needs to be led around by the hand! You point me at the bastards, and I kill them for you, that's all there is to it" But, he noticed her concern and he continued in a more serious vein. "Don't worry, lass, I've picked up plenty just by following you around like a poor clueless lummox. You're the reason I'm here" He leaned in as though to share a secret that wasn't his own. "And I know you've had a lot on your mind. After all you've had to go through I'd forgive you a Hell of a lot more…but then again maybe it's not me you should be saying this to. I'd look to the fiendling…to Neeshka if I were you. Past few weeks have been tough on the poor lass…" Neeshka…Phaedra stepped back with a tight, silent nod, she'd been meaning to for a long time, but somehow things had always gotten in the way. The truth was that she'd been afraid of what she'd see in Neeshka's eyes given that Neeshka had been the first to explicitly sense what she now knew to be her warlock's curse. But it was past time to stop avoiding her, Neeshka deserved far better. And it had taken Khelgar to remind her of that, she was struck anew by this unexpected, unexplored change in him as she thought of how antagonistic he'd been towards Neeshka in the beginning.

"Very well, then…" Hlarin murmured meditatively, as if everything he'd heard from Khelgar had been deeply significant to him as well as to Phaedra. "If you will leave us then, Khelgar of the Clan Ironfist…though I would encourage you to return once the Trial by Combat is done. I believe we have much yet to speak about…" Khelgar nodded firmly, as Phaedra glanced at the Prior curiously. If anything, the changes the Trials he'd described before had already been more than evident in everything Khelgar had said so far. So…could he be hinting that Khelgar was in fact ready for training as a monk? She felt a rush of hope for her friend, but it was doused as she remembered again the brutal reality of what lay ahead. She still had a fight to win.

Once Khelgar had left, far more quietly than he had arrived, Hlarin led Phaedra on his silent graceful tread by a side door into the cavernous vaults of the Temple. They passed a great inner cloister, quiet and deserted as evening crept in and wrapped the neat, ornamental garden with its looming, paternalistic statues of Tyr in a cool hush, and passageways lined with monastic cells. The whole place was awash with candlelight, and with a silence that hummed with meditative prayerfulness. They came soon, though, to a small room within, a shrine, both more austere with its bare stone walls unadorned than the opulent church just behind it, and yet more intimate and close, as though the whispers of the Gods drifted just at the edge of perception, just like the dancing shadows cast by the small forest of candles set up around a niche in which stood a single statue of Tyr, grim and tall. It was the God at his most austere and most alien to Neverwinter's comfortable sensibilities, robed in the style of a Northern barbarian, his maimed face and that glaring stump where once his hand been in clear grim view. A small, rude wooden alter with a roughly carved vessel for offerings set up upon it stood just below the God's feet, and there was a mat set up for a supplicant's kneeling. This was one step more distant from the comfortable outer church, one step closer to the maimed and bleak glory of the God himself, one step further along initiation into his harsh mysteries. Phaedra found herself discomforted by the thought, what right, then, did she have to be here?

"Here you will remain until we come for you in the morning" Hlarin's voice took on the ringing purity of the devout. "Gaze upon the face of Tyr, child and let him gaze upon you. If you are true to your words and your deeds, then you need not fear his judgement" The Prior bowed slowly, lingeringly to his God, then stepped back towards the door, leaving Phaedra grappling with a sudden inexplicable distaste for being alone with that cold, unforgiving statue before her. If he noticed her disquiet, he did not comment, only saying as he reached the doorway. "You shall have an hour undisturbed, and then we will allow one of those who feel the call to guide you here to aid your contemplation" And then he was gone, and she was alone.

What exactly did you do during a vigil like this? Phaedra hovered a moment, awkwardly, kneeling perhaps? But all she could think about was how horrendously uncomfortable that would be. And wherever she went in the small room, the one eye of the statue seemed to follow her, something which didn't help her calm down in the slightest. How long had it been? The tiny, dancing flames slipped ever so slowly down their craggy outcrops of wax, were they supposed to last the whole night? If they ran out, did they just leave her here in the dark? Calm down Phaedra, she admonished herself firmly, this was supposed to be a night of contemplation, and she had far more to think about than candles and her old fear of the dark, for Lathander's sake. Lorne…Lorne…she went over his sudden appearance in her mind again, and saw him stride across the field of her vision as though he was here right now. He was a warrior, trained to merciless cruelty, and the slaughterer of Ember. And she presumed to face him tomorrow…he wouldn't hesitate, she had no doubt of that, whether or not Torio had intended to see her life preserved by this feint or not. It would be so much easier if someone else fought him for her, but she couldn't do it. At least if she was there, she might talk to him…say something, anything. She knew it was a hopeless thing to even think but he was from West Harbour, for the Gods' sake, the place she'd come here to save, the dream she still carried in her chest as fragile as one of those candles. He was a part of her past, the past before she knew what she really was, and anything from that time was thus touched with a precious glow for her. And if he had to die, and die he probably would the part of her hardened by her adventuring insisted, at least let it be her who killed her, her who carried at least some hint of the man he had once been, what he could have been. It wasn't right for someone to die with no-one to mourn them. Even if that person had slaughtered a village, the part of her marked by Ember murmured…she whirled in confusion. And the pitiless eye of the Maimed God only seemed to pierce her soul and demand that she face the truth, what right did she have to quibble with her pathetic sentiment when the dead in Ember demanded justice?

"So…quiet enough for you?" By the time the first hour had passed almost unnoticed, she was so high-strung that she jumped on her feet at the first quiet interruption to her whirling thoughts. Glancing quickly up at the door she saw it was Sand, standing there straight and graceful as a reed in his flowing mage's robes once again. "I mean, now that Khelgar is done ranting, I heard him from several streets away" Phaedra couldn't help herself, she tensed visibly at the sight of him. She hadn't expected it to be him who came first, but of all of them she'd perhaps needed to speak to him in private most of all, he had a great deal of explaining to do. But that didn't mean she had to like it, and he didn't look at all apologetic, something in that clear, self-possessed gaze told her that he was already marshalling his arguments, and that he expected to convince her that it had all been in her best interests easily enough. She vowed not to be taken in, she'd listen to him fairly, but it would take more than wordplay to convince her. "I hope you don't mind if I just come in here and speak my mind" He continued casually "Otherwise this place would seem awfully dull"

"Not at all" Phaedra answered coldly, with what she hoped was sufficient distance to convince him she was serious.

"I must say, I didn't quite expect that we would be able to force Torio's hand like this" He shrugged elegantly, again, avoiding the issues. "Trial by combat is a rather desperate manoeuvre, and quite unlike her." He smiled with glistening self-satisfaction "It's really rather quite pleasing. And if you were to beat Lorne…well, that would make me simply ecstatic"

"Thwarting Hostower plots is something of a pleasure for you" Phaedra murmured, quoting his words when he'd tutored her in Hostower Arts to face that Luskan mage Ajah. Now they, and that whole set of curious circumstances, took on an extra significance, and well he knew it.

"I appreciate that you feel…I have some explanation to give you" Sand answered, somewhat unwillingly. Well, Phaedra seared with a sudden rush of outrage, please excuse her utterly unreasonable aversion to being deceived by someone she'd trusted, trusted so completely! "My tenure at the Hostower occurred some twenty years ago, and it is a stage of my life that I will freely admit was a mistake. There was a time when I believed I could study freely there, for they have the most impressive collection of artefacts for any interested in arcane knowledge" Even now, some pinched, hollow mask of longing passed across his face and she caught a glimpse of the greedy, ambitious scholar he must have been back then, aching with that insatiable thirst for knowledge and greater power. She could not believe Sand had ever been like Garius, or most Hostower mages, who wanted power for their worldly ambitions. Sand, she decided, longed for magic and knowledge, regardless of the right or wrong of simply knowing some things, for their own sake, simply because they were power and knowledge, not to use necessarily but simply to possess and hoard.

That explained the Hostower and it was better than it might have been, but something about the strength of that longing, until now unsuspected by her, was still troubling. "I believed, foolishly as it turned out, that I could profit from their expertise without getting involved in their politics, or the other unsavoury practices of that dire place" He continued reluctantly "But…it very swiftly became clear that this was impossible. No master would tutor me or allow me access to their research without some price, some angle in the long-term schemes. Any misspent word, researching too deep without the correct patronage or power, the smallest refusal to acquiesce to those above you in the hierachy, and you are marked for death. Simply being in the employ of the Tower was never enough, there were always demands, and the scant research I could do without incurring the wrath of some master or another made those demands harder and harder to justify." He paused, staring into the candles as though seeing back through the fires to another fire, another time. "Few escape the reach of the Hostower once marked…but I did." He said, at last "I came to Neverwinter, knowing I could vanish into the mass of the people here. No master of the Hostower would ever countenance setting up shop for the unwashed of the Docks, so I escaped detection by posing as a simple shop-keeper. My scant sanctuary was paid by promising to serve the interests of Neverwinter and of Sir Nevalle should the need appear for a former mage of the Hostower." Phaedra nodded slowly, there it was explained, at least in part. Sand and Nevalle, Sand's mysterious knowledge and hatred of Luskan…his power and yet his comparatively humble position in the Docks, his recognition of Garius' name…but there were questions still, questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered at all. How far had Sand gone for the Hostower before he'd fled? What had they asked him to do?

"The Hostower…is evil Sand" Phaedra said at last. That summed up everything she still struggled with in this story, how could Sand have even thought of going there by choice, regardless of the artefacts they possessed, regardless if he thought he could escape the worst of its excesses? Nothing could justify being a part of the dark plots of that place.

"That word has no place in academics" Sand answered emptily, still looking away. Did he really believe that, or was it a hollow recollection of his hubris? He was more subdued than she'd ever seen him. Could she believe there was some true and real remorse there? Or was she being fooled again?

"Is that why you lied to me, why you hid what I was?" She breathed softly. It would do nothing for either of them if she screamed at him, not now. He couldn't have known what Torio would do, and no doubt he'd anticipated keeping up his deception for as long as he thought best. She couldn't deny her deeply conflicted feelings, she didn't want to know, she'd never wanted to know she was a warlock, but if there was no escape from her nature she had no choice but to face it. It would have been far better to have found out from Sand on her own quietly, knowing she could trust him, than the explosive and heart-breaking revelation during the trial. He should have told her…

"It was not" Sand answered, finally looking up at her. He seemed more focused suddenly, now that they'd left his own story behind, and he was arguing a case once again. "My involvement in your case moved beyond the academic, the professional, long before I knew the truth. You are Duncan's niece, my friend's niece, but more than that I have long thought of you as a dear friend, even as an apprentice." Phaedra sighed, she'd thought of him as a friend too, a teacher, and that he, normally so urbane and sophisticated, would speak so openly was a small salve to her wounds. But he had betrayed her. It would be some time before she could completely trust what he said again. "I lied because I believed it would be best for you" He continued, watching her closely. The truth perhaps, but was it the whole truth? "I thought perhaps you had far too much to grapple with already, the trial had to be foremost in your mind…and the circumstances were so extraordinary. Retrospectively perhaps that too was a mistake, though how Torio knew about it still completely evades me" He paused, but she struggled with what to say next, and in the end he was the first to speak. "Can you understand that, my dear, and perhaps accept it?"

"Sand…before I even begin to…I'll need time, time to think all this through" She stepped away from him up to the altar, and raised her eyes to the statue of Tyr above her. It demanded truth, justice, and nothing else, in its bleak austerity and brooding authority, but Phaedra was beginning to realise that truth and justice alike were so much more complicated than that. "It's so much….too much." She closed her eyes briefly, tried to pray, but no words came. "Could you go?" She whispered.

"Of course, my dear" Sand brushed past her, in a rustle of silk. His quiet footfall paused just by the door, and he peered through once again. "Just know, Phaedra…I value you greatly." He said, quietly. "Be careful tomorrow, remember your lessons and do not go too far. Once that brute falls, Torio is finished." And then he was gone.

Phaedra's eyes fluttered open. The stern face of Tyr met her once again. There could be no illusions under that gaze, and the soft flush of candlelight that glowed around it was a stark reminder of the fire in her flesh rather than a soothing aid to meditation. She knew she was a warlock beyond a doubt now, it was futile to waste any more time on denial. Like it or not, then, and she still wasn't sure which, that meant she still needed Sand. He could help her control it, tame it as much as she possibly could. What other choice did she have? She couldn't use it, there was no question of that. That would only make it stronger, more dangerous. She might have killed the guards in the courtroom, how long until someone got hurt? And Torio had known exactly how to use it against her, no doubt others did too. But she still longed to understand, if only to make sense of the evil within her, how was she a warlock? Why? As far as she knew only those who bargained and trafficked with demons and devils could be warlocks, or perhaps those with infernal blood…she was neither, she was certain of that. Unless…was it truly possible that her mother or father could have been…? Sighing with desolation, there were just so many important questions that she couldn't answer, she glanced away from Tyr and her gaze found Casavir standing in the doorway. She started with shock to know she'd been observed, he tensed slightly…how long had he been there?

"My lady…" He was the first to recover and he stepped forward slowly. "I am deeply sorry to interrupt your prayers, but I know something of these vigils and I thought you might wish to speak with a friend after all that has occurred…"

"Yes, of course" She managed a weak smile, uncomfortably aware that she hadn't actually been praying at all and thinking briefly, momentarily, of what Torio had said during the trial about him, about both of them. "Sand was just by here…and Khelgar earlier…but I was hoping you'd come"

"Sand is no friend of yours" Casavir shook his head bleakly. "Whatever he said, he was only trying to save himself. We cannot trust him"

"But now more than ever I need him" Phaedra laid a hand briefly on the small, rustic altar, felt the roughly carved wood under her fingers, hoping for strength. "He's the only one who can…understand, who can help me…"

"My lady, do not let him convince you of that" Casavir answered "There is always someone, someone who has been with you from the very beginning and who shall not abandon you now. You stand on sacred ground now, let the Gods guide you, let Tyr guide you" Phaedra glanced up at the stern statue once again, its one eye blazed with judgement, demand and law set before her in each outstretched hand. It had been maybe over two hours now of silence, and she'd felt nothing from that statue, from Tyr. Well, she hadn't tried to reach him, her attempts at prayer had been hollow and empty, worthless. But why would he accept her at all? Lathander too was distant in the dark depths of night, and her heart quailed to face her own God, reeking of fire and doubt. "Tyr knows all" Casavir murmured, reverently as though he were no longer speaking to her at all. "He will accept you, he knows as I know that you are righteous." Phaedra suppressed a shudder, she felt no acceptance from the Gods, only her own deep unworthiness. She hesitated to even try to probe her sore and wounded faith.

"How do you know?" She breathed quietly in that unguarded moment, but catching his look of sincere sympathy, she hastily tried to explain it away. "I mean…I'm a warlock, Casavir…nothing can change that."

"You are not a warlock" Casavir said firmly "A warlock is one who uses hellish power, who embraces it. You fight it" No, Casavir, you're wrong…she thought but she said nothing. She was a warlock whether she liked it or not. Maybe if there was a choice for her she could avoid the taint, but she had no chance not to use her magic, whether it succumbed completely to the fires within or not. She simply had to protect West Harbour, and she had to protect herself from Garius. Nothing could be worse than him. So be it. "And Tyr will be with you tomorrow, I know. He must accept you, he must…" She glanced at him in shock. Did he doubt too? Did he question his God's purpose, did he wonder if he should be with her still? No paladin should travel with a warlock. She dared not ask what he was thinking, in case it came to that. "Phaedra?" He said after a brief pause…

"Yes Casavir" She answered sadly.

"I am here, always, as I vowed, no matter what" He said, somehow reading the turn her thoughts were taking. She started with surprise, looking up to him, and finding her gaze suddenly locked with his like it was meant to be there. She felt paralyzed, pinned there against the altar by his metallic blue eyes, what had she ever done to deserve that vow, his unshakeable devotion? Even now in her darkest hour he was here to bear her up, even if they were both unsure whether his church or his God would accept it, and they were the centre of his life, far more than she deserved to be. Those eyes, so light and piercing, they struck her anew and she realised once again how handsome Casavir was. He was quite a bit older than her for sure, but his dignity and austerity befitted that, and she felt so protected when she was with him. She knew that he'd be here between her and the storm no matter what and she believed down to the bone that his vow would remain unbroken through anything. What right had she to ask any more from him than he'd already given, when anything more might just spoil this deep, steadfast purity of their relationship? She thought unexpectedly of her and Bishop, how they danced around each other like predator and prey, how one step could take her from disliking him very much to needing him for some reason and back again, and she thought of Cormick, how his love for her had ruined him; there was no way she could risk what she already had with Casavir by speaking of such things. He was a paladin, his service was due to his God, she already had the uncomfortable feeling that his accompanying her infringed upon the duties that he would no doubt prefer to follow. She remembered the grandeur of his sacrifices in Old Owl Well, how small she must seem in comparison. But her feelings were confused still, and the thought of Bishop confused her even more. "Phaedra, if you require me…" He continued, unaware of her turmoil "I would be honoured to bear my blade for you tomorrow as your champion" Of course…there was no time for that, for her rebellious feelings. Somewhere in this temple, Torio would be undergoing her own vigil, and Lorne waited for tomorrow, and here was Casavir offering to fight for her.

"Casavir…" She struggled to find the words. She was sorely tempted again to accept him as her champion, thinking again of how vast and dangerous Lorne was, but if there was anything Casavir's presence reminded her of, it was of how weak and flippant in her service to her duty she was in comparison to him. She had to do this, it wasn't right to expect it of anyone else, even though fear of Lorne chilled her bones at the renewed thought of what exactly she would face tomorrow. "I'm sorry" She said at last "But this is something I have to do myself" Somehow she managed to feign courage and steadfastness that she didn't feel. She knew that if she showed him her fear his duty would compel him to press her harder for the chance to fight for her, and she couldn't let him be forced into danger for her.

"I understand" He said quietly, and despite all her uncertainty before, she was glad he did not demand any further. He trusted her still, and he would allow her to fight this battle on her own as she'd always known she had to. "You are not alone" He continued, formal once again, though the sincerity of his promise shone through, his faith untarnished. "Tyr will be with you, he has been with you from the moment Torio accused you against his law and he has guided us all to the truth. He will not abandon you now" He lowered his head as though to confer some remote blessing. "Tyr be with you this night, my lady" He murmured, but though the words rang with the richness of a prayer Phaedra felt nothing of Tyr's intercession. She heard only the crackling of the candles and felt their glow upon her skin, and her thoughts, as smoky and uncertain as the halo around them, plaintively wandered where exactly Casavir saw Tyr in anything that had come before. "I will leave you to your prayers, then, my lady…" Casavir nodded briefly, and glanced back at the open doorway. "It shall be prayer which shields and guide you tomorrow"

"Casavir…" Before she could stop herself she breathed out his name desperately. He turned instantly back, and Phaedra paused, astonished suddenly by the strength of the longing that he should remain, if only one minute more. If he did, his strength, his faith, would be here a moment more and she could feel safe just a little bit longer. Whatever he said, she felt so alone in this room, that statue offered her no succour, no comfort…only he had done that, and he was infinitely closer than the distant God. She yearned for his certainty, his faith…some way of knowing she was worthy of his service. If only he stayed…but the words stuck in her throat. She dared not speak of her feelings, she'd already caused him so much trouble and pain, what right had she to add to it, for her own selfishness and doubt? "Thank you" She murmured at last. "For coming…"

"Nothing Torio said was the truth" Casavir shook his head, as though he believed that was the root of her pain, but she could never have thought of the Ambassador's more earthy insinuations, even her shocking suggestion that Casavir had left Neverwinter's service for a woman's sake, when he was here with her. "I will pray for you this night, my lady" He said, at the last "And on the morning tomorrow you will fight with Tyr's hand upon your shoulder" She barely heard him leave.

It was a while before she recovered herself completely. When she had, though, the small, enclosed shrine seemed even colder and emptier than before. Through the bare uncovered stones, the night's frigid isolation seeped in and took cold possession of the room. Phaedra slowly moved closer to the glow of the candles…to Tyr. She found herself studying again the God's stern face, and, after a moment's indecision, resolved to try and take Casavir's advice. Slowly, uncomfortably, she lowered herself to her knees, and laid both hands, clasped, upon the rough wooden altar. What more could she do? Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her restless thoughts, reaching for something, anything in the incense-heavy air. Tyr, Lord of Justice…she prayed, please help me, dear Gods, please show me the way. She begged for any sign, any meaning in all of the chaos that had come before her. Knowing the truth now as she did, she felt no hand upon her shoulder, no voice in her soul, no answer to her pleas. If the Gods had a plan for her, what did they want her to do? Deny her power and leave the fight in which she was intertwined, or embrace the battle? She had no choice, whether anything, the shard in her chest, the fire in her soul, had come to pass by the will of the Gods or not, she had never had a choice at all anyway. If the Gods wished something from her, let them show her a way to escape her fate! And if Tyr demanded she lay down her magic for his law, let him say it! If she had felt something such as that from the stern God, she might have fought, railed and pleaded…but he was silent now as ever. She knew she was no cleric or paladin to touch the Gods directly, simply one desperate soul in a desperate world, but the Gods were supposed to care anyway. Wouldn't they listen, wouldn't they answer at all?

"It's just a statue, you know" Almost from the first word Phaedra instantly leapt back from the altar, so fast she stumbled on her way down and hit the stone floor in a flurry of white silk, her eyes snapping open with a jolt of shock that ran through her whole body, but had nothing to do with hitting the ground at all. From her decidedly inelegant vantage point, she stared, aghast with shock, up at Bishop leaning against the side of the doorway looking down at her with amusement and just about as scruffy and at ease in these walls as though this were just another chance encounter out in the wilderness. Of anyone…him, here…with her? "Tyr isn't watching this" He continued, winding his slow, careless way into the room. "But I am"

"Bishop?" Phaedra breathed. After he hadn't shown up in the morning at all, how long ago that seemed now, she'd thought he might have left. But, he'd shown no sign of wanting to, if anything he'd held onto his territory, warning both her and Elanee off by that show, that trick back in the grove. She knew she should be angry at him for that, but it seemed impossibly far away now, after what she'd experienced and learned since then. She couldn't even muster the feeling. Of course she hadn't seen him at the trial with the others, but that was no guarantee he hadn't been there to hear it all...

"You're surprised?" Bishop grinned. He was, as ever, infuriatingly self-satisfied.

"Lathander's grace!" She exclaimed, clambering up to her feet and dusting down her dress. "What are you doing here Bishop?"

"Checking up on you" He shrugged, as though doing so had been simply another whim or after-thought, as though she could throw him out and he wouldn't care one bit. She wasn't sure how sincere that was. He was here after all, he didn't have to be. "That holy fool outside said your companions could come along if we wanted to." He fixed her in his glinting gaze, raising an eyebrow "I am one of your companions, right?" Phaedra wasn't about to answer that…how could she? That part of the trial where she'd told herself that she'd needed him and Kanwyr was over, but if it had ever been simply blind pragmatism that had guided her with regards to Bishop, she now found herself needing him for far less easily justifiable reasons.

"And they let you in looking like that?" She sniffed huffily, trying to seem just as casual and contrary and not ill at ease at all. But as she stood there she felt herself tighten around that one knot embarrassment, she'd forgotten what she'd admitted to him too on that morning, that she'd wanted to run away with him, but now it came rushing back and she certainly felt something about that. She tugged absently at the ruined, scorched wisps of silk that hung raggedly over her bare arms, the remnants of her sleeves, trying to look busy.

"Why not?" Bishop answered with amusement, laying a hand on the altar for a brief moment, by chance, or perhaps not, just where her own hand had lain only moments ago. She couldn't help but follow his fingers with her gaze as they settled comfortably in the hollows and whorls of the wood. "I can be charming when I need to be" He shrugged, looking around the tiny room with an indifferent eye. She watched him cautiously, unsure of what to say, to think, to do…the room had never seemed quite so small before. "Rather intimate setting, don't you think?" He said, with a grin that had no place in a temple. "You thinking what I'm thinking, princess? Would be perfect for a little bit of release before the fight tomorrow"

"Bishop!" Phaedra reared back as far as the room would allow, flushing to the roots of her hair, utterly scandalised. That he would bring…that up…now, here! She'd knew she'd half-expected he would indeed go that far though it made it no less mortifying to face it now. Gods he was utterly impossible! "This is a temple!"

"So?" He stepped up to the niche, and, though Phaedra thought she couldn't be more shocked, she watched, stunned, as he rapped the head of the stone statue of Tyr with his knuckles experimentally. "You really think this lump of stone cares?" She blinked, so aghast at the sacrilege that she almost forgot her previous mortification. Surely he didn't mean…that he believed, or did not believe…? But this night of all nights, she found she couldn't dare to think it… "Could be your last night alive, remember, princess?" He continued lasciviously "May as well spend it doing something more satisfying than prayer"

"Don't, Bishop" She gathered herself somehow, and spoke firmly for perhaps the first time since he'd surprised her at the altar. He couldn't be serious, she decided, and she had no time for his humour, not now. "Where have you been anyway?" She demanded, knowing that the question would annoy him. He very much deserved it.

"Does it matter?" He sneered sullenly, stepping down from the altar, and she realised there was something more to his frustration than his usual resistance to such questioning. She'd touched a nerve, really, she realised, maybe something really had happened last night. "You don't own me"

"What's happened?" She asked quietly.

"Nothing, so don't go asking" Bishop growled. Well, he certainly couldn't convince her like that. But she kept her peace, knowing better than to press him too much. Despite his earlier rudeness, she didn't want to fight him, not tonight. "But I did see that Lorne bastard you're facing…" He muttered darkly "I know his type" If you mean that you'd tortured them, perhaps, Phaedra thought, shooting him a brief glance where he stood now at the side of the altar. The flickering candlelight had cast him into an uncertain half-shadow, beyond which his tawny eyes glittered with intent, fixed on her.

"Do I have a chance, Bishop?" She murmured, looking away, down to the rough, uncertain welts in the wood of the altar, worn into its surface by the hands of penitents over the temple's long history. Her fear, her doubt…they seethed on the surface now, she found she welcomed briefly revealing them to Bishop, as she could not do with Casavir…but why? Because Casavir was a man of duty, courage, loyalty…and Bishop was a scoundrel. He would use her fear, as Casavir never would, perhaps he would hold her terror in contempt, but he wouldn't throw himself in her place to assuage it. She didn't need to fear he would be hurt. In that, at least, she could trust him…

"Well that's the question, isn't it?" She heard him step closer, though his footsteps were as always soft as a whisper on the stone, but somehow she was trained to the sense of him. "I could help you if you like, hand on some advice that could change things, give you a little advantage"

"Why would you do that?" Phaedra asked, honestly, sincerely, sometimes she didn't understand Bishop at all. He purposely led her into a trap with Elanee, now he wanted to help her. Whose side was he really on? Well, she knew that, he was on his own, with his own agenda. But what that agenda was remained a mystery. "Do you really care what happens to me at all?"

"It would be pathetic if some dumb Luskan thug like Lorne managed to kill you" Bishop dodged the question, she noticed. "He just doesn't deserve it"

"Well, thank you I suppose" Phaedra wasn't sure of what else to say. It was something. "I suppose I could use your help, if it's in the rules of the duel"

"Rules?" Bishop scoffed. "That's your first mistake. Lorne won't care about the rules, he wants to kill you" She closed her eyes…of course, all or nothing, that was Bishop's way, when it was your life at stake you fought like a cornered wolf…humanity, pity…her shared past with Lorne, nothing should matter. But it still did… "Lorne's barely in control of himself at the best of times" Bishop continued. "Already at the trial he wanted to fight you, then and there, he could hardly hold back. So, do this…keep hitting him, princess" He muttered "No matter what, just keep hitting him with everything you've got. He doesn't much like his armour so you shouldn't have trouble. And stay out of his reach, he's got no ranged weapon, since he likes that falchion of his too much to fight smart" She nodded dumbly before him, but some distant part of her was wondering whether Bishop's advice was rather too detailed to be simply observations from the trial and from tracking Luskans. What that meant though she simply was in no position to try to find out.

"And…then what?" She blurted out, knowing she was playing his game but quite incapable of anything else right now. She found his presence a strange comfort, yes, there was something comforting about it. Who knew what else to say? She had this fight tomorrow…possibly the last fight of her life, against a man who would kill her in a heartbeat but who she couldn't bear to harm. If the Gods would not speak, she would take what she could.

"At some point, he'll lose it completely" Bishop nodded "He'll go berserk and he's at his most dangerous then, but that's when you know you've got him desperate" So now she knew. Tomorrow would be a fight without finesse, he would try to wear her down by strength, by rage alone. If she could be fast enough, she just might be able to escape him. But there was more to fear…there was always more…

"Bishop…?" She found herself saying, and finally the secret came to her lips, the secret she had avoided telling Casavir and Sand alike. But here they were, and Bishop was here, and it came now, for him. "I can't kill Lorne…I can't"

"Point your bow at that shit-faced mongrel's head and fire" Bishop answered coolly, and she felt him tense slightly as though he was imagining doing it himself. "It'll be easy enough"

"Lorne, his name's Lorne Starling…" Phaedra began painfully "And…he used to live in West Harbour. He left years ago, and somehow he's here, now, Bishop and I have to kill him, but I can't." She swallowed, gulping back tears "I knew his family, and West Harbour…its all I have left, and I can't bear it"

"He's from West Harbour…?" Bishop breathed and Phaedra nodded tearfully. "Damn, princess, you people get around" Blinking, she finally turned on her heels to face him, pressing her back against the altar so that there was at least some distance between them. "Tell you what…" He leaned in slightly, and she pressed closer to the rough wood in response. "I could fight for you tomorrow" At that, Phaedra almost stumbled over the alter head over heels she was so shocked, and set the offerings bowl shaking and ringing on its perch. It was possibly the last thing she'd expected in an interview that had already been full of shocks. Casavir she'd known would come to offer his services, Khelgar she might have suspected if she'd thought about it…but Bishop? Fighting as her champion?

"What?" She gaped "Why?"

"Because I'll enjoy it" He shrugged casually "And Lorne needs killing" Simple enough, and nothing at all to do with her. That, she frowned, she might have expected. But was there something else to it? She tried to peer through his mask of nonchalance, but it was impossible. He wasn't letting anything out, if he even had other motivations at all. However it went, it was impossible, though.

"You know I can't let you, though, right?" She answered, though. She'd refused Casavir, and Khelgar, how could she then allow Bishop to take their place? Bishop…of all people…

"Well, then, you're just going to have to do it yourself then, aren't you?" He answered, not seeming perturbed in the slightest by her refusal. Perhaps his offer had simply been just to let her know that she hadn't really got a choice either way, Lorne had to die, and it had to be by her hand. It was, as ever, hard to tell what Bishop intended by anything. "Listen princess" He inclined his head slightly towards her "When it comes down to it, tomorrow in the arena, when he comes at you with that falchion waving, trying to kill you, you'll find what you need, I can promise you that. And then…" He grinned hawkishly "Nothing else is going to matter" She nodded tightly, but she wasn't sure. Looking Lorne in his eyes, Bevil's eyes, could she fight back? She knew she had to, but still, could she? "You're a good shot, maybe not as good as me, but plenty good enough to take down that lumbering ass before he gets close" He continued relentlessly "Trust me, West Harbour, that Lorne's family you knew…all better off with him dead and buried"

"I'll fight him" Phaedra raised her head, firmly. "And if it comes to that…"

"It will come to it, princess" Bishop insisted "And you'll be ready then, just see. Just remember my advice, hit him hard…and stay out of his reach, you'll do fine"

"I…have to" Phaedra breathed. That was the long and short of it, she had to, she simply had to.

"That's my girl" Bishop nodded curtly, then he glanced at her sideways, with a roguish grin. "Give him the Hells tomorrow, don't you dare give that bastard the satisfaction of cutting you" And he turned away, and left, just like that…Phaedra leant back on the altar, more confused than ever. A night of solitude, of restfulness, of contemplation…well it had been anything but that...but dawn would be soon, she knew it. Her time had come.


	58. Chapter 58

_Hi! I know I have not updated this story for a very long time. Part of that was the very busy time I've been through lately. Part of it was for another reason, though. I took a break to play through Neverwinter Nights 2 again, to see where I thought my story could use some improvement from the game. I was left feeling rather unsatisfied with certain aspects of my story. Most importantly with the relationship between Bishop and Phaedra, and the character of Bishop himself. Obviously this is a central thing, but it seemed to me like I'd made certain mistakes with how I'd portrayed it. In the game Bishop was less angsty, less angry all the time. The main thing about his character was the eye-rolling cynical sensibility, with the darkness I'd portrayed far too openly only emerging as hints in certain places. In essence he was a better character. He was sketchily drawn, obviously, but the idea of that character was what I'd liked in the first place and I think I jumped the gun in certain places by making him too intense, too emotional, always on the edge of exploding. Actually, I think Bishop is more dismissive and sarcastic, being angry would be like acknowledging people really matter, which he doesn't like to do (hence never addressing them by name but by type) Likewise in the relationship with Phaedra, I had Bishop become too engaged with her too quickly. In the beginning his attraction to the PC only emerges through quite heavy-handed chauvanism or through teasing her. He'd never reveal himself to the extent I made him in some scenes e.g. in Port Llast. He's too wily for that. Phaedra too seemed to fall too hard, and I liked what I'd shown earlier on in their relationship, where it was more teasing and bickering with the hint that there might be something deeper, something I got rid of too soon when they got all wrapped up in angst too quickly. This also leaves more space for development of the relationship for what remains a very long story ahead of us._

_After that mini-essay about Bishop :) I made some changes to the story to accommodate my new ideas, mainly from the Act 2 onwards (I found I was largely okay with what had happened in Act 1) Here are the major ones:_

_Chapter 47: I added in Bishop appearing at the end of the Vigil in Solace Glad, which I'd originally intended to happen. _

_Chapter 48: Where Phaedra gets poisoned. I got rid of the antidote idea, and just had Bishop considering that he should kill Phaedra. I also edited his thoughts about what Phaedra dying would mean._

_Chapter 51: I completely re-wrote the scene in Port Llast at night after Bishop and Phaedra encounter Malin. There are some new ideas there now, and the request to run away comes across like it did in the game, more an attempt to pin down Phaedra or just to tease her or put her off edge rather than a sincere offer. Obviously this has consequences for:_

_Chapter 52: Where I edited Bishop and Phaedra's thoughts accordingly. I made him respond to Phaedra's anger more dismissively, rather than letting it get to him._

_Chapter 55: Where originally Elanee caught Bishop and Phaedra almost kissing, here I made him simply trick a confession out of her that she had wanted to run away with him, even if it was just for a moment while knowing that Elanee was there. I also re-wrote much of the conversation that preceded it._

_Chapter 56: Again Bishop's thoughts in his POV are slightly different. He responds to Torio more dismissively than angrily. Note: in this chapter and 57 I also followed recommendations given by Gaspode to put more involvement from the other companions in the trial. Also the conversation in the Temple has been slightly adjusted._

_I also went back over the between chapters and added small adjustments that change the feel of the character. As well as other smaller editing and stylistic points that came to mind. _

_Obviously you don't have to read back over all that if you don't want to! Above is just a reminder that things might be different than you remember so don't be surprised if sometimes they come up like that. It has been a long time and it might be nice to refresh your memory anyway, of what's happened in Act 2 maybe. If you do, a review outlining places I've missed in my editing or continuity mistakes that remain would be very helpful!_

_Now onto this chapter at last! Hope you enjoy, and thank you for all your patience this far!_

* * *

Neverwinter had a long history of knighthood and the values of chivalric honour were sunk deep into the annals of its nobility, but in these more prosaic times they were more a thing of empty ceremony than an actual reality or constraint for most of the inhabitants of Blacklake. The tournament ground just outside the city walls belonged, just like the right of Trial by Combat and all the ancient trappings of knighthood, to another time. It was an arena in a great oval, sunk into the ground where there must have once been a dip among the hills just outside the vast walls, and it had been built up with sturdy, if rather graceless, granite to create an impressive structure of ranked terraces one row piled on top of the other. It was built in a somewhat archaic, militaristic style, vast, overbearing and blockish. Still, even Phaedra was barely taken aback at the sight, not after Castle Never, or Blacklake, she'd seen too much to gasp in awe at every new work of Neverwinter's hands. The arena, though, was far older than much of the rest of the city, and as fashion and time had passed it by, the city had out-grown it. It was far too small, for example, for most of the crowds that would be thronging to the place today to witness this historic duel to the death. Most probably wouldn't even be able to see, but that didn't stop them streaming from the city in a tide, desperate to be there for what the conclusion of this drama. But the arena would serve for the fight itself, as it had many another time in the storied past.

After the long achingly sacred silence of last night's vigil in the hallowed vaults of the Temple of Tyr, the journey to the place had seemed impossibly loud, crowded and disorientating. Phaedra was escorted in the midst of a group of Nasher's silent guards, a grim and stoic accompaniment along the dusty road, encasing her completely in a carapace of shining gold and black armour. But the crowd that followed them…half of the city or more streaming out onto the road, and talking, and shouting, and pressing against the sides of her escort to proffer her their hands, their encouragement…even to touch her, or ask some obscure blessing from her. What she could have done for these eager propitiates was unknown, but thankfully, her guard kept them from her, and she walked forward straight and slow as though there were nothing between her and the arena ahead save her own heavy forward tread. She'd done all the thinking she could have done in the night, the interruptions from her companions notwithstanding, and she felt cold and empty this morning, empty of everything but purpose. It had to be done, that was the beginning of it, and the end, as it had been for so many other things, so many other choices, so many other murders, since this journey had begun. Sand had sent her equipment over to the Temple of Tyr to meet her when she left the chamber, so she wore her mage robes once again, and her bow and quiver across her back, a reminder to her duty. He'd also supplied a breastplate from the Watch, and a small short sword she would barely know how to weild, as this fight would be in close quarters. Neither would be of much use if Lorne got to her, but in the worse case they could deflect a glancing blow. Her true aim, though, would be not to be hit at all.

The arena was already packed when they came to a place overlooking the stone construction, and it was only the cusp of morning yet, but Neverwinter had turned out in full to witness the duel There appeared, at least, to be no division in the kaleidoscopic array of people hanging on the edge of their tiered terraces, and the steady hum of excitement that arose from the crowds was universal, noble and commoner alike. Only in the royal box, shielded by a canopy, and raised slightly above the masses, with a throne set up and Nasher solemnly seated within it, along with a standing Judge Oleff, a handful of his guards, and none other than Torio Claven herself, did any kind of silence or order reign. Everywhere else, with sellers hawking food and what looked like bets being placed even as Phaedra came up to the place, was riotous, colourful chaos. It seemed like a carnival, instead of an execution. Phaedra's own, she thought with a chill, if she wasn't careful…

The crowds, even her most ardent supporters, peeled away as they reached the arena and found their own bearings amidst the tumult above upon the terraces, but Phaedra's path led onward, straight as an arrow, to where the arena hollowed down towards a slight depth, and a currently sealed wooden gateway led into its belly. To her surprise, though, a solitary figure awaited her there, just in the place where the falling incline was awash with shadows….it was Shandra.

"Oh, Gods…Phaedra" Her friend turned the instant Phaedra arrived, looking as pale and wasted as if she hadn't slept at all herself last night either. Her lips were clenched, her eyes red and raw, her fists pinned to her sides. And she hadn't changed her dress from the trial either. But still that inexplicable inner strength of hers bore her up, kept her upright under so much. Her poise as always almost could have graced the shoulders of a noblewoman, and not a farmer. But she stumbled as she made her ways towards Phaedra, and the guards let her pass "Look at you…you're…" The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, and Phaedra tensed…what must she look like? Exhausted, worn to the bone, perhaps; the vigil had been so…taxing on mind and spirit as much as on body.

"Ready" She supplied her own answer with as much strength as she could muster. Even to Shandra she couldn't reveal the truth of her dilemma, not now, now it was far too late for that. When it came down to it, it would only matter what she knew, what she decided to do. Lorne would have been taken to the other side of the arena, to the other door, she wondered if there had been anyone at all to meet him there. "I'm ready for this, Shandra"

"You don't have to do this" Shandra pleaded, wringing her hands before her as though she wasn't sure whether to grab Phaedra and shake her, or draw her into an embrace. "Gods…that man out there, he's a monster, and built like a mountain. There's got to be some other way, after everything you've already gone through, everything we've done"

"There isn't" Phaedra shook her head, gently but firmly.

"Please, just let Casavir…" Shandra gasped "Let him fight, please, Phaedra. He'll kill that man, he'll do anything for you…he cares about you so much" She almost choked on the words, which seemed agonising for her to say and Phaedra wondered at them…but now was not that the time for that.

"I won't put Casavir in danger for me" She answered "Not again." But through the pallor, exhaustion, despair…she managed a small smile for Shandra, a sad, resigned smile that barely drifted on her lips chafed by the dry morning wind. She forgot the silent guards who had moved to stand at ceremonial attention on either side of the gates, she ignored the curious stares and the shouts from those above them in the arena who could peer over the side at their heroine. It was only her and Shandra for a moment. The depth of her affection and concern seemed to seep through the cold a little, and she was soothed somewhat, but her resolve did not waver. Shandra stopped dead, blinked, and stared at Phaedra in something close to wonder.

"Gods…Phaedra, even now…" She murmured "You're so beautiful." She reached forward slowly and took Phaedra's hands one more time, the warmth of her fingers stirring an answering glow deep in Phaedra. It had been only so short a time since they'd met really, and yet she felt now such a strong connection to Shandra…. "And you're impossible" Shandra sighed "Forget what I said, forget it all…just kill that man, for Ember, and for all of us."

"I will" Phaedra nodded slowly.

"And for Chauntea's sake, look after yourself out there" Shandra gasped. Then the great gates before them that led into the maw and belly of the vast arena that towered over them began to groan and creak, and the strain of tightening, tautening ropes somewhere within the cavernous depths of the structure announced the opening of the arena. Slowly the gates parted, slowly the vast wooden doors opened, and slowly the cleared, dry and dusty floor of the arena under the hazy light of morning was revealed to Phaedra's gaze. She knew that this ground had seen many tournaments, jousts, times of joy and friendly competition, but also direr things, challenges that were as harsh and demanding as the gaze of Tyr Himself. Blood had been spilled on those sands, and more would be spilt today. She stopped a moment, preoccupied by the thought.

"Lieutenant Blake…if you would proceed into the arena to be presented to Lord Nasher" One of the guards murmured through his helment. She shot him a quick glance, and he nodded encouragingly to her. The gesture, so small, struck her nonetheless. It was people like him, ordinary people, like those in West Harbour who she had first left behind to save, like those who had died in Ember, who should be foremost in her mind. Black Garius wouldn't stop with Ember, Lorne wouldn't stop there either, or Torio, she had to stop them herself. Shandra gave her hand a last squeeze, as she readied herself one final time. Then, with one final glance around her, one final glance which settled for a last moment on Shandra's worried, straining smile…she let go, and began the walk into the arena alone.

Her steps were slow, soft, and solemn. And from across the arena he appeared, his pace on his own graceless tread seemed match to hers, but had a murderous weight to it. He wore his armour still, that suit of heavy, bulky leather scorched to blackness, and he carried his weapon in two hands in front of him. It was a sword that was both impossibly vast and brutal, with a dreadful span, longer from tip to pommel then must of Phaedra's own height, and the blade had been worked into a series of curved, vicious hooks designed to tear flesh all the way down its length. It was the weapon of a murderer. At the mere sight of it, Phaedra's heart began to beat unbearably fast in her chest. Terror seized her as all of a sudden she understood fully to her core what this would truly be, she felt a cold sweat chill her skin, and her throat tightened. If she did not win, she would die. One slice of that weapon, one misstep, one mistake, and she would die. It would all be over…oh Lathander, oh Gods…please don't let her die. The thunderous noise of the crowd, cheers for her, jeers and taunts for him, faded into a dull roar in her head as all she could hear was the beat of her heart in her chest, her straining breaths as she fought for control. It was all very well knowing in her head and her heart that this had to be, justice but here, now, all she felt was the terror, all she wanted was to run. But still she walked onward by some impulse beyond the control of her instinct to flee, kept her pace steady, and her eyes on Lorne, behind his blade. Did he know her, a strangely detached part of her wondered absent from the pounding fear. She couldn't ever have mistaken him.

And then, in a moment that was impossibly brief, both combatants, Phaedra and her enemy reached the centre of the arena, facing each other across a distance that was impossibly small, barely the length of his sword. One swing and he could have skewered her already. And as they looked at each other across that distance, Phaedra could read just how much he wanted to do it now. His vast burly shoulders strained, his features were twisted into a scowl of utter contempt, of bloodlust, and of a building rage. He knew her, she suddenly realised, yes…he recognised her, he'd known all along, from the moment that Black Garius had told him the name of the woman he would be hunting down. This was far more than business, far more than just murder for him, he thirsted to kill her, yearned for it with every fibre of his being. Again the question came to her in an almost detached way, though she quailed from his hatred; he'd been barely seven when he had seen her last, so what made him hate her so much? It must be West Harbour, she realised; he hated his home, he hated his past, and she was a living representation, a constant reminder, of it. What could have happened to him to rouse such anger?

"Are the accuser and her champion present?" Nasher's strident voice rose above the crowd, which fell silent for the words, a part of the ancient rituals that surrounded this rite of combat.

"We are here" Lorne answered in a gruff shout, but he didn't even look away from Phaedra or up at Nasher. He was straining at the bit against the ritual, but only just held back by the leash and collar that ran from one of those standing in the royal box alongside Lord Nasher, Torio held him back with the force of her gaze upon him alone.

"And is the accused present?" Nasher asked. Phaedra tore her eyes from Lorne, though she still felt the agonising press of his gaze on her, and looked up at the Lord of Neverwinter. Similarly there was something between her and Nasher as between Lorne and Torio, he slightly inclined his head to her in response to her look, intrusting the honour of his city and his rule to her. She saw how Lord Nasher had inspired the loyalty he had, the slight touch of his gaze, and of his trust in her, was enough to press down the swell of fear.

"I am here" She said, and the arena was constructed such that her voice carried to all who were crowded into the stands. A raucous cheer rose from the people of Neverwinter, and somehow her gaze as she looked from Nasher around the arena found the place where those who were nearest to her cause, and closest to her heart, had gathered. Duncan was there, on tender-hooks and rather unkempt, she thought briefly that he might have been drinking. Khelgar certainly hadn't though, she'd never seen him concentrate quite so hard on anything as he was on her and Lorne right now. Next to them was Neeshka, with her hood up to disguise her horns after Torio's vicious attack on tieflings, but enough of her was visible to see her worry, her fingers twitching nervously on her lap. Elanee sat silently in her robes, everything was turned inward, her turmoil was invisible from here, but her gaze was fixed unbreakably on Phaedra, Casavir sat on her left, likewise silent and motionless, though as Phaedra's eyes alighted on him, she saw his lips move in prayer. Shandra was just joining them, she shot Phaedra a glance filled with worry, as she pushed in next to Sand. The wizard looked the most unruffled, urbane and suave, quietly confident. Bishop too appeared coolly unconcerned…a little back from the others and standing. The intensity of Elanee's stare was matched by his, though. But where Elanee's shone with turmoil, Bishop's gaze set and cool, a reminder of what he had told her in the Temple, all of it. There was a hint of smile in the shadows when their eyes met for a brief instant. But then she moved on, and saw Captain Brelaina there too, surprisingly close to Phaedra's companions, though perhaps guided there by Cormick who was with her. The Captain's unshakeable discipline was untouched, she watched the arena with clear eyes. But Cormick was unsteady and unfocused, lurching in his seat perilously, his watch cloak sagging from his shoulders as he blinked blearily at the field. Surely he…knew Lorne too, they had been friends back in West Harbour and he'd been sent after him by Retta, or was he too addled by drink to even tell? But anyway even through his desperation, his clear concern though somehow raised Phaedra, just as the sight of every one of the others had touched her and helped her steer her way to finding courage.

"Look at me damn it, you smug bitch" Lorne's brutish snarl interrupted her thoughts, and, startled that he'd spoken at all, she glanced back at her opponent across his vast blade. He was shifting his weight from side to side restlessly, thirsting to spring at her. "I want to look into those pretty eyes as I gut you" Phaedra said nothing, the words barely touched her now. What more could Lorne say or do to her truly? She remembered, though, Garius' insistence that she would come to him unharmed. Clearly Lorne had forgotten that, if he'd ever meant to keep his master's trust. He'd likely been behind the attack on Solace Glade too, driven by this unreasoning, incomprehensible hatred of her.

"What shall take place here is to settle the matter of the destruction of Ember once and for all" Judge Oleff, standing and spreading his arms ceremoniously, began yet another oration. As the Judge went on, Phaedra watched Lorne and he watched her back through eyes that were burning with rage. They had time, a moment…what if…she spoke to him. If he fell, she would regret it for ever if she did not understand him. And if…she did, she had the right to know why she died. "Torio Claven has accused one in service of Neverwinter…" Oleff continued, and Phaedra's heart settled. At the very least, it might disorient Lorne to be reminded of his home. Her advantage lay in his lack of clarity.

"You recognise me, don't you, Lorne Starling?" She said quietly, under Oleff's words which rang over the two of them. Lorne tensed instantly, and she knew she'd hit home. "You knew the moment that Garius told you my name, who I was, where I had come from…"

"You're nothing, you swamp whore" Lorne growled "Nothing to me, nothing to anyone. And soon you'll be just another body under my feet"

"That's not true" Phaedra murmured "You've yearned to kill me from that moment, you've longed for it every time you hear my name, even though I could burn you from the inside out with a flick of my fingers" She lifted her arm briefly, and was gratified to see Lorne's eyes travel warily to her outstretched fingers then back to her face.

"Not a chance, bitch" He snarled "I'm not scared of you, or whatever tricks you can do"

"You can still back out now, Lorne" Phaedra continued, though she knew that the appeal would not convince him. It was too late for that. "You don't have to kill a fellow Harbourman"

"Stop, or I'll swear I'll cut you into shreds right now, Neverwinter be damned!" Lorne roared, so loud that it cut across Judge Oleff's sermon a moment, and the crowd murmured uneasily, wondering what the two were saying to each other. "That flea-ridden, poxy village and all its pathetic peasants and swamp-farmers can burn for all I care. I'm a Luskan now!"

"West Harbour is still your past, no matter what you pretend otherwise" Phaedra held a level tone in the face of his anger. "Lorne, what would Bevil do if he saw you now?" Lorne grunted inarticulately, breathing heavily and harshly in his rage, his fists white around his sword. "I was his friend you know, growing up. He missed you, so much, they all needed you" Phaedra went on, gathering steam and anger she knew was futile, remembering how the Starling family had struggled while Lorne had gone and done this, become this…monster. "And where were you, Lorne?" She accused, suddenly shrill. "What would your mother say if she knew what you'd done?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, you swamp-stained half-elf bitch!" Lorne bellowed "For that I'll carve the name 'Lorne Starling' into your breast while you still breathe and send your skin back to that damned haughty elf you used to call father!" Daeghun...

"We call, at the last, upon Tyr to settle this matter" Oleff's oration drove to a swelling conclusion in prayer. It was almost done, seconds, moments…it was almost here, and Lorne was swelling with anger and his gathering might, his lust for her blood even stronger now. "Tyr's judgement shall come forth, in blade and in strength, through balance and through resolve" He sat back down, and turned expectantly to Nasher. Phaedra gripped her bow on her back, ready to draw it in an instant, she stared into Lorne's wild eyes and readied herself to dodge the blow she knew would come the moment Nasher gave the word. Lathander…protect her…

"Let the Trial by Combat begin!" The Lord of Neverwinter bellowed.

Oooo000000ooooo

In an instant Lorne swung with that huge Luskan-forged blade, in an instant all the crowd was silent, as completely and as hungrily as a pack of wolves on the verge of a kill, and in that same instant Phaedra leapt back immediately and the blade whistled past her. Bishop raised an eyebrow with satisfaction, good first move, girl…get him off balance from the outset. This was a strangely matched fight…not your usual kind of duel either off or on the battlefield. Lorne was all brute strength and power, the usual style of one of Luskan's hounds, and what made them so damned easy to kill out in the wilds. They really thought a bigger blade made them a better fighter…fools, even in the open though a single strike would have Phaedra dead on the floor, he'd lack mobility and range, both things which Phaedra had in abundance, although her bow wouldn't be useful until she got some distance between her and Lorne. Well she had magic too, to be sure, but Bishop doubted Lorne would give her a chance to use it. He'd attack her hard from the start and relentlessly. It was his normal style too. Typical of the Luskan assassin squads, the leader was always some brainless thug who thought he could hammer out victory with his blade. Anyone with any more gifts or brains was obviously too likely to question orders for Luskan to tolerate. Yes, Bishop had known many men like Lorne. And he'd happily have faced them all one by one on those sands, or out in the wilds with the woods at his back, so long as he could sink a dagger in each and every one. But Phaedra had taken this on herself, well good for her as far as Bishop was concerned. Now she just had to beat the bastard.

Lorne charged again, swinging wildly, and Phaedra lightly sidestepped, her deep concentration on her movements written across her face. She hadn't even drawn her bow yet, but before she closed some distance with Lorne it wouldn't be much use anyway. And he wasn't going to let her do that, she was going to have to pry her every step back from his fingers. First she'd have to wear him out though. And she looked to be keeping that in mind. The two combatants circled around each other slowly; Lorne had reigned himself in slightly, and he was probing for weaknesses, Phaedra was still on the defensive, for now. Lorne lunged again, testing the waters, but Phaedra took the bait and leapt back, leading Lorne into another clear strike. Bishop's eyes narrowed, he saw the way this was going. Lorne's blade swept across at Phaedra, but at the last moment she flung up the small thin sword from her belt and caught his strike with a glancing blow of her own, sending it flashing off to the side.

But Lorne wasn't giving up just like that. He attacked again almost instantly, and Phaedra drew her sword defensively across her body. Lorne's huge blade slammed into the thin sword, Phaedra buckled under the strike, wincing visibly even from where Bishop watched. She didn't let go of the sword, but, to Bishop's disgust, she didn't do anything else with it either. And Lorne, obviously, didn't disappoint. The bulky Luskan swung his vicious blade down like a hammer into Phaedra's sword. All his strength went into the blow, and Phaedra stumbled backwards from its force, staggering into the sand, but still vainly holding that tiny blade up like it could shield her. Lorne advanced, hefting his blade again, a vicious, feral grin on his features. He was revelling in the rush of combat, where Phaedra's features were a mask of agony and indecision. As the crowd of citizens of this oh-so civilised city seethed with the excitement of the duel, cooing, crowing and shouting into the arena, Bishop leaned forward silently, finding his muscles straining with the same anticipation. It was blood…they all longed for blood. Bishop knew the thrill of it, he'd known it back when he'd stalked his Luskan prey in the wilds, and he knew it now, and he thirsted to see Lorne dead on the sands just as he'd stood over the other Luskans he'd hunted down to their last agonising breaths. Lorne was the same as all the others, Phaedra's past with him didn't matter, and if it wasn't him it would be her. If Phaedra died here…he decided he'd hunt down Lorne himself no matter where the assassin got to and take extra care orchestrating the Luskan murderer's last hours. It wouldn't be for Phaedra, of course, or for those fools in Ember. He'd enjoy his own personal brand of revenge on Lorne for its own sake.

Lorne swung again, letting Phaedra take the blow on her sword, prolonging his fun. He was in control of this, and he knew it. She had to get him off balance somehow, Bishop thought critically, and keep him that way if she wanted any chance in this fight. Right now she didn't have that chance, and both of them down on the sands knew it. In the instant Lorne paused, Phaedra tried seizing a few steps back, but Lorne pushed forward after her. She ended up stumbling back into the sand. Lorne moved in, the crowd drew in breath as one, but Phaedra managed to stagger back up on one knee. She threw up the sword again, in panic, but Lorne struck down with his own blade in one playful, almost lazy, blow. The spined blade raked on the edge of her sword, and Lorne casually tore it from her fingers with one sweep backwards towards himself. Phaedra gave a desperate scream, as the sword was pulled away from her, and Bishop found himself pushing forward into the crowd along with all the other fools. He willed her to fight back harder, to seize the fight again, but not like they did, not for her sake or for whatever impulse animated the minds of Neverwinter's bottom feeders, but so that he could see Lorne dead on that arena floor like the Luskan deserved, and because she was, after all, his tool and not Lorne's trophy. He was too caught up in it, the rush of what he told himself wasn't anything to do with Phaedra, to resume his pose of casual indifference, and he watched as Phaedra stumbled back from the looming Lorne, now unarmed now but for the useless bow across her back. Lorne advanced, fiercely, raising his sword again for the final blow.

"No!" At once a cry rang out, inhumanly loud and piercing, a scream of pure animal desperation and despair from the elf, from Elanee. The crowd around her fell silent in shock as the cry vibrated in the air like a dirge, even Bishop paused at the strength, the sheer feeling in it. He'd only ever heard such a cry out in the wilds, when a doe keened for a faun taken from it by wolves. Elanee had pushed up from her seat to watch, her arms extended desperately toward the arena below. Bishop had never seen her so openly emotional, the naked terror and anguish on her face was extraordinary. He filed away her reaction for further analysis, even as he watched the events on the arena floor unfold with a narrowed gaze.

Lorne paused suddenly, whether because he heard Elanee or not was impossible to say, but Phaedra took instant advantage of his hesitation. At once her leg flung out and kicked Lorne right in the shin, as hard, as fast as she could manage. He staggered suddenly, giving out a roar of sudden pain, and Bishop felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight. Yes, that was it, girl, fight like an animal, give everything you could. As Lorne staggered back, breathing heavily and looking furious, Phaedra pulled herself back in the sand, springing upright and leaping away from Lorne as far as she could in a single bound. In an instant her bow was in her hands and she reached for an arrow with visibly trembling fingers, aiming the shaft unsteadily toward her opponent. Bishop willed the arrow to fly, but then Lorne was up and flying at her with a bullish roar, swinging back his sword. There was an instant she might have fired, might have ended it all, but somehow, for some reason, gazing up at Lorne in shock and terror, she paused, and Lorne reached her in the next instant. He swung again, with the full force of his anger behind the swing, and only Phaedra's last-ditch panicked reaction saved her. She threw up her bow and the sword swung into it. The wood splintered and broke under its force, but somehow it held the sword back for an instant. Phaedra shoved her hand forward toward Lorne, and desperately began a chant under her breath…a spell? Too soon, Bishop thought, far too soon. But Lorne knew exactly what she was doing, and before she could even finish, when there was only a glimmer of light around her palm, he swung out with his free hand and struck her backhanded right across the face with a sickening crunch. But Phaedra was sent tumbling to the floor, clutching at her nose desperately with both hands, the ruined fragments of her bow falling to the sand. Bishop, clenching his teeth, saw a flash of blood through her fingers. But, through the pain and the disorientation, she was up in an instant, and Lorne's strike had given her a few stride's distance from him, something she took advantage of as suddenly all her tactics changed, and all cards were on the table. With a leap across the sand she suddenly raced away from Lorne, running across the sand so nimbly she hardly seemed to touch it. The crowd cooed and murmured with interest and curiosity, as Lorne took up the chase, practically foaming at the mouth with anger, but Phaedra wouldn't give him an inch to catch up, she danced on the sand to some tune all her own. Bishop raised himself up again to see over the heads of the curious crowd…now this, this was interesting. The fools around them might think she was running from Lorne, but that wasn't it, was it girl? She had something in mind.

"Come back here, you bitch!" Lorne roared, cursing and seething with anger. Weighed down by his armour, and trailing that huge sword, he couldn't hope to catch her. But he wouldn't stop trying, he was into it now, all rage and the lust to kill. He didn't have room in his head for anything else. Lorne was already an idiot, it just needed a little provocation and he was practically a madman on the field. Sure, it worked, when your enemy ran at you in the same way, and you had the greater strength in your arm, maybe, and luck on your side. But the moment you faced an opponent who was cleverer, who wised up, well…where were you then?

"Lorne!" Phaedra's breathless voice rang through the arena, she glanced teasingly back, as she still leapt away from the lumbering Luskan. "Lorne, no more!" With blood on her face from Lorne's backhand, and an effortless litheness in her onward canter through the sand, she turned this way and that to wind confusion around her opponent. Bishop found he couldn't look away. All her fear was gone, she simply ran, and her determination shone through a strange, almost perverse, joy in the sudden freedom of her flight. She was stunning through all the blood and pain, stunningly free, and it looked as though she were leading Lorne and not running from him. "We both come from the same place, Lorne…I remember you there, and you must remember me!" Her voice trembled, high and pure, in the vaults of the arena. "It doesn't have to be like this, Lorne, I know he made it seem that way, but if you yield…"

"Yield?" Lorne roared, his fury almost inarticulate. Bishop snorted, did Phaedra really think she could get through to him now? But as he watched her again, that image of her down there wild and free stirred his lust…his mind wandered, considering the possibilities. But if Phaedra didn't survive this damned trial, the satisfication he'd be getting from her would be precisely nil.

"Last chance Lorne, I don't want to kill you!" Phaedra cried, as Bishop shook off the irritation of his desire, watching impatiently. What was she doing? What was she really after? "Yield, let me help you!"

"Hold still and let me kill you, swamp bitch!" Lorne snarled. "I'll never damn well yield to you!" And then, all of sudden, with such a shock that the entire crowd drew breath, she obeyed him. From belting full-pelt away from him, she suddenly drew to a halt, and offered her back to Lorne's blade. Bishop didn't even have time to register the thought of what the hells was she thinking? Neither did Lorne even pause, didn't even think that something was amiss, he just raced for his target, screaming out something that must have passed for a Luskan war cry. His sword went back, and he flung it forward with all his strength behind it, then Phaedra suddenly ducked to the floor in a sweep of grey silk and golden hair, the blade whistling over her head by a whisker. Lorne ground to a halt, sudden comprehension dawning on his brutish features, but it was far too late. Phaedra, crouching in the sand, seized the short sword which lay on the ground just inches from where she'd purposefully stopped to draw Lorne in, and in one fluid motion thrust it back and upwards behind her deep into Lorne's stomach.

There was a moment's complete and utter stillness, everyone was so shocked that the arena fell to a deathly silence. It seemed to take Lorne a moment to even register what had happened to him, he gasped pathetically like a fish out of water, then his bulging, bloodshot eyes focused down upon the blade in his gut and widened with shock. Then the crowd burst into wild, riotous life, cheering, applauding, screaming, jeering…suddenly the whole arena was a seething, teeming riot of celebration. In front of Bishop, Elanee said nothing, but fell to her knees silently, her shoulders trembling, overcome by the tension of the last moments, and Shandra, almost sobbing with relief, staggered into Casavir's arms. The paladin seemed so overcome by Phaedra's victory that he hardly seemed to notice that it was the farmgirl he was holding chastely for a few brief moments. Bishop shrugged them off, his eyes were still on the dying Lorne, and he savoured the agony in the Luskan's features. As everyone celebrated, and took their eyes off their arena, Lorne fell slowly to his knees on the sand, grasping desperately with trembling fingers at the blade sunken into his stomach. Everyone else might have forgotten, but the duel wasn't really over yet. Lorne had to die first, or he had to yield before he died. Phaedra stood slowly and turned to the man who would have killed her without a second thought. Even kneeling Lorne towered to her shoulder, and he looked up at her face with nothing but shock in his face, and blood and spittle on lips which tried to murmur something incredulous. Phaedra gazed back quietly, her despair and devastation suddenly naked on her face. She must have known it would have to come to this, but still she regretted it…still she hadn't learned.

"Lorne…" Bishop's focus was intense enough to read her lips as she whispered to the man who'd come from her village, the man she'd felled, as he died. "Lorne…Starling, I forgive you" Phaedra reached out, and touched Lorne's face with her hand, gently stroking the cheek of the dying man. Lorne fell silent, and looked incredulously back at her. He seemed unable to comprehend what he saw in Phaedra's face, blinking as though the sun were in his slowly clouding eyes. A simmering, bitter anger burned in Bishop's chest as he watched the unlikely pair. Lorne was meant to die alone, in the sand, choking on his own blood. That was all he'd given his victims, why should he get anything else from her? No matter where he came from he'd chosen his path. He was a Luskan now, an animal, just let him die like one.

"I yield" Lorne's harsh, grudging whisper somehow carried through the arena and all the celebrations of the crowd, or maybe Bishop's hatred carried it so deep into his mind. If he survived that blow…Bishop clenched his fists at the thought. It wasn't likely, but why take the chance, why give this false show of absolution? We owned what we had done in our lifetime, the choices we'd made. If they led us to die out on the sands, so be it.

"Let it be known to all in Neverwinter" Lord Nasher, the spirit of regal splendour now everything had gone his way, never mind that he'd played with lives like any ruler knew how to do, spoke out to the crowds. In the end the only difference between Nasher and any Luskan pirate lord or mage of the Hostower was that he bothered to hide his schemes and keep up the appeareance of clean hands. "The champion of the Ambassador Torio Claven has yielded, and the trial is forfeited. My judgement passed at the trial shall now take effect, as was intended." He raised his hands, and all eyes turned to him, Phaedra's included, to hear his august judgement. No one was watching Lorne anymore except Bishop who was willing the man to suffer until his last breath. Painfully, agonisingly, the dying Luskan turned on his side, and looked up to the royal box. It wasn't Nasher his faltering eyes found, though, but Torio Claven. Bishop tensed at the reminder of that nocturnal encounter, but he soon found his eyes narrowing as something, some communication passed between Lorne and his superior. The ambassador looked desperate, no longer even trying to seem in control of the situation, but still she found Lorne's gaze with her own, and impressed upon it. "The Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan is to leave the city of Neverwinter within three days' time, and they are not to be permitted within our walls again, by royal decree" Nasher went on, as oblivious as the rest of them, as Bishop watched Lorne shake his slumped head at Torio. But the ambassador leaned in imposingly toward her dying champion, her eyes crystalline and hard. "And you, Ambassador, you have much to answer for" Torio glanced up at the lord of Neverwinter, and whatever she'd been communicating with Lorne broke instantly. Nasher shot a baleful glare her way. But Lorne was moving anyway, it was decided already in his mind, slowly the lumbering assassin reached for the discarded sword on the floor.

"Hells!" Before he could think Bishop found himself pushing through the crowds down towards the edge of the arena. It was an impulse he rationalised as he went, Phaedra had won by her own devices, even if she'd thrown it all away with that display afterwards. And Lorne was dying, and when you died like him you didn't get to take someone with you, especially not someone who Bishop, after all, still had plans for. But the din of the celebrating crowd was so much that there was no way Phaedra would hear his voice above the others, and she remained staggeringly oblivious, watching Lord Nasher and Torio in the royal box, gasping in exhaustion and looking drained completely as Lorne scrambled in the dust for his blade, slowly, agonisingly lifting himself up with the last vestiges of his strength. He was trained to ignore pain, any Luskan assassin went through gruelling initiations designed to train the body to even the most terrible agony, and even the mortal wound wouldn't be enough to slow him if he had one more task in mind before he fell. Yielding! Bishop slammed past a stubborn noble and his pig-headed train, it had all been a lie, just another ruse. And she'd fallen for it hook, line and sinker, as usual. As he finally reached the edge of the arena, a sudden piercing scream rang out somewhere on the other side of the stands, someone else had seen…but Phaedra only looked up, rather dazed and scanned the crowds with increasing confusion. Lorne stood to his full height, his breaths racked his entire shuddering body, and the sword in his guts shifted, pouring a steady trickle of blood to the sands, he must be in agony, and yet he fought through it, a berserker's rage pumping new strength through his veins. Phaedra turned slowly, that sword of Lorne's swung back, and then Phaedra's eyes suddenly found Bishop on the edge of the crowd. She blinked, with surprise. "Damn it, girl, behind you!" He roared, at the top of his voice.

"Stop!" Nasher cried, fruitlessly, and the royal box exploded into life. But there was nothing they could do. Lorne staggered forward, his sword flashed as it reached its apex over his shoulder. Then Phaedra spun on her heel to face him, and in the instant Lorne was swinging his blade back towards her to catch her across the neck, fire suddenly burst into life in her eyes, and then there were flames all around her. Bishop reared back in shock, but Lorne, utterly caught up in his kill, kept swinging. Heat raced across the arena, catching everyone close to the edge of the booths with a rush of scorching wind, the sand whipped into a storm around Phaedra, as her hand slammed forward faster than Lorne's sword which the berserker was still swinging when the full force of the spell caught him. A burst, a pillar of flame, exploded from Phaedra's outstretched hand and caught Lorne in a blistering surge of force and heat. The explosion rocketed across the arena, carrying the berserker's vast body tumbling like a ragdoll, in a tunnel of searing fire. Lorne, if he wasn't dead before he hit the ground, had certainly given way by the time his body slammed into the sand in a flare of hellfire and lay there smoking, and still. Phaedra lowered her hands, and the fire around her vanished in an instant. She looked utterly horrified. Slowly, gazing across the arena at the dead body of her fellow Harbourman as though his smoking, ravaged corpse was all that filled her vision, she sank to her knees, clutching at her bloody, bruised face with trembling fingers. As the arena fell into shocked silence, as Nasher lowered his head with feigned grief, as Torio's desperate shock hardened into desperate, sneering insolence, as Bishop leaned back against the booth with a savage joy to see the Luskan felled so pitifully, by a woman, Phaedra began to sob there on the sand, desperately and keenly. What was she weeping for? Lorne? Dead and gone, just like the chance for forgiveness she'd offered him. If she was smart, she'd learn from it. Bishop doubted she would, but so much the better for him.

Oooo00000oooo

Lorne Starling was dead. Phaedra sat alone at one of the tables in the main common room of the Sunken Flagon and grappled with the stark reality of what had happened in the arena. The Flagon was silent, Duncan had closed shop for the day, and was currently desperately trying to hold back the crowd that had gathered outside waiting to catch a glimpse of the 'victorious heroine' Phaedra Blake. Ever since Nasher had given her leave to depart from the arena she'd been harried all the way back to the inn by a horde of admirers from the city, who seemed to think she was some kind of icon of heroism, some beneficent champion of the city. She didn't feel like either of those things, she felt like a murderer. Of course she knew Lorne had committed the terrible crime at Ember, of course that knowledge pierced her to her heart, but somehow it gave her no peace with what had happened. Yes, she'd killed the Lorne who'd slaughtered so many innocents, but hadn't she also killed Retta's Lorne, the difficult but beloved eldest son, Bevil's Lorne, his hero and idol, and her own memory of Lorne, that brooding but complex young man who she'd watched from a distance when she was only seven and wondered at? It didn't make Lorne's crime any less terrible, or make her retribution any less necessary, but the thought of what Lorne had become poisoned her thoughts. He had been a Harbourman, like her, so where had it all gone so terribly wrong? She would never know now, she would never have an answer for Retta. Retta had sent her to discover what had happened to Lorne, and she had killed him. And, worse, there had been a moment when she'd thought she had gotten through to Retta's Lorne, a moment she could still see in her mind, when the pain and agony of the death blow she had inflicted had cleared from the features of the massive murderer and his eyes, Bevil's eyes, had stared at her in wonder as though remembering her for the first time. In that moment she had wept in her heart, and somehow it had seemed right to touch him, to offer him some small forgiveness for the sake of what he had been. Hadn't she always believed that no one was beyond redemption? That was what Lathander taught. But Lorne had thrown it all back in her face, even as he was dying he'd tried one last time to kill her, the moment she had turned her back on him. So it had all meant nothing to him.

"Squire Blake" At the sound of the all-too familiar voice she felt her heart sink, Sir Nevalle, no doubt from Lord Nasher with some business of the city. She looked across the Flagon's silent room to the door through which the knight was only just entering. It was empty now that the rest of the party had retired to their rooms and separate affairs, no one had wanted to leave but Phaedra had asked for a moment alone. Only Bishop knew the truth about Lorne, and he'd offered no sympathy, but to the others Phaedra remained reluctant to share her sorrow. Regardless, Sir Nevalle had just entered the Flagon once again, and it was up to her to offer some show of hospitality. Even if it was the politics of Neverwinter which had her up against Lorne in the arena, even if it had sometimes seemed like Lord Nasher and his lackeys were playing politics with her life and the lives lost at Ember, it had been Nasher and Nevalle's efforts which had spared her from Garius' plots so she resolved to be grateful to the haughty member of the Neverwinter Nine at least for now. "How are you feeling, Squire?" Nevalle moved over with a swan's gliding grace, barely touching the stained floor with his pristine boots. "Lord Nasher inquired most solicitously about your health"

"I am…fine" Phaedra answered quietly, lightly touching the aching bruises across her cheek where Lorne had struck her. He'd almost broken her nose, but thankfully the damage had not been quite as bad as that. By the Gods, he might have killed her. She should be thankful.

"That is good" Nevalle nodded briefly. "Lord Nasher will be pleased to hear it." He reached her table, and laid his delicate, slender hands upon the rough wood in front of her. "You have served the city of Neverwinter and its lord without hesitation, far beyond what the call of duty demands. Squire Blake, Lord Nasher wishes me to communicate his utmost respect and sympathy for the trials you have had to endure" The sentiment was precise, proper and rehearsed. But…at least Lord Nasher had cared enough to send someone.

"Yes…" Phaedra nodded "Tell…Lord Nasher, thank you"

"It may interest you to know that the Lady Torio Claven has fled the city" Nevalle continued smoothly "Her quarters were emptied in great haste, and her retinue accompanied her on the road. Unfortunately we did lose track of her, but I am confident she will trouble you no more" Again Phaedra nodded politely, in fact she was not confident at all that she had seen the last of Torio Claven. The trial had been a setback, but things were far from finished with Black Garius. "Those agents she had which were…"

"What about Lorne?" Absently Phaedra cut across him the moment the thought occurred to her. In truth she'd hardly been listening to him, and barely noticed as he fell silent with a rather indignant huff.

"I'm sorry, Squire" He said "Lorne who?"

"Lorne Starling" Phaedra stared at him, and he returned her look with an elegantly puzzled, indulgent shrug. How could he not…? Of course, how would he know? How would anyone know? "Torio's champion…his…body I mean." Her voice cracked, but she went on. "What's going to happen to it?"

"Well, since nobody has claimed it…" Nevalle spread his hands, as though to say it was not really his concern and he saw no reason why it should be hers either. "It shall be interred in a mass grave I expect"

"Sir Nevalle…may I claim it?" Again the thought came to Phaedra without her truly thinking. After the trial, her duel, and all that had happened so fast in the past week, she was so…exhausted…that she felt like she was in a dream already.

"That barbarian's corpse?" Nevalle's nostrils flared with horror "Whatever for?"

"I…don't know" She blinked, and ran a hand distractedly through her hair "To get him…a proper burial, I think"

"Well…if you wish, there's nothing stopping you" Nevalle had the good grace to disguise how strange he must think the entire sequence was. She didn't see how anyone could truly understand her need to seek some kind of absolution from Lorne, no, not from Lorne himself, the murderer Lorne, but from…Retta, from Bevil, from West Harbour itself, and that memory of Lorne that still plagued her. Even if she couldn't be there…or see any of them again, or ask them in person for forgiveness perhaps she could do her best to seek some ease for the torment the memory gave her…but…her heart quailed, as she suddenly realised a shocking truth; what exactly was holding her back from returning to the village now? The Githyanki were long gone…and she no longer had the threat of the trial to contend with. Surely…there was a chance? But would she want to return now? Yes, yes…her heart burned with the sudden longing. "However" Nevalle went on "There may be some difficulty arranging such an interral of what remains of the body, given what Lord Nasher instructed me to relay to you." Phaedra felt a sudden, staggering sense of desperation. What was it now? What would Nasher ask her to give now? What more could he ask? "Lord Nasher has suggested that it would be judicious to preserve your own safety and the reputation of the crown given your association with it if you were to leave Neverwinter for a brief while" Nevalle went on, and Phaedra almost fell back in her chair with the sudden shock of what he let go so casually, finally hearing Nevalle fully and clearly for the first time. "Before you protest, there are a number of reasons for this order from your sovereign." Protest? What protests? Did Nevalle really think she wanted to stay in Neverwinter any longer after what had happened here? "Firstly, and most importantly, we have reason to believe that, though the Lady Torio has departed the city, there remain Hostower agents in the vicinity of the city who are still potentially dangerous to your life" Nevalle went on, that made sense, Phaedra thought with a shudder. "As they already tried to assassinate you once, in their desperation they may well try again. We need time to root them out, best accomplished with you safely away from the city. Lord Nasher has the utmost concern for your safety."

"Thank you" Phaedra repeated automatically again.

"Secondly" Nevalle went on "The revelations at the trial may yet have consequences. The people of Neverwinter have taken to you, but…once the truth of your…unique affliction becomes once again the issue at stake, they may turn." A nice way to put it, Phaedra thought briefly. But it was true, she'd seen how fickle the crowds were. It would be best if they had time to forget. "It would be best if you were out of the public eye and out of public service for a period of some weeks to allow them to cool down before you return, if you do, to your lord's employ. The same goes for those of your companions whom the ambassador attacked in the court room. Nasher has no interest in following up on any of her leads, but it would be more convenient if they were gone for a short time." Thank the Gods, Casavir was safe. And Neeshka too…she had forgotten that they too might be in danger. "The last thing the city needs is a witch hunt." He swallowed "I have also transmitted instructions to Sand to investigate ways to contain your power, for the safety of the city. Once again, Lord Nasher understands that it would be best if these investigations were conducted out of the city walls"

"And…I'm allowed to go where I choose?" Phaedra had barely been able to restrain herself through Nevalle's verbose pronouncements. She could go to West Harbour…oh thank Lathander. She could go to West Harbour! "For as long as I choose?"

"Well…" Nevalle spread his hands "Yes." He leaned in "Lord Nasher has been inordinately generous. Technically as a squire in his service you are still beholden to the city of Neverwinter and have duties to the city, but he wished me to communicate to you that he would understand if you do not return." Nevalle looked a little put out by Nasher's generosity, but Phaedra hardly noticed. Royal blessing…on never coming back to Neverwinter at all…what more did she have to do here, after all? She had accomplished what she had left West Harbour to do, now she was safe and the village was safe. "However Lord Nasher has also asked me to tell that if do choose to return, he would be most grateful." Nevalle had more to offer, and she listened politely, though her heart was humming with the thoughts racing through her mind "He still believes he would have great use for you, and Neverwinter would greatly benefit from your service" Yes, there was that choice too. She could return to Neverwinter if she chose, if she wanted, if there was still some lingering duty she felt even when she returned to West Harbour. For the first time since this journey had begun, she was actually free to choose. It was a wonderful feeling. Perhaps she could decide once she had returned to West Harbour, she was in no hurry to give a definite answer right now.

"I understand" She said instead. "I will do as Lord Nasher commands"

"A tenday or so would be most appropriate" Nevalle advised…that was enough time to travel to West Harbour and remain there for a few days, or more if she wanted. The future was open to her. Yes…she could bring Lorne's body, somehow…as her atonement, to free herself of his ghost, to give him to his mother so that he could be buried where all Harbourmen where, and for her to apologise to the Starlings. She could speak to Tarmas, find out more about her magic, find some way to contain it, she could talk to Daeghun and seek explanation for his silence, find a way to forgive him too. In this moment, suddenly anything seemed possible, atonement, forgiveness…and finally at last freedom. Freedom to go home. Freedom to find the answers she'd longed for her whole life. "May I ask, squire, where do you think you will go?" Nevalle was looking at her curiously. She supposed something of her joy showed on her face, but she didn't mind. In this moment, suddenly, she felt good will to everyone.

"Yes…sir Nevalle" She smiled. "I'm going to West Harbour, I'm going home"


	59. Chapter 59

_I've been away again, but here at last is the new chapter! Yay! Thank you for your continuing patience. _

_Thank you to Lynn Patel, Gaspode and voltagelisa (much delayed) for reviewing the last chapter. I'm interested to hear your thoughts on this one too!_

_Something happens with Khelgar in this chapter: I decided that the best way to make him a monk was to have him have a brief absence from the party to train ( since it's not realistic that he could pick up the skills instantly) so I decided he could stay behind while the others go back to West Harbour. Hopefully this doesn't feel like neglect, and hopefully it will lead to his character having more to do in the future. Anyway, it is nice to see that little story arc almost completed._

_Otherwise, I decided another fight with the whole party involved was in order, since we haven't actually seen what Sand can do yet, and things have mostly been lots of travelling/characterisations etc. Let me know what you think!_

_Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

_NB. On the subject of my Bishop edits last time, I had actually updated Chapter 56 extensively but forgot to actually replace it so it remained the same until now. Anyway it is changed now._

* * *

"Well…there he is" Marshal Cormick said softly "Sealed up tight as the Hells, thank the Gods" He glanced briefly up at the casket, Lorne's coffin, he'd brought with him to the Sunken Flagon's stables, safely, securely laid within the small horse-drawn wooden cart that the Watch had appropriated for Phaedra's use. It was drawn by the slender grey palfrey, Mistletoe, whom Phaedra had ridden before, and whom she'd greeted now with a comforting, uncomplicated warmth she didn't truly feel for their human companion. "I wouldn't recommend you ever open it, Phaedra, just let it be" Cormick continued "There wasn't much left of him…and what there was wasn't pretty, not after…" He coughed uncomfortably, looking away. After Phaedra had incinerated him in a blast of hellfire, he meant. It hadn't got much easier, yet, and the physical reality of that coffin, and what lay within, made it a great deal harder. "It's a good thing you're doing though" Cormick said unexpectedly, haltingly, and Phaedra's eyes swung back to meet his bleary gaze. She hadn't expected it would be him Nasher would send with Lorne, or if she had she wouldn't have wanted it, to be quite honest. But though Cormick stood there awkwardly, and looked at her through eyes that were still bloodshot, he seemed more fully aware than she had seen him in weeks. He'd known Lorne there on the arena, just as she had, she knew that now, perhaps he'd brought the body here to her because he could understand this need for redemption she had. "Even if he…well for Retta's sake, if for nothing else, she deserves to have something"

"Retta…" Phaedra closed her eyes, recalled the Starling mother's aged, kindly features in her mind. "Cormick, what will she say to me?" She whispered "Even when she sees him, even if I tell her everything…I killed her son. What mother could accept that?"

"Retta was as much a mother to you as she was to Lorne, to Bevil too…maybe more" Cormick said, and she was surprised he remembered that at all. She'd been eleven when he left the village after all, and so young, quiet and strange a child hadn't much occupied the attention of the dashing village heartthrob Cormick as he was then, no matter how much Amie had dragged her along to gawk at him when she thought he wasn't looking, and whisper about him and bat her eyelids with the air of a girl much older than Amie was at that time. Cormick had sometimes humoured Amie's precociousness, and in traded a few brief words with the hovering, shy and anxious Phaedra, but never for long. But somehow she knew that all this time he'd been re-visiting every small memory that he had of her, back in their shared home. "And she knows you. She'll understand that he left you no choice, that Luskan, and that Ambassador, left you no choice" He spat, and a feverish darkness crossed his features at the name of Luskan. What had happened to that bright, vivacious young man, the darling of West Harbour? Would any of the women his own age whose attentions he'd gladly accepted back then even know the bitter scowling features that met her now? "Why in all the Hells did Nasher let her escape?" He muttered, more to himself than anything else. The ugly gleam hadn't left his heavyset features when he looked at her again. "At least he's doing something right, sending you to West Harbour." He said "You can be sure that damned harpy of a woman isn't finished, but you'll be safer there than anywhere else in the world" Of course she hadn't forgotten their last encounter, those cruel words about her, about Daeghun, but she didn't have the heart or the will to close herself off to him again. And by his embarrassment, he hadn't forgotten what he'd said either. Both of them were avoiding the memory, though, which suited her fine.

"Cormick, why did you never go back?" She asked, with great care. "They'd welcome you…maybe it…could be what you needed" She'd only offered it as a balm, because they had been friends once, but when she saw the storm flash into life in his dark eyes she knew he the way he had taken it, and instantly regretted speaking at all. A sudden hope flickered there that sent her heart sinking, and a fierce longing burned, with anger flashing at the edges, and beneath that a towering contempt for himself, for what he saw reflected in her eyes. She almost gasped; years of compromise with the ideals, the relentless loneliness of his duties and city life, and now, recently, the crushing disappointment of his hopeless love for her, they'd worn Cormick to the bone.

"No" He stepped back, raising a hand to his sweat-stained forehead "No, it's to late for that" He glanced down at his palm as though he wished to lance it. "They can't see me like this Phaedra" He said dully "Let them keep their memories of me as they are; Cormick, the hero of West Harbour, victor of the Harvest Brawl" Each word was spat like a gobbet of bitterness. Phaedra closed her eyes briefly, she knew that nothing could help him but the one thing she wouldn't, couldn't, say.

"Lorne" She said quietly instead, stepping silently over the straw at their feet, watched by the steadfast, silent Halueth, Casavir's horse remained here in the stables, and Duncan had taken to tending to him while they'd been away near Port Llast and by Mistletoe who Cormick had brought with him. "It was Lorne you fought in the brawl" It wasn't a question, she remembered the day so well still. A Harvest day six years, almost a lifetime, ago, for the both of them. The customary brawl, one a few light-hearted competitions for the young men of West Harbour on Harvest Day, had been Lorne's arena for some years, the one thing that distinguished the sullen, gruff and unpopular young man in the eyes of the village. His towering strength and a certain callous cruelty even back then had the 16 year old the undefeated title. It hadn't made him any less unpopular, but people walked warily around Lorne in those days, and few had taunted and teased him as they had once. Until Cormick challenged him. Charming, well-like, the darling of the village, he was everything Lorne wasn't. And he'd set himself on taking Lorne's crown. That Harvest afternoon, it was a brawl the likes of which the village had never seen. Lorne had fought as he always had, brute strength, trying to beat down his opponent with fruitless aggression, even more so than usual since he'd loathed Cormick with that dark, all-consuming envy that Phaedra had seen in his eyes when he looked at his handsome, dashing rival. But Cormick hadn't responded to Lorne's gruff taunts, hadn't taken Lorne's ferocious blows, instead he'd just tried to stay out of Lorne's way, letting his opponent get more and more furious, more and more careless, until eventually Lorne was exhausted but fuming, and Cormick had toppled him, even weaker and smaller that he was. It was in fact the inspiration of Cormick's fight that had struck her in the midst of the arena. Lorne, clearly, had not learnt from those days though, and by now…well, it was too late.

"Aye" Cormick looked down. She wondered if he was thinking what she was, that on that day he'd taken the only thing Lorne had from him, and for what? A boy's pride. She didn't want to make excuses for Lorne, but perhaps the road to that arena had begun on that day. Certainly Lorne had left the village soon afterwards, bitterly humiliated, and preceded only by Cormick himself, whose feted cheered departure could not have been more different from Lorne's secretive and unmourned disappearance. "I just don't understand this…at all" Cormick continued bitterly "How could it be him?" Phaedra swallowed, how many times had she asked herself that and yet she had no answer? "They say the Mere's a rotten place, but it's this world outside, and this city, and that damned cesspit Luskan…that made Lorne this way, curse it. Something here…it isn't right, it corrupts everything, look at what it's done to you, Phaedra…"

"Cormick!" She stepped back suddenly, feeling for the door behind her "Not this again, I won't hear it"

"I'm trying to warn you" Cormick turned on her fiercely "You've changed, you're not the girl I met in Port Llast, anymore. You're harder now, colder, and every day more beautiful" His voice was rough with longing, fierce and hard, and Phaedra clamped her fists at her side. What right did he have to say that? He'd never truly known her at all, not that girl in Port Llast, not as she stood before him now. "It'll destroy you if you stay, like it did Lorne…like…it has me…" The words choked in his throat, but still he went on. "It's too late for me, but you…don't let the same thing happen, don't listen to what they say, don't listen to nonsense about duty, and honour. There's not any of it to be had here. Get to West Harbour and stay there. Make a life for yourself, a normal life."

"I can't have a normal life, Cormick!" She cried, had he not been at the trial? Had he not seen…heard…everything? Hadn't he seen the destructive fury that had ended Lorne? "I'm a warlock!"

"Bury it, forget it, smother it" Cormick implored "And you'll never be able to do that here, they'll always ask more of you, more and more until you burn out" There was a bitter truth in that. Nasher, Nevalle, even Sand, no matter how much they expressed distaste at her infernal talents, wouldn't hesitate to use them if they had to, for good of city, lord or academic curiosity. But escape to West Harbour, could it be the right answer? Or would she just put the village at more risk? Sand would say so.

"Cormick, that's enough" She said at last "I'm going back to West Habrour for Retta. Once I'm there, I will see if…I even can…stay"

"Do it, Phaedra, for your own sake, and for mine" Cormick pressed, desperate to hear her agreement. "I need to know you're safe, that…something good from West Harbour survived, and something good escaped this muck and dirt" As always, him speaking like this made her deeply uncomfortable. But also she felt a growing frustration; Cormick was just being selfish. What he really wanted, it seemed, was her to live out some fantasy of an innocent life in West Harbour, a fantasy that was his own, and his choice and his desire for her, and nothing to do what she wanted and imagined. Perhaps he really wanted nothing more for her to remain there alone until he sorted himself out, so that he could simply swoop up and claim her as his own when he was finally free of his own burdens, and perhaps then his fantasy would become his life as well as hers. Frankly she didn't want to talk about the idea any longer.

"You've done what you came to do" She said, rather coldly "It's time for you to go now"

"I'm not asking you to remember me, or look on me fondly, Phaedra. I know I have no right to ask that of you after what I've said and done to you" Cormick stepped back towards the open stable doors. Well he was quite right about that at least. "Just remember what I said, just think about it" But how could she ever separate his words from that longing that had birthed them? She wished he hadn't come at all.

"Farewell, Cormick" She said, for politeness' sake, stepping up to close the doors behind him as he left.

"I love you" She closed the door in his face and on his last words, then, and fell back against the wood with frustration. The words were a molten brand on her flesh. Love…how could he claim to love her, he didn't have that right. That right to make her feel guilty, or ashamed, after he'd pursued her like this, and added injury to his insults from before by making these outlandish requests upon her. Couldn't he just move on? She'd made it so clear, and it wasn't her responsibility to fix his life, or repair the wounds of his disillusionment, either by lying to him that she felt the same, or by staying in West Harbour as some kind of distant totem of innocence for him to idealise. If she stayed, it would be her own choice, she would make up her own mind, and it wouldn't be for Cormick, that was for sure. And now her leave-taking was spoiled. Cormick's words, and the bitterness of their goodbye would stay with her the whole journey. She wished she could just forget him, as he'd suggested.

She didn't want to leave the stables to face the others yet, or to look again at the the rough, unmarked casket, Lorne's coffin, raised up as though in honour upon its little wagon, so she moved over to the stalls, passing Mistletoe who she stroked absently as she went, and to the towering silver-grey stallion Halueth, who watched her with eyes dark with animal wisdom. She raised a hand to his flaring nostrils, and he decorously breathed in her scent. Her other hand wound in the silky strands of his soft, flowing mane, and she leant on the stable and sighed deeply, feeling her anger drain away in the horse's soothing presence. His silence was a balm. Halueth didn't ask anything of her, or force her to hurt him, he simply loved quietly with a steady, quiet love, an animal's love. She had missed him on her travels.

"Why is everything so difficult, Halueth?" She said quietly.

"Because you make it so difficult" The answer wasn't from Halueth obviously. Bishop, slowly Phaedra turned with an exhausted frustration. The ranger stood in the inner doorway, the one leading back into the Flagon, and leant against the doorframe with an insolent sneer. She remembered briefly the convoluted path they'd walked together, that embarrassing revelation above the city in the hills, and his visit in the Temple, with his advice…and there in the arena at the last moment when he'd shouted out to her and given her the moment she needed to turn on the rising Lorne and destroy him. But, as always, he was ignoring what had come before and came to her with some new purpose in mind, and she decided it was best to do likewise.

"I don't suppose you were listening" She sighed. Bishop's lurking was an inevitable hazard, something rather like bad weather. There was no point in raging against it.

"Please, princess, your little flings don't matter to me in the slightest" He grinned "Although the paladin might not like it that that Hound's been sniffing under your skirts, and we don't want to make him mad, do we?" Phaedra sniffed, so coarse, but she tried to let it breeze over her. It was so so much easier that way. "Mind you, he's just the same as the good Marshal, and he'll end up just the same."

"Casavir's nothing like Cormick" Phaedra snapped, finding the comparison deeply offensive for some deep reason she couldn't peer into. "He could never love me" Now, why did she say that? And why did her outrage seem to be tinged with the same cold, grasping bitterness she'd heard in Cormick's voice. Bishop shot her a mocking smile, had he heard it too?

"For sure" He answered, with curt, blunt cruelty. Yet it shouldn't have cut so deeply as it did. "But you're a girl with enough going for you to set a man to thinking about a quick tumble in the hay, and he is a man, no matter how much he tries to hide it behind that stiff, clench-jawed temple thing he does." Despite her resolution, that quick, childish flush plagued her once again. She knew Casavir was not so earthy, that the paladin was so pure, and so much higher in moral tone than Bishop, that such foulness should not even touch him, but still she blushed, and hated that it seemed to validate his assertions. And…more than that, she couldn't stop herself thinking that, though Bishop spoke in generalisations, and of Casavir in particular, what he was saying implied that he too found her attractive. And that thought distracted her completely. "Sure he won't turn to drink like your Hound did, he's got the Gods for that after all" Phaedra fell silent, feeling a twinge of unease, a suspicion of something she didn't want to put a name to yet. After what she'd heard in the Temple from him her ears were now open to these disturbing implications in how Bishop spoke about the Gods. "But just you wait, he'll be at you the same way as the Hound" Bishop glanced at her slyly. "To live like his little farmer's wife forevermore." So he had been listening in? Why wasn't that a surprise? "If that's the reason you're going back to West Harbour though…"

"It's not" Phaedra said firmly. It certainly was not, and she had no doubt he knew that as well as she did. He was just trying to annoy her.

"Then what is the reason you're going back?" He leaned against the stall next to her. Phaedra looked at him for a long moment. She looked at that sneering, wolfishly handsome face, the insolent cast of his lean, toned body. She knew she could not tell him about Lorne, about her need for redemption, though the brute reality of the coffin intruded so heavily into the stables. He would laugh in her face.

"For answers" She said at last "I need the truth" The truth about the shard in her chest, and her mother's death, from Daeghun. She needed to face him when he told her, and search his face for signs that he hadn't kept so much from her because she was the cause of his own wife, of Shayla's death. And Tarmas…Tarmas might be able to help her with the magical malignity. Bishop raised an eyebrow, and Phaedra wondered briefly if her reason was something that he could respect, maybe it might even impress him.

"How unlike you" He noted sardonically. "Still…" He added, stretching lazily, like a contented, well-fed wolf, but not taking his eyes from her face. "They are your answers, your truths, and frankly princess, neither interests me very much. I think I might sit this one out" Phaedra blinked, quite astonished. She'd so easily assumed that all her companions would be willing to travel with her to West Harbour, never mind that she was going for her own purposes, her own answers as Bishop put it. She also recalled how in the beginning Bishop had asked her to let him come along, nonchalantly though the offer had been placed, and what the consequences had been. Besides he, after all, did come from the Mere as well. So why was he being so difficult now?

"You're not coming?" She said stiffly, hoping the outward show of indifference fooled him. As always it was impossible to tell.

"Give me one good reason why I should bother traipsing off to that village, off in the arse-end of nowhere, so you can solve some petty family squabble and drag that damned Luskan's corpse with me?" Though he said it casually enough, she sensed that Lorne's body was what most irked him, as she'd known it would. "It's a stupid idea, it doesn't change anything, not what he did…" He nodded to the hateful casket. "Or what you did either. Let him rot"

"Well, as I have to leave the city anyway…" She argued, again an avoidance of the main issue at stake. But she knew she couldn't answer him on it. Because everything he said was true, but still….she still had to do it.

"Well I don't" He cut across her with blunt rudeness.

"You want to be stuck here for a month with nothing to do? You'll go mad" Phaedra retorted. This was what confused her the most. Why would he want to stay in the city? The wilds were his place, the Mere…his home, once upon a time, and he disliked Neverwinter, he'd made that clear, and Duncan even more so. So why another month stuck in the Flagon with the innkeeper on Duncan's generosity, rotting, when he could leave with her, even if it was for a reason he found distasteful? Was it the Mere itself? Why would he be so reluctant to return there? However he hid it behind insulting glibness, though, his inexplicable averseness only made her more determined to either persuade him to change his mind, or if she could pin him down until he had no excuse left but the real reason he was dragging his feet like this. Bishop could be stubborn, but so could she.

"You overestimate your charms, princess" Bishop answered nonchalantly. "Don't fret, I'm not about to wilt without you…There are plenty of others in this city who are more game than you'll ever be" Phaedra scowled back, as always no matter her resolution she couldn't stop herself being annoyed when he went on like this

"So it doesn't matter to you at all, that I'm asking you to come with me?" She complained.

"Why should it?" He challenged. "And why are you asking me anyway?"

"Because…" She struggled, she couldn't say exactly that she was pressing him because she hoped he'd inadvertently reveal the root of his reluctance. She knew how he'd answer that. "Because I want you…to come along I mean"

"You want me, do you?" He smirked suddenly. Oh please, as if…. She should have known better than to appeal to a decency he didn't have.

"No, I do not" She said steadily. "I want you to come along, because you can track, and you can scout. And the road might well still be dangerous, things weren't certain even when I left. Besides you do know the Mere, don't you?" There was no answer to that, so she went on. "That's all"

"Well, when you put it that way" He leaned back against the stalls, still smirking infuriatingly. "How can I say no?"

"Wait, wait a second" Phaedra blinked, thrown off again by his sudden ready agreement. "Now you're coming?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Bishop shrugged. Yes, it had been, hadn't it? "I'll come with you like you asked and you can think what you like about that. It doesn't matter to me either way" But, then what had been the point of all his posturing, his protests before, if he was just going to agree like that in the end when she had barely even tried to persuade him? She'd been so sure that there was some hidden reason why he was being so difficult, something she could find out about him, something she could uncover, but it turned out he was just being perverse, as usual. She couldn't even work out now why the prospect that he wouldn't be coming had made her so uneasy, so determined to persuade him in the first place. He'd just be trouble, as always.

"Well…good" She said at last. "We'll be leaving in an hour, if we want to be gone from the city in the morning." He nodded, slowly, still smirking as though he somehow had got what he wanted from this exchange though she couldn't possibly tell why he was so pleased about really nothing much happening at all apart from him being so difficult. Really he was infuriating, and she wished he wasn't coming now, as no doubt in the wilds of the Mere he'd take it upon himself to be even more frustrating. But she was in a bind, she couldn't exactly rescind the invitation now. Oh well, it was done and over with, she'd just have to endure his presence and remind herself that it was, for some reason, what she had wanted. He would be helpful on the road, she supposed, as she'd argued. Moving all at once she quickly walked past Bishop, pressing through the doorway next to him with what she hoped was a clarity and force of purpose that disguised her all too obvious unease. There was plenty more to be getting on with, and Bishop had distracted her enough. But…he had, she supposed briefly as a quiet, mutinous thought intruded, let her forget about Cormick…exactly as she'd wanted.

Oooo00000oooo

Neverwinter might be a bit of a dive at times, it might have its share of ignorant yokels, two-bit scoundrels and cheats, bastards who'd gut you as soon as look at you, and hordes of people so blinkered that the merest flash of a horn or a tail and they'd happily burn you alive, but then again everywhere had those kinds of people, and Neverwinter, at least was home. Here Neeshka knew what was what, and she knew how to play the game. Wasn't that what home meant? And…when she'd first fled the city, hounded, desperate, nothing with her but the clothes on her back and the underworld of Neverwinter on fire with the reward for her head she'd felt far more of a pang than when she'd left the Temple of Helm where she'd been raised. Mostly, she knew, though that pang she'd felt as she rushed from Neverwinter had been a kind of regret, an understanding that she hadn't achieved all she could have done. With her skills, which outmatched nearly all the thieves in this city, she could have made something of herself, something that she couldn't make anywhere else. She'd always itched for things, something she could call her own, something solid, something to hold onto…it was an urge she just couldn't control, and what was wrong with that? Everyone wanted the same, it was just her blood hadn't left her with many other choices than relieving those who had way too much of a little of their load. She never concerned herself with scruples about her work, just with how good she was at what she did. And she was good. She just didn't have much to show for it at the moment.

When she'd first returned to Neverwinter with Phaedra, she'd put out old feelers, found old contacts, and discovered that she'd been largely forgotten in the underworld during her months on the road. Thank Lady Luck for small mercies. She'd dreamed of maybe being able to start again, this time not make the same mistakes, this time not trust the same scumbags, she could end up running her own carta, having people answer to her, being the equal of any crime lord in the Docks. That would force those old bastards with their dirty knives and dirtier minds to respect her, shove their old taunts back in their faces. Then she'd be more than a demon, she'd be a person of consequence, anything she wanted, no one would betray her then. She hadn't had time in the furious events that had followed, as Phaedra had become a Watch member, then a Lieutenant, then a Squire. She could never have seen that coming from that waif she'd met on the road all those weeks ago. And she'd assisted Phaedra in all her scurrying around, never mind that it left her little opportunity to get the foothold in the underworld she so craved. But now Phaedra wanted her to leave the city again…with nothing again. And head where? For Phaedra's home? No offence meant, but she'd seen the villages of the south, not a trinket worth swiping and the people really left something to be desired. For the first time she was wondering seriously…Phaedra had saved her life, Phaedra was her friend most of the time, but did Phaedra really have the right to ask any more of her?

No one else seemed to have her qualms. Having gathered together their possessions for the journey, everyone was waiting in the common room, waiting on Phaedra to finish her business with the Watch. Neeshka cast a glance over the Flagon…it wasn't the same as it had been, once. Duncan had spent so many days waiting for Phaedra to come back, that…the whole place just seemed to have deflated. Duncan had lost any care for it, once the centre of his world. Neeshka lowered her head. Were they all the same? Was she the same?

"Well, it doesn't look like we have much more to prepare" And then Neeshka looked up and Phaedra was coming in from the stables, wearing all white as usual. It should have looked contrived seeing as she was a noble now, but she still wore it like the most natural thing in the world. Just like she wore her beauty. "And everything's ready…in there" She smiled wistfully, with the corpse they were lugging to West Harbour, she meant.

"You're certain about this?" Duncan muttered, absently scrubbing the same tankard of ale in his hands he'd been scrubbing for the last hour. "The road's dangerous…and Gods know what you'll find in the village…"

"We'll be going together, Duncan" Phaedra's gaze absently travelled over the room, finding each of her companions briefly. As their eyes met for a second Neeshka noticed that her hair was ruffled, she'd been running it through her fingers, which meant one of two things, she'd been troubled by something, or she'd been talking to Bishop. Almost certainly Bishop. "And I've more than made up my mind, it's…right. It feels right"

"Can't argue with that" Duncan coughed "Give…my greetings to Daeghun, will you?"

"I will" A shadow passed over Phaedra's face at her foster-father's name, but she attempted a light smile for her uncle's benefit. She turned away, and found the rest of the party again, opened her mouth to speak. At that moment Bishop appeared in the stable door behind her. His strutting swagger, that insolent smirk, the smouldering gleam in his eyes, it was all calculated to suggest that he and Phaedra had been doing more than conversing in the stable. Though Phaedra didn't help herself by tensing up the moment she knew Bishop was there, with the effort, no doubt, of making sure she didn't look back at him, no one in the room believed any of Bishop's pretence for a moment, Phaedra might have her little thing for Bishop but she was about as likely to get down to the deed as Casavir was to ever let her know that he wanted the same. Never mind that they both needed loosening up. Predictably she heard the scrap of wood on the rough floor as Casavir stood, but the paladin stayed silent, a monolith of cold disdain in the shadows. "Well, now we're all here" Phaedra continued, vainly trying to recapture her earlier ease, but Neeshka could tell that the awareness of Bishop settling in just behind her was preying on her. "I just wanted to say…none of you have to do this, have to come with me. I'm grateful, more than I can say, that you would, but this is my home…and I'm going there for the answers I need, and to find…" She paused, swallowed her words and that thought. "If you want to stay behind, or go somewhere else, I'll understand." Neeshka stared at her, feeling suddenly guilty. She'd doubted Phaedra, there were even times she'd mocked the girl's pretensions, found herself annoyed by her scruples and that endless hand-wringing, but she always forgot this, how this girl a little younger than she was, with halting words, dishevelled hair and that peasant's dress, could still tug at her in this way. It was Phaedra herself who'd kept her anchored here, that utter sincerity, that complete lack of judgement, qualities so rare you could almost forget they were there…that was why she used to…did…think of the girl as a friend.

"Well, I'm not going to miss it, not for anything in the world" Shandra was the first to leap in and answer, without hesitation. "I always thought I'd only believe you grew up in some small village when I saw it, and now I guess you'll be able to prove it to me" Phaedra smiled back, and the two village girls, so alike in their respective upbringings, and in their appearances, both blonde, pale, slender and pretty, glowed in their cosy familiarity.

"We've all come this far" Casavir, predictably, spoke for the rest of them as well as himself, as though he was chiding those who did not have as much devotion as he did. "I will come with you, to repay you for what you have done for us all, if need be"

"I, for one, mean to make something of this journey" Sand clasped his pale hands with their long, spidery fingers together thoughtfully. "If Sir Nevalle charges me to contain your infernal magic, we are far better served being away from the city"

"Elanee?" She acknowledged the others with a graceful nod, then turned to the druidess with a brittle twist on her heels. To her credit, Elanee kept her features smooth and impassive, but Neeshka saw her fingers clasped tight around her robes under the table. They hadn't been speaking again. Neeshka didn't know what today's tantrum was about, frankly it didn't concern her overmuch. They'd be back in each other's arms before long.

"I will never leave you, Phaedra" Elanee promised, her words even more over-blown than Casavir's, as her green eyes leaked a stream of emotion. "And the Mere is my home as well…I think it is time to return, if only briefly, and try to make sense of what might be happening there" Phaedra nodded slightly, but it was something, and Neeshka saw the elf relax somewhat.

"Neeshka?" She didn't quite expect it to be her next. She looked back at Phaedra. There was something wary in her green eyes, cautious, but questioning; as though she wanted to say something, or ask something more, but didn't quite have the words to say it. Neeshka opened her mouth, somehow saying she wasn't sure she would wasn't as easy as she'd thought it would be.

"Lass, I have something to say" Suddenly Khelgar intruded, leaping down from his bar stool to waddle quickly across the room to Phaedra. Neeshka blinked, it wasn't like Khelgar to assert himself in this manner, though she was glad of the interruption. Normally Khelgar was content enough to let others do the talking, so long as he was always on hand to have his share of whatever action came their way. A little like Neeshka's preference not to get involved in the squabbles of the others, which was maybe why they'd ended up getting along better the last few weeks. "I won't be coming with you to West Harbour." Neeshka stared at her friend, and the rest of the party, Phaedra included, joined her. As usual Khelgar didn't mince words, but, though she'd had much more time for him than nearly anyone else in the party lately, Neeshka was as surprised as everyone else. Khelgar's simple loyalty was unshakeable, there was no questioning to it, he liked Phaedra, he liked the battles she brought him, he liked their quest, and to him these things were enough. Or, suddenly, maybe not? Had Neeshka misjudged him? "I want to lass, I really do" Khelgar continued, as Phaedra gazed at him with a rising confusion. "But I'm doing this for you as much as for anyone else, and for the tiefling lass, and the others. I set myself a goal before I ever met you, and I've made myself a quest here in Neverwinter. And this journey of yours…well…it's helped me unlock those riddles"

"The Trials of Tyr?" Phaedra breathed, suddenly understanding. Neeshka bit down on a tart retort. She ought to have known. Since the Trial had ended, and he'd visited the Temple during Phaedra's vigil, he'd talked about little else.

"Right, lass" Khelgar nodded. "You helped me right the wrong I did my kinsfolk, and your trial, and all of this journey, showed me that there could be a reason to fight for something. I've been back to Prior Hlarin yesterday and he says I've met the conditions he set, just like I said I would" He grinned, with that fly-in-your-face confidence of his, but Neeshka already heard echoes of the temple in his words, words about 'rights and wrongs' and reasons. To be fair, getting rid of his prejudices had improved Khelgar, talking to him wasn't like slamming your head into a brick wall anymore, but the temple, that looming monolith of what some people called justice, it was no place for the dwarf's easy-going joviality. If Khelgar really did this, would he come out of it like Casavir, cold, sour and distant? That would be a damned shame, she thought bitterly. Khelgar was her friend, why couldn't he just have given up on this while it looked like a fool's errand? Now, there was actually a chance he might become a monk.

"But what about the Trial of the Evenhanded?" Phaedra looked at him sideways.

"Well…that one's more complicated" Khelgar rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "It's you…in part, I've seen you not judge people, and, Hells, it's more that scurvy-faced ambassador who judged and mocked like I used to do. But it's mostly the fiendling…Neeshka…" He glanced across the room at her, and she couldn't help but restrain her sullenness somewhat when his cheery, bleary gaze met her's.

"Neeshka?" Phaedra sounded surprised.

"Never thought I'd be friends and comrades with a tiefling, Hells I never thought I'd like a tiefling, but here we all are" Khelgar continued. Neeshka blinked, no one had ever said anything like that to her, well except Phaedra. Phaedra used to speak like that, used to, in those early days before they had come to Neverwinter. She'd seemed impossibly young back then, to Neeshka who'd grown used to growing up fast, and Neeshka had felt a kind of easy indulgence for her, alongside her gratitude and growing rapport with the half-elf, all new experiences. She hadn't had that kind of easy trust for anyone, not for a long time. But, then, as now, the words of simple honest friendship both startled and soothed her. "We've had some good times, lass" He grinned "But I've learnt something along the way too"

"And now, what?" Neeshka stood slowly, she imagined what the party would be like without Khelgar to serve as an ever-present, sensible counter-balance to all the drama. It would be poorer, less to her liking, that was for sure. "You're leaving?"

"Tyr's right buttock, no!" Khelgar laughed suddenly, freely, heartily. "Not for ever, that's certain. I wouldn't miss anymore of this thing we've got going on, Gith, demons, Luskans, not for a hundred temples or a thousand chances to brawls with these monk fellows. Prior Hlarin says it's fine if I only spend the month training. But the moment you're back in the city…" He turned again to Phaedra, who looked instantly relieved. "I'll come running, and you can be certain I'll be ready to use some new monk moves on whatever comes our way" He laughed "Hells, I'll probably be teaching them" He laughed again. "They need to learn to have a good time in that temple, for sure"

"Okay, I'll speak to you again before we leave then" Phaedra seemed pleased by the arrangement too. Neeshka still wasn't sure, a month still meant a month without Khelgar in the party. She wasn't sure she could stand it that long even. Who would she talk to? "It's settled, we'll be heading off in an hour then." Phaedra continued, brushing down her gown with her small, childish hands "I just need to sort out the last of the supplies, with one less person we can get away with hauling a little less weight, and…Casavir, everything's ready for you in the stables if you want to saddle up Halueth with some of our goods." Somehow everyone seemed to find something to do the moment Phaedra moved away to confer with Duncan about the last-minute details. Neeshka, though, leapt from her table to catch Khelgar before he moved off. As she rushed over, she almost tripped over Bishop though, and managed to catch the eye of the ranger for a brief instant. She still found Bishop attractive, in the same manner she'd found a number of deeply unsuitable men attractive over the years. The ranger's eyes flicked from her own, and gave her armoured body a brief, disinterested scrutiny, and then he simply walked on past her. Another in a long line of gestures from him which should have warned her off by now, but she couldn't help herself. Still she watched him until he was gone, just in case he ever glanced back. He didn't, but once he had disappeared behind the corridor she remembered Khelgar and raced to catch the dwarf before he started to take his leave of the others. This was a conversation she wanted to have in private.

"Khelgar!" She hailed her friend, quickly "Hey, barrel-house!" The old taunt came almost easier to her mouth than his name did, but then again she'd always found it easier to hide behind glib wit rather than show the kind of emotion the thought of him leaving still brought up.

"Fiendling, figured you'd be the first at me to try and convince me to stay" Khelgar didn't seem put out though, he grinned jovially. "Sorry, lass, I'm set on this, was since the day those monks first beat me senseless. And I've just started to understand that being a monk is a whole lot more important than just being able to knock the pulp out of someone, that's a side of it I'm going to struggle with, but no trial bests Khelgar Ironfist. I think I've bloody well proved that"

"No, it's not that" Neeshka said quickly. "I know once you're set on something, you're as stubborn as a mule. No way I'm going to try and rein you in," She shrugged "If you still don't know this is a mistake, you'll just have to find that out on your own"

"Oh no, lass" Khelgar shook his head firmly "Wild horses won't drag me out of that temple now, not after everything I've done to get there"

"Well that I don't doubt" Neeshka quipped. She paused, swallowed uncomfortably as she tried to think up the words and Khelgar glanced up at her expectantly. It seemed harder than it was supposed to be. Though she had at least as good a reason as he did to stay, she had her own job to do. "I was actually wondering if I could, well, maybe…stay here in the city with you?" She said at last.

"Stay?" Khelgar frowned, the set line of his mouth vanishing behind his thick, bushy beard. "Why?" Instantly she bristled at his tone. She had her own life and her own goals, just like he did. She wasn't just Phaedra's lackey.

"Just like you, I have stuff I've been meaning to do for a while" She said.

"Stuff relating to thievery?" Khelgar crossed his arms, looking faintly amused. But she still didn't like the implication that he was judging her work. She had just as much of a right as he did to make her way in the world on her own terms. "Look, lass, don't you remember what Phaedra said? It'll be dangerous to stay here, and you never know who heard what was said at the trial. Might have woken some ghosts"

"I can look after myself" Neeshka answered sharply. She wished she'd never mentioned the reason she'd left Neverwinter to him. Most of all because he could be right. There weren't many tieflings in Neverwinter, and her enemies might still care enough to follow the scent, right to her. But she still didn't want to leave. She'd run enough…

"No doubt of that" Khelgar grunted "But still, give me some peace of mind. Go with Phaedra"

"Go down to that dump West Harbour for no reason, for nothing that benefits me in the slightest? Why should I?" Neeshka snapped, exasperated. "Why can't I just use the time to actually do something to get my life back? Yes I had a life before I started following Phaedra around!"

"Well, lass, maybe for the same reason you've come this far with her" Khelgar didn't seem miffed in the slightest, he had changed. Back before he'd ever seen Prior Hlarin he would have jumped down her throat for speaking this way about Phaedra. She wasn't sure if she preferred this calm perceptive logic or not. "Besides, with me staying behind, she'll need someone with sense along"

"She doesn't need me" Neeshka muttered. Phaedra had moved on. So why couldn't she?

"Yes, she does" Khelgar pressed "Even if she doesn't know it. Just give her a little more time, lass" Neeshka looked up at him. Was he right? Could things be back the way they had been once? Suddenly she remembered something about her old life in Neverwinter, her times skimming the thief's guilds, doing their dirty work for a fraction of what she should have earned, and trying to avoid ever being tied down or tracked down, how lonely it had been. She'd tried never to work with the same people more than once, and those she did she hadn't trusted as far as a knife blade. Rightly, as it turned out. They'd seen her as an underling, a grunt, or worse as a quick, cheap lay if you could get the daggers from her which she'd never let them, but always and above all as a demon. She'd never had a friend, someone she could trust to have her back, who wouldn't put a knife through it for a bent copper. Not until Phaedra. Phaedra had saved her life from those thugs at Port Llast, Phaedra had accepted her companionship, trouble though it must have been, without a second thought, Phaedra had protected her on the road. And Phaedra's smile, and her friendship, had been offered without the slightest hesitation, without wanting anything in return, not caring at all that Neeshka had devil's blood, or that she was a thief. When had she ever met someone anything like that in Neverwinter?

"Alright" She said quietly, subdued. "I'll go with her." They would head back along the same route they'd travelled then. Maybe, just maybe, Phaedra would remember as she had remembered, and maybe she might look at Neeshka the same way she had then.

Oooo00000ooooo

Phaedra was glad to be out of the city. She didn't quite expect it, but perhaps because everything in Neverwinter had seemed so tense and constrictive with the events of the last week, the freedom of the open road before her made her spirit lighten. She was on her way home, why shouldn't she feel a brush of laughter in the breeze, a flush of joy in the warmth of the sun on her skin? She'd doubted, with Cormick first, then with Bishop, that her journey would accomplish all that she'd hoped but now anything seemed possible once again. She held Mistletoe's reigns between her fingers, gently leading the steady, sturdy mare along the smooth, well-worn road that led south from Neverwinter, and behind her Mistletoe drew the Watch's wagon with its fateful cargo. Even the thought of Lorne's body jostling in its narrow confines over every pothole didn't disturb her for long. After all, she was drawing it along herself as she'd insisted to the others, walking by it every step of the way, if that didn't count for something…she stopped herself abruptly. It would count for something, she promised herself that. She'd be free of the weight of Lorne's death once this was done.

It was past noon now, they'd been walking for a couple of hours, which meant that they'd left the city far behind. The road was sweeping down into the lightly forested plains that stretched south along the Sword Coast until the Spine of the World looped around between them and the Mere of Dead Men, in the foothills which Fort Locke guarded. On her first time making this journey, Phaedra had sailed the journey from Highcliff, and she'd missed much of this pleasant road, with Neverwinter Wood stretching out to the east in a broad dense green smudge as far as the eye could see. She wondered what Khelgar would think of it all, and felt a pang without the dwarf, whose presence had always seemed such a certainty. Still he was doing what he came for, following his dream. Phaedra glanced back, the others walked in the companionable silence of a long trek, spread out around the cart and next to it Halueth made his way on his huge stride, laden down with packs of supplies from Duncan for the journey. Though he was a warhorse and no pack animal, be bore the burden patiently, walking on as calmly as Misletoe did so long as Casavir walked before him. Meeting the paladin's striking blue eyes, Phaedra smiled brightly at him. He nodded courteously back, but then suddenly he looked past her, and his eyes focused on something ahead of them, behind her. A frown touched his features.

"Look, there's someone on the road ahead" Neeshka said abruptly, with a touch of apprehension. Phaedra turned, feeling a chill touch her for a moment for no reason she could easily articulate. Neeshka was right. The road just ahead wound around a small copse of slender, silvery fir trees, and just where it curved, on the corner, a small group of four people were standing. There was nothing unusual in itself about there being people on the road and though this highway wasn't necessarily safe, the group looked competent enough to take care of themselves, Phaedra supposed, but why would they simply be standing there, simply waiting for something? There was something ominous in their stillness, so far as she could tell they weren't talking or doing anything, just waiting. She couldn't help feeling for her bow, until she remembered that Lorne had destroyed it. But Bishop, and Neeshka both found their weapons, and even Elanee and Casavir began to walk onward with the same cautious care as she did. As they rounded the corner, in silence, Phaedra saw that the group ahead of them was almost as diverse and unusual as their own.

At the forefront was a squat dwarf, even shorter than Khelgar was, but broader across the shoulder so he had a blockish, yet somehow menacing bulk, accentuated by the heavy bronze armour he wore, and the huge sword that he held openly, its blade leaning back on his shoulder. He was accompanied by an elf, unusual enough in itself, a woman too, gaunt and thin so that her every angle was honed as sharp as a dagger. Holding herself with unnatural stillness, she wore lighter armour, spined and jagged, designed for speed, and a short sword, and a slender axe hung from her belt. Two deadly warriors, she could tell just by looking at them, and accompanied by two who were obviously mages, and mages of some calibre. One was a human, a woman as well, with a flaunting beauty, who wore a stunning robe, all gold and crimson, and a cloak of pure silk. Across her body she carried a long, ornate staff, both a sign of her power and an augment to it. Just like the others, despite her beauty, she had an incipient air of danger. As did the last, though he was an unlikely vessel for it. He was a gnome, smaller even than the dwarf, and so thin he was almost insubstantial. His plain robes were grey, his features haggard, and though he was unarmed, the coldness of his demeanour suggested a confidence in his hidden power that was not easily matched. Phaedra's caution went up another notch. These were no ordinary travellers, they were either adventurers or…she trembled involuntarily, bounty hunters. She tried to tell herself that it was not necessarily true that they were here for her, that Torio couldn't have moved so fast, but the fact remained they were here, and waiting for something. And her heart skipped a beat when the dwarf at the front stepped out in front of them the moment they got close enough, with a casual, arrogant swagger.

"Ho, there, travellers" He hailed "Not many on the road in these times, but you look like you can handle yourselves" He grinned companionably, and Phaedra had the briefest sense that he knew exactly who she was. Slowly, deliberately, she let Mistletoe's reigns fall from her fingers. She didn't want the mare getting in the middle of anything.

"I could say the same about you" She answered neutrally. She allowed her gaze to stray over the four once again; the others, none of whom even attempted to ape the dwarf's joviality, were varying degrees of haughty, aloof, annoyed and unimpressed. Their presence felt distinctly unfriendly, the true foil to the dwarf's false affability, and she sensed that they were sizing up her group as diligently as behind, her own companions did the same to them. They must know they were outnumbered, four to seven were not favourable odds, which suggested they were either hugely overconfident or very skilled.

"Ha!" The dwarf laughed, long and loud. He had none of Khelgar's sincerity or joie de vivre, something about his affability seemed insolent, calculated to insult and belittle. "You are a charming one" He smiled again, lecherously, and his gaze strayed down Phaedra's body openly. "Where are you headed, pretty lady?"

"That's none of your business" Phaedra bristled. She heard Bishop shift behind her.

"Enough of the fooling around, Zinn" The gnome hissed suddenly in a raspy voice. Phaedra suppressed a shudder, gnomes were normally thought of as cheery folk, but this one was murderous and no mistake. "Why are we even talking?"

"Well, Oyo, because this young lady is a Squire of Neverwinter, and we must show her the proper respect due to her station" That was it then, Phaedra tensed, and she knew that all her suspicions were true, they were here for her. The dwarf threw it down so casually, as though he were still mocking her. "Isn't that right, Phaedra Blake?" His grin turned vicious, he relished her response.

"Who are you?" Phaedra snapped, as she tried to think through the anxiety rushing through her head. She hadn't expected a fight, so soon, she wasn't prepared, but she would have to face them. There was no way this crew would back out. But if she could stall for a little time, maybe she could think of some way to quickly bring them down. "What do you want?"

"Well, my name is Zinn" The dwarf bowed scornfully, spreading out his arms, and the huge sword. "The pretty lady to my right is Niyra" The female mage tossed her hair haughtily, her narrowed eyes fixed on Phaedra with hatred. "The elf is Shahra" She barely reacted, though somehow in the preceding period she had drawn her two weapons, and held them with complete stillness. "And the gnome in the dress is Oyo"

"It's a robe, you bastard" Oyo rasped. Though he was unarmed visibly, Phaedra almost thought him the most dangerous, she couldn't put a finger on why, but he would have to be neutralised, and fast. It would be up to Sand and her to hold off the two mages long enough to shield the others, Elanee could chip in, but it would be far better if she could conserve her power for healing. Casavir, Neeshka, Bishop and Shandra…all of them were at huge risk from a spell, but if they attacked Shahra and Zinn together surely it would not be long before they felled the two fighters? Once that was done, the mages would be vulnerable. It was just up to her and Sand to hold out until then.

"And as to what we want, well, we rather would like to kill you" Zinn shrugged. He was the leader, it seemed, but she doubted any of the others stayed with him from any kind of affection.

"You will have to kill us all first" Casavir said, deadly quietly.

"Oh, gladly" Zinn smiled "There's never been a day when seven blades of Neverwinter could best four of Luskan." Luskan…exactly as she'd thought.

"What about the war?" Neeshka sprang to the defence of her adopted home instantly. "You lost then, and you'll lose now"

"I would not speak like that, or I'll take your tongue, demon." For the first time the façade of joviality cracked and menace poured from Zinn "The war's not finished yet, I assure you of that" He turned to Phaedra, and that grotesque politeness crept back into his features and his voice. "But I was talking to the lady. There's a very pretty bounty on your lovely head, my dear, issued straight from the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan, and we would all be most obliged if you would yield it"

"The Arcane Brotherhood?" Sand breathed, the words came out like a hiss, and Phaedra shared his shock…Torio…or perhaps not? Hadn't Ajah insisted that his master, Garius, was a rogue from the Brotherhood? If this bounty came direct from them, perhaps she had other enemies in Luskan. And enemies who had fingers in Neverwinter, exactly as Nevalle had warned. For this group to know exactly where she was at this time, and to be able to reach it in time, they must have been in Neverwinter already, and had contact with someone who knew of Nevalle's warnings.

"That's right" Zinn nodded conversationally "Apparently they're rather unhappy with you at the moment. What did such a pretty young thing like you do to upset them so much?"

"Neverwinter bitch" Niyra hissed. She didn't bother to disguise her purpose, but where for Zinn this seemed like all business, Niyra had some kind of personal revenge in mind. She must be trained at the Hostower, Luskan allowed no other magic in its walls.

"I don't suppose it really matters" Zinn sighed, as though he was sorry to have to stop talking. "We'll kill you all the same" He pulled his sword across his body suddenly into an aggressive, offensive posture. "Well, shall we get started?"

Phaedra actually moved first, she threw up both her arms, and fire began to burn between her fingers, but before she could complete the spell, Zinn thrust his sword forward straight for her head, with alarming speed and precision considering how large the blade was. She leapt back, leaving strands of the half-completed spell glistening in the air as she did, but Casavir's warhammer was suddenly between them, and he caught Zinn's sword between the shaft and the actual hammer. Zinn glanced up at Casavir, his smile murderous, but the paladin met him with an icy stare. There was a moment when they both simply stood there, locked together, and the rest of both parties seemed to Phaedra to freeze in place, though Shandra was in fact moving forward, sword and shield splayed, to defend Casavir, and Bishop's practiced arms wheeled as he slotted an arrow into the straining string of his bow. But then Zinn's arm swung out to try and catch his opponent in the face, and Casavir's shield was thrown up to catch the blow, and then the small copse exploded into combat. Sharha, the elf, suddenly burst from complete stillness into a wheeling cyclone of swinging blades, with a startling acrobatic speed. She leapt forward to intercept Shandra, as Phaedra fell back, staggering on her own feet, and the farmgirl struggled to move her sword and shield fast enough to catch the elven warrior's strikes. Bishop's arrow flew, but Niyra swung her staff in a sweeping circle in front of her body, and in a fleeting flash of fire, the arrow disintegrated to nothing. And then Oyo was in front of Phaedra, his slim body contorted with a sudden rush of power, as he raised his clawed hands in the air. A jagged flash of white light arced between them, sweeping towards her, she thrust her hand forward and a counter-spell burst into vivid, blazing life as energy fountained from her fingers. Still the spell hit her like a blow, and she staggered back with the impact of it. She almost felt the strength of Oyo's hatred, and power, beating down on her, but she held the spell in place and weathered it, drawing on the foundation of the power swirling around her. Then Niyra was running for her, and the young woman's staff blazed as she swept it up into the air once again, her face was contorted with hatred in the werelight that shone from it, and Phaedra almost quailed except that she was still holding off Oyo with all her strength, but then Sand stepped up between them, and he threw his hand out, chanting the words of a spell. A burst of sonic energy like a thunderclap, that sent the air humming and vibrating all around them raced from Sand, and it caught Niyra mid-leap, sending her tumbling to the dust. In an instant she was up, sweeping herself to her feet in a swirl of her splendid robes with the aid of that staff. Immediately she found Sand with a snarl.

"Not this time, I'm afraid, my dear" Sand shook his head, as though chiding an errant student. And then Niyra leapt into the attack again, except this time it was Sand she had in her sights. Phaedra mentally breathed a sigh of relief, Sand had this under control, and she only had to think about Oyo now. She turned her eyes back on the gnome, and wove her own attack. A ray of sparkling crackling light leapt for him, a probe of his defences. Oyo was already adapting, though, he drove his hands down and met it with a glistening mirror-like shield that shimmered between them, her spell petered out against it almost harmlessly. And then he attacked again, the rhythm of the duel taking them both. As the fight raged around them, they duelled onwards, she could sense Oyo almost playing with her, and cranked up her own efforts in response, flinging fire, and light into the fray with an almost reckless abandon. Then the gnome's eyes narrowed as he though he began to sense the threat she posed, and his power shifted suddenly, drawing on something dark and cold. A tendril of darkness slithered from his fingers, spiralling into the air with the loathsome grace of a serpent. This was dark magic, strong magic, and deep, and magic which Phaedra knew with horror that she had little idea how to counter. She quickly considered summoning fire again, but Hellfire was dark enough itself, it shed little light enough to stop necromancy. And with the din of battle all around her she couldn't even think fast enough: Neeshka and Shandra were both duelling with the spinning Shahra who somehow parried both their attacks with her two weapons weaving a dance of terrifying speed, and Casavir was holding out against burly, brutish Zinn, aided somewhat grudgingly by Bishop. But Oyo didn't pause at all, he wielded the spell like a whip, drawing it back in the air as he murmured cold words of incantation, his features alight with power. But then Elanee was there beside Phaedra, and the light of the sudden magic that burned around her was like sunlight, pure and healthy and warm. Her whole body blazed for a precious second, as though all the warmth and light of the sun was here with her. Oyo reared back suddenly, with an almost animalistic hiss, and the fabric of his spell gave way almost before he could unleash it, dispersed by the rays of light sweeping off Elanee. Its work done, Elanee's spell gave way to a brief and fading glow, then it vanished, save for the slightest glimmer upon her smiling, shining features. She turned to Phaedra, who saw suddenly how beautiful Elanee was and wondered that she had not seen it for so long.

"Phaedra, hold on!" Elanee cried. Phaedra felt the elf's power begin to flow around her like a stream of cool water, healing, strengthening, as glimmers of magic danced in the air like motes of dust caught in the sunlight. Thus defended, she turned her attention back to the duel as Elanee fell back a little. Oyo was on the defensive, but she could read him now, duelling had an artistry to it and she'd practiced it far too much in the weeks since her journey had begun so it came almost like an art now. She sensed suddenly that the moment she attacked he would raise that magical shield from before once again. He expected her to attack in the same way she had done so far, but why should she? If she truly tried, she thought suddenly that she could probably break through that shield, if she dispensed with the artistry, if she did what everything what the both of them knew about duelling said was impossible…well, then…she would have him. And she could do it, she sensed the rising swell within her, and knew that whatever defences he put up, if she threw enough of what she could unleash at him, she could get through. From the first, she drove her will deep into the swell of power, churning with the rush of battle, that burned within her, and tore from it a blazing swathe of power that burned through her body like a rush of heat. Fire erupted from her fingers and clawed its way up her arms, she allowed the Infernal to rise with it, knowing that only that seething, blazing power of the Hellfire could break through Oyo's defences. She had no choice, she had to do this, she had to kill Oyo, and quickly, before her friends were put in any more danger from the others. Throwing forward a hand, she threw a wave of sheer Hellfire at the gnome, and he reacted just as she'd thought he would, drawing up his shields across the air in front of him again. But this time, she didn't pull away immediately, she didn't let the shield hold her back. Instead she kept up the assault, the vast flux of power she'd summoned bleeding out of her in tongues of dripping, smokeless flame that danced around her in a searing aura. She cast more fire at the thin gnome, who crouched behind his shield, holding it up desperately before him like a charm against evil, his face suddenly a mask of strain. But Phaedra knew she couldn't let up, he would have killed her in a second, just like Ajah, just like Zeeaire, and she could show him no more mercy than she had showed then, and use whatever weapons she had, just as he would. She felt the shield crack under the assault like glass would, and she poured more fire into the fissures. Oyo was shaking with the effort, his teeth clenched. And then, suddenly, it gave way, she felt the release down to her core, and with a roar, an inferno roared through the gap. Oyo was gone in an instant.

"Damn it, Oyo!" Zinn suddenly screamed, all that joking confidence that had been so offensive was gone. The dwarf was struggling already, there was already an arrow stuck in his shoulder, and Bishop was lining up another shot, almost toying with the idea, as Casavir held Zinn down. Phaedra turned to him, still burning, struggling to control what she had unleashed. She wanted to help Casavir, but the fire was whipping around her with such a devouring force that she didn't trust herself to unleash it again. Right now she just needed to restrain it, and she turned all her will to that end, praying her friends could hold out until she did. "Take her down!" Zinn continued to roar, her display and the death of Oyo had terrified him, she realised and already he was making more mistakes. "Shahra! Niyra! Do something! Take her down!" But the other two couldn't move. Shahra was still holding her own against Neeshka and Shandra, all three combatants moving so fast that it was impossible for anyone else to intervene. Shahra had taken a blow, cutting her down her arm, but she'd given back what she'd got, Shandra was bleeding from the shoulder and Neeshka limped as she fought, their injuries forcing Phaedra's heart into her mouth as she watched their furious combat. Niyra and Sand traded spells in a far more traditional duel than Oyo and Phaedra's, but the subtlety of Sand's magic was already outwitting the hot-headed younger woman. Phaedra hadn't seen Sand truly unleash his powers yet, and she couldn't help but watch with awe even through a veil of fire as the wizard threw his unique transformative magic into play. His tiny dagger swept through the air in his hands as Niyra cast another showy spell at him. For a second the dagger suddenly appeared like a huge blade of crackling energy, it cut through Niyra's efforts as if through paper, and the remnants of the girl's spell scattered in a filigree of light. And then he threw his hand forward with a sweep of his robes, and she felt a shift in the air. At first she didn't see exactly what Sand had done, and neither did Niyra, but then suddenly the girl's staff began to shake in her hands.

"A child like you, with no self-restraint or discipline, does not deserve to handle an artefact like that" Sand chided, his hand sweeping back and forming an arcane rune in the air with a practiced effortlessness. The staff glowed, a kind of sickly, greenish glow, which as Niyra looked at it with abject shock enveloped the arcane weapon. Transmutation…Phaedra gasped, and there it was, the staff suddenly lay in Niyra's hand and it was a staff no longer, it was just a useless piece of wood, bare, unadorned, and with none of the power it formally possessed. In one stretch, Sand had stripped all of the enchantments from it. Niyra looked down at it with open-mouthed shock, then, slowly, she looked up at Sand, and suddenly there was abject fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry, my dear" Sand said softly, but there was no pity in his voice. "It is too late for you to learn a lesson from this." He raised his hand. There was a flash about his fingers, then a single, narrow beam of energy was flung at the prone Niyra, who tried at the last minute to turn and flee, but hopelessly, for Sand's spell caught her straight as she turned. Phaedra saw her for one instant, her mouth opened to scream, wreathed in the miasmic green glow of transmutive magic that burned her image onto the back of Phaedra's eyelids like a negative image, then suddenly she stumbled and was gone, vanishing into a puff of dust, and fine ash. "Disintegration" Sand tossed his sleek hair with satisfaction "Leaves no mess" Phaedra stared at him, both awed by the display of his power, and just how deadly transmutive magic could be, and disturbed by the callousness with which he dispensed that power. She'd killed Oyo only seconds ago, almost as brutally, but something about the way Sand had faced Niyra with such…a complete lack of concern…she couldn't quite put it into words.

"Hey, a little help!" Neeshka's voice cut across her thoughts, and she remembered suddenly that the others were still fighting. Turning on her heels, she realised that she had laid the Hellfire to rest for now. It had departed from her once again, but thankfully she still had magic to spare. Neither Bishop nor Casavir required it though, Zinn was on the floor already, still standing on one leg and desperately fending off Casavir with his sword. His body was dotted with arrows, his shoulders, his wounded and broken leg, but none of them were fatal, none of them were meant to be fatal…Phaedra's gaze found Bishop standing just nearby, yet one more arrow in his bow aimed at Zinn, and saw the brutal smile on the ranger's face. Sweet Lathander he was toying with Zinn, using Casavir to slowly torture the dwarf to death in front of the paladin.

"For the Gods' sake Bishop, finish him!" She cried, her voice high and trembling. Bishop frowned, fingers winding in the twining of his arrow as his tawny eyes found hers for a brief instant. But then, turning away as he did so and almost lazily as though he didn't care in the slightest, he let the arrow fly into the dwarf's neck and Zinn fell, gurgling and clutching at his throat. Casavir bent over him, hammer raised, and Phaedra quickly looked away before the sickening crunch. Sand and Elanee had already moved to finish off the last of the bounty hunters, the elven warrior Shahra, who showed no sign of even considering surrender, her ferocious intensity increasing even as she fought with mounting desperation with Neeshka and Shandra. Sand slowly blew a spell her way with the same languid disdain he'd shown Niyra, and her sword melted away into the ether, leaving an opening for the wounded Shandra to slide her own blade finally into the elf's chestplate and through her heart. Shandra stumbled, holding up Shahra's body for a moment, but then she let the elf fall. It was over. They hadn't escaped unscathed, Shandra and Neeshka were both wounded, but Elanee was seeing to them right now, and neither wound was serious. Considering they had fought trained Luskan bounty hunters, though they'd had the advantage of numbers, that was something for which to be very thankful. She sighed, about to begin to see to everyone herself, when she was suddenly met with the furious face of Sand, the elf's pale eyes were flashing and spots of colour showed in his pale cheeks. She'd never seen him so upset.

"What in the name of the Gods?" The elf snapped. "Was that?"


	60. Chapter 60

_Yay, here we are at last! Chapter 60. _

_Thanks to Gaspode for the review, and veritasargant for your help with the last chapter. Anyway, as always, any thoughts about this chapter are welcome. _

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It was on a crisp, biting winter's evening, their third night on the road towards the Mere that had once been her home that Elanee first began to feel it. As they had done since the attack by the Luskan bounty hunters, they camped well away from the road, in a place scouted out by Bishop, a small grove of young trees surrounded by a tiny brook which filled the place with the gentle music of water. They'd passed Highcliff by, and were moving at a regular pace down the main highway towards the south, with no more incidents like the one near Neverwinter so far.

As the sunset burned across the western sky, their little copse was anything but quiet, and Elanee was finding it unbearably difficult to focus or to centre herself. Everyone seemed to be doing something that distracted and pulled at her attention, with the exception of the quietly brooding Neeshka. Bishop was crudely skinning a young doe he'd hunted down this very night. The raw sight of blood made Elanee sick, as did the brute functionality with which Bishop slit through muscle, sinew and meat with his skinning knife. His hands were streaked in the deer's lifeblood. Karnwyr was lying lazily down by him, head in his paws, but the wolf's eyes were constantly on the grove and its other occupants, Elanee included. Even when she looked straight back into the wolf's eyes, he didn't look away, not until she did. Across the grove, well away from the others, Sand and Phaedra were engaged in a magical exercise of sorts, trying to restrain her tendency to overload her power. Sand was casting various tokens, old parchment, broken quills, small talismans and sticks into the air, and instructing Phaedra to burn minute holes into them or try to target only the smallest area she could.

"Precision is a necessity in magic" Sand lectured stridently, keeping up his near constant stream of instruction since they'd left the place they had fought the Luskans. He'd been greatly angered by Phaedra's display against the wizard there, but beneath his stern lecturing Elanee had glimpsed something, a flash of fear. She wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but she had resolved to keep a close eye on Sand so long as he sought to tame Phaedra. "You cannot just rely on raw power, Phaedra, you simply cannot."

"Raw power did allow me to beat Oyo, though he was a greater magician than I, and Ajah too" Phaedra answered, throwing up a hand, and once again incinerating the entire parchment instead of the smaller area Sand had marked out for her. It was alarming that she simply didn't seem able to do as Sand asked. But, undeterred, he kept on pushing her. And each time she threw herself into it with an almost unhealthy intensity.

"Yes, but what would have happened if Oyo had been more skilled, more subtle?" Sand shook his head. "One day, my dear, you will meet a magician who will expect exactly what you will do, and then you will make yourself extraordinarily vulnerable by throwing yourself wholesale into the fight like you did." He tutted, threw a feather into the air and watched it disintegrate in the rush of heat from Phaedra. "Besides" He added "You should know by now how dangerous that power is."

"I can control it" Phaedra asserted firmly.

"Yes, but for how long?" Sand sighed. Elanee glanced at Phaedra, and saw what Sand didn't; the resolve in Phaedra's eyes. Yes she would do as Sand asked, yes she would do her best to tame her power, but if it came down to it, she would use Hellfire to save her own life, or the life of any of those around this fire. No one could blame her for that really. But it was a problem.

Shandra and Casavir were dueling again, much as they had every night since the party had left Neverwinter. Shandra hadn't been deterred by her harrowing fight with the Luskan elf, or the wound she'd received, instead she'd become even more determined to learn more of swordcraft, and begged Casavir at every opportunity to teach her. She was very brave, Elanee thought, watching the beautiful young human dance gracefully through the steps she'd picked up, guided by Casavir's advice and attuned completely to his movements. He was holding back a little still for his student, but not much. Shandra had a natural gift, no wonder Casavir was so impressed. Elanee felt a flash of the old, dull pain, and shifted, fighting for calm. When Shandra darted close in some feint, and her golden hair brushed inches from Casavir's lips, or her arm fell across his, Elanee felt the sharp pinprick in her heart deeper than ever. She threw herself to her feet, forcing herself to focus, and driving down the thoughts of Casavir as hard as she could. What foolishness. She was a grown woman, not a girl like Phaedra or Shandra, and she was trained by the druids of the Circle to understand the tides of nature and of the blood that caused these reckless infatuations. But the Circle had never taught her how to truly live. Sighing, she stood up, she needed to clear her head.

"I'm going to try and meditate, see if I can sense anything on the path ahead" She said absently, though no one it seemed heard her. Skirting around Bishop, who shot her an unreadable, unnerving glance, she walked on past the two tied horses, feeling the glow of contentment from the placid mare Mistletoe and the stoic vigilance of the stallion Halueth as small flickers of sensation as she passed. Silently, with her own peculiar grace, she passed through the veil of trees from the grove into the dense, heavy silence of the forest beyond. She was drawn by a sensation she'd known all too well in her days with the Circle, that strange restlessness of spirit which compelled her to move onward away from company. She followed the stream slowly, winding her way down to follow the sound of water and the tide of life that flowed with it. All around her the sensation of life itched, and she longed suddenly to escape it, as though she could be back in Neverwinter where all was silent and dead. The urge seemed a hideous blasphemy, but she couldn't fight the drive outwards, away from Casavir and Shandra, and from Phaedra, whose silence damned and accused.

Abruptly she stumbled through a wall of thick undergrowth, and found herself staggering into another place where the trees gave way, and the shadows of the evening fell like silk over the dewy grass. Another grove, but this time…the trees enclosed something. It was a ruin, stone crafted to the slender line and ornate curves that Elanee knew instantly were remnants of the Illefarn Empire. It seemed to have once been some kind of watchtower, or a domed structure, perhaps even a temple. Illefarn architecture was always of such beauty that ornament and function blended almost organically into a seamless whole. There wasn't much of it left, merely a shell of stone, of a circle shape, wedded to the curling vines that embraced the crumbling stone lovingly with the tender care of ages of growth. To Elanee, who had grown up amidst ruins like these, the place did seem almost like a treasure of sorts, her own lost memory enclosed in time. The silence was absolute, and somehow she felt the pressing tremor on her thoughts subside within it.

Slowly she knelt in the rich earth, smelling the heady scent of life around her. Her breathing slowed, deepened, and her awareness spread out through into the plants around her, her mind, her magic, sinking into the ecstatic web of life all around her. She felt the network of roots beneath the ground in which her fingers suddenly twined, and followed it, as the plants opened themselves to welcome her, blooming and unfurling. Instinctively she leapt onward, finding the way before her, pushing outward and onward with all her will and all the force of her spirit and magic, towards the dank gleam of life that was the Mere. She knew the Mere, she knew it in her blood and in her soul. And she had to be able to reach it, no matter that the distance was so vast. But by the time she grasped the familiar welt of power beneath the Mere, her spirit was spread out an almost intolerable distance and her connection to the plant life there was a slender, straining thread. Her head thrummed with the effort, but, pressing her hands into the soil, she forced the bond deeper and deeper until it became agony. The deep, dark and unspeakably ancient gleam of life beneath the Mere rose within her, and she welcomed its familiarity.

But then, she felt something else, only for an instant, a flash of something. No, not something…it was more an absence of anything that she felt, so dark, so cold, that it was more like…a yawning void than the warm, full sensation of life. Alarmed, she probed deeper, unwittingly straining her consciousness even further, making herself even more vulnerable. At the edge of her mind, she caught the last tremulous ribbon of it, flashing in the corners with that emptiness so complete that it seared across her mind. She seized it, without thinking, and then suddenly it was there, beside her and within her with a shocking speed. She felt it rake across her soul, its raging agony of emptiness, its hunger to consume everything light and hale, everything that had substance, and life and breath, everything but the darkness within itself. And she realised, terrified suddenly, that it thirsted to consume her as well. She tried to pull back, instantly, but when she grasped for the web of life that had brought her here and for her body itself, she caught nothing but more of the darkness. She drifted in a void, with nothing to hold onto, nothing to anchor herself or defend her. And the darkness grasped her, possessed her, and thrust itself into her. It was diseased, filthy, and it was within her now, and seeping through her. Oh Silvanus, she thought suddenly, this must be what had happened to Kalil…sweet Chauntea, anything but that, anything but that mindless rage and poisonous terror that turned a druid into an instrument of corruption. The Circle too must have touched this horror, and been taken by it, and now, she, the last of the Circle, would suffer the same fate. Oh Gods, Phaedra…and I never told her, I never told her…Phaedra, my darling…she summoned Phaedra's face in her mind with what she was sure was her last conscious thought, and thought she heard a quiet echo of Phaedra's voice in her mind, echoing in the vaults of darkness, calling her name, screaming it…

"Elanee!" Suddenly she heard it truly, and it buzzed and rang like a bell above Neverwinter in her head, shaking her into awareness. Bursting from the void as if through the surface of an endless lake of dark water, she pulled herself desperately back into her own body. She raced the shadow that seemed for a moment to stretch behind her, grasping at her fleeing spirit with its howling hunger. But then it was gone. And she was back, back in the grove, with her hands in the rich earth, Phaedra's arms around her, the scent of life and Phaedra's hair blooming in the air. She gasped, drawing in great halting breaths of blessed air, trembling, and then she opened her eyes and the gentle evening light flooded her, driving away the last trace of that terrible madness that had almost seized her. "Gods, Elanee…" Phaedra pulled back quickly, disentangling her arms from Elanee's, as if ashamed of their moment's contact. Elanee turned, lifting herself gently from the ground with the iron control of years of unbroken discipline, even though some part of her was still in a mindless panic from what she'd experienced. Phaedra looked to her for guidance. She couldn't show any such weakness, otherwise Phaedra would look elsewhere. "What was that?" Phaedra was somewhat dishevelled, as if she'd run through the forest after Elanee. Had she then sensed…the terrible darkness too? "I came after you to…" She stopped abruptly, and slowly began to run her fingers almost automatically through her hair and down her dress until they were returned to their usual pristiness. Her fastidiousness somehow presented a barrier between her and Elanee, it reminded her of Sand. "But when I touched you, I felt…"

"A shadow…" Elanee breathed hoarsely, trying to somehow express what she had felt, what even Phaedra struggled to articulate, and she had felt only the echo of it through her own magic. "A hunger, some…terrible evil"

"Exactly" Phaedra shuddered. "How Elanee, where did it come from?"

"From the Mere" Elanee swallowed. "I was trying to scout the path, and…it seized me…"

"Dear Lathander" Phaedra blinked, and Elanee could almost see her thoughts racing ahead, along their road onward, to West Harbour. Still she longed for her home, much more even than she realised. Elanee felt an answering ache, knowing that as long as Phaedra was away from West Harbour she would never quite feel whole. Nothing Elanee could do would ever change that. "Is it the same evil you sensed in the Mere before we left? The same that took your druid friend, Kalil, and ruined the Maiden's Glade?"

"Yes" Elanee struggled, running a hand over her neck. "But it's grown stronger and it's spreading, more than I could ever have imagined" Phaedra's thoughts flashed across her face again. She was wondering how she could have so completely forgotten the vague unease she had left behind in the Mere, the hints, the creeping doubts of something dark and malevolent, and Elanee's own warnings when they'd first crossed path. Elanee felt the same way, only her guilt was far beyond Phaedra's. She too had known the warnings, she too had felt the hints, and yet she had left the Mere nonetheless, and become so embroiled in Phaedra's troubles that she had all but forgotten what she'd left behind. Originally she'd hoped that perhaps by aiding Phaedra she might find a way to unmask the vague and disturbing evil that had so unsettled her and the Circle before she had left them. Before she had left them to die. But then things had grown up around her so fast, and Phaedra, who should never have hurt anyone, never been hurt by anyone, had been beset by danger after danger. At her side Elanee had felt every blade that had struck the young half-elf strike her own heart also. And the Mere had retreated ever faster in her mind: her charge, her vows, her memories, everything had been lost in the agony of her love for Phaedra. Oh Gods, she thought back over the path she had taken, how could she have let this happen?

"Elanee, what is it?" Phaedra asked solemnly "This shadow, this evil, where does it come from?"

"I don't know" Elanee sighed "Not even the Circle knew" Or they were no closer to an answer when you left them, her guilty conscience whispered. Perhaps if she'd been there…no, the Circle had ruled her life for far too long. But if there had been a chance maybe she could have defended the Mere somehow… "But it is not of nature"

"I just don't understand" Phaedra sank to the floor, looking more than exhausted. "All these…things keep happening. The moment I think I have a handle on everything, I'm reminded that there's far more to this than I ever imagined, and somehow, because of who I am, what's happened to me, all of it seems to fall on my shoulders." She breathed deeply, as Elanee watched in silent wonder and shock that Phaedra was opening up to her again, and at the sudden bitterness in the girl's voice. "I thought coming to West Harbour might give me a respite, but…" She gave a bitter laugh "It seems I forgot your devouring shadow Elanee"

"Phaedra, I'm afraid" Elanee leant down to draw the girl's gaze back to her, somehow trying to communicate her urgency without making Phaedra cage up as she had so often in the past days. "This evil, I don't know how to fight it, or how to stop it" She said "The only reason I managed to escape it this time was because of the distance from the Mere. But if we're there…" She shuddered "We'll be surrounded by it, it will be in the air we breathe, in the water…I can feel it, I feel it now." She stopped suddenly, and caught Phaedra's gaze, knowing that the words had run away from her and betrayed her terror. "If we enter the Mere, it will try to take us again, like it took Kalil, and my Circle. It won't be safe…"

"You're afraid to go to the Mere now?" Phaedra raised her head, her golden hair shining as it ran over her cheeks, falling to her shoulders. The smallest gesture, and yet unbearably beautiful.

"I don't know" Elanee struggled, suddenly feeling like she was the younger of the pair, and Phaedra looked at her with distant pity but even more distant resolve. She knew she had an obligation to return to the Mere. Had that not been just now what she had meditated on, and agonised over? But the fear of what she had felt in the terrifying moments that had preceded it was hard to overcome, she felt it creeping up on her more and more as she waited in Phaedra's gaze. It begged her, with the brute undeniable force of an animal instinct, to put as much distance between her and the Mere as she could. Death she could bear, the teachings of the Circle had trained her to that at least, but to sink into madness, to destroy the things she was most sworn to protect, that she could not endure. And Phaedra…to put Phaedra in such danger, it would be madness enough to do that.

"Elanee, if you really believe that this evil threatens you, you don't have to come to the Mere at all" Phaedra said slowly "Khelgar is still in the city, and Duncan…or if you prefer you could even stay in the wilderness. I don't want to put you in danger" Elanee looked down at her, and knew that Phaedra had not heard, or had not wanted to hear, the warning to her in Elanee's words. For Silvanus' sake, she had not been speaking solely of herself, and for Phaedra to interpret her words as such painted her as the basest coward. Leave Phaedra…let her go on into that shadow in the Mere alone? She would rather face it alone a hundred times over.

"Phaedra, I won't leave without you" Elanee shook her head.

"I can't leave" Phaedra answered "Not now, not after everything you've told me"

"But Phaedra…" Elanee gasped, had she truly believed she could persuade Phaedra away from West Harbour? She of all people knew how futile that was. But her fear was so virulent, and her protectiveness for Phaedra went beyond all reason.

"No, Elanee" Phaedra shook her head "You've just given me another reason I have to go home. Everyone needs to be warned, they need to be told…something, anything"

"Then…" Elanee nodded numbly "I will have to come with you" Silvanus protect her, may he protect them all.

"Why?" Phaedra leaned closer, her green eyes glinting intently.

"Excuse me?" Elanee was shocked back into sensibility.

"Why do you have to come with me?" Phaedra cocked her head. Elanee knew immediately that the time had come. She'd known Phaedra's sullen silence wouldn't last, that one day the girl would confront her about what had happened in the hills above Neverwinter. But, Silvanus, why now? "Let's be honest, Elanee, for the first time. The first time I met you, you admitted that you were watching me, spying on me...so why are you still doing it?" Silently Elanee rallied her thoughts, trying to think back to that moment, to the thoughts which had drawn her from her bed-roll to the sound of Bishop's rough, teasing voice, the low rumble of his coarse version of flirtation. Phaedra's answers, though sincere enough in themselves, had a troubling undertone to them, a light, but resonant answering timbre that made Elanee aware that despite her protests some part of her responded to him. And Bishop, experienced with women as he clearly was, no doubt knew it too, though Phaedra herself was oblivious. No one could blame Elanee for some curiosity over Bishop and Phaedra's relationship, after the volatile series of events that had led up to this point. At the time it had seemed such a small thing to try and catch yet another side of the story, perhaps something that would help work out just a little more what exactly Bishop was up to, and what Phaedra saw in him. For Phaedra's own good, perhaps she'd thought as she had on many other occasions. The habit was hard to break. And hear another side she had…for certain.

"Of course not" Elanee said quickly. "I only want to help you"

"Is that it?" Phaedra sighed "And I suppose you thought spying on me was helping too? Why do I sometimes feel like you're hiding something from me, Elanee?" That was dangerous, far too dangerous. Better to pull things back, even if it invited a confrontation.

"It's Bishop…" Elanee ventured cautiously.

"Oh, of course it is" Suddenly Phaedra turned on her, and the flash in her eyes was like fire. "What is it about him that drives you all to such extremes? Remember, you told me you wouldn't interfere!"

"I warned you not to get too deeply involved with him" Elanee's voice rose, and she couldn't tell whether it was from an attempt at greater insistence or if she was getting angry herself. "Instead you're talking about running away with him. Don't you see how foolish that is?"

"And what right do you have to say that Elanee?" Phaedra snapped "What right did you have to listen in on me and him in the first place? My relationship with Bishop is my concern, my problem, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you or Casavir or anyone else! Stop treating me like a child Elanee!"

"You're behaving like one!" Elanee cried "You have a responsibility, Phaedra…"

"What if I don't want it?" Phaedra snarled, as though suddenly letting loose a swell of emotion. "I never asked for it! Any of it" She stepped back suddenly, as if shocked at her own words, as Elanee looked at her with sudden guilt. After all her advice to Casavir, she'd done just what she'd asked the paladin not to do. She'd pushed Phaedra, imposed on her, rather than trusting her, the trust she deserved wholly from each and every one of them. How could she have been so cruel? Phaedra had just saved her life, and look at how she had repaid her. "I don't mean that" Phaedra added quietly, but Elanee knew as well as she did that those words were some kind of line that they had now crossed and that they could never take back. "I'm just…frustrated" Phaedra looked away, her tone achingly quiet. "I trusted you, Elanee…I still trust you, but I just thought you were different, that maybe you understood a little better" She stood suddenly, unsteady on her feet and before Elanee could even begin to apologise, make sense of her thoughts enough to speak, she was walking away. "You should probably stop meditating." She said over her shoulder as she glided away, to Elanee who stood there too shocked and saddened to move. "We're eating now"

Ooooo000000ooooo

As they got closer to West Harbour Phaedra began to feel more and more restless. It was as though the familiar feeling that had preyed upon her in her latter days in the village touched her once again, the old, odd sensation that found her dreaming and straying from the path as she walked, or in their rests suddenly itching to get up and walk again, not sure of a destination or an exact reason why. Even when her muscles ached after the hard treks up into the foothills of the Spine of the World, still she couldn't stay still and safe behind the fireside. Sand was part of the problem, or his exercises were. Necessary though she understood them to be, they were tiring and irksome. Her power rebelled constantly, and her will was straining enough without the added pressure Sand insisted putting upon it. And she was having trouble sleeping again, plagued by vivid dreams of a gelid darkness and a voice that she forgot when she awoke. They were just dreams, though, and they meant nothing. She knew in fact it was mostly Elanee. The elf was always just across the fire, just trailing in her footsteps, always close…just as she had been from the beginning. But instead of comforting as it used to do, the closeness suffocated. She felt Elanee was always on the verge of saying something, but the thought of what she might say sent prickles of irritation down Phaedra's spine. She couldn't quite understand her own feelings and the boil of resistance within her. But she knew she'd earned the right to be treated as more than a wayward child and to be her own person, after every burden she'd carried so far. But some unwelcome whisper wondered if she would have reacted quite so defensively if Bishop had not been involved. That didn't matter, she stubbornly reminded herself, she wasn't the one sneaking around and spying. Elanee was the one in the wrong. And what she had overheard…why did she have to be there for that of all things? Did she truly trust Phaedra with Bishop so little? Did she and Casavir really believe Bishop was some dark force on her soul, tempting and drawing her away from her duty to…to what, anyway? It sounded more and more ridiculous the more she thought about it. Bishop was just a man. That they refused to see that he must just be a man, with, yes danger about him, but also a past and a story and a reason for everything he did, wore on her more and more as she tried to decipher that past and story and reason as they never even bothered. And frankly it was insulting to her to believe that she could be so easily led astray. She'd said no, anyway. It didn't really matter that she had wanted to, or that she'd admitted that to him in a moment of pique. That didn't give him a 'hold over her' or whatever Elanee had said.

They were on the road near Fort Locke by now, but they would pass the fortress by, she had no desire to see Commander Tarn or any of his garrison ever again. Perhaps it was the nearness of the fort, but she found her gaze straying to Neeshka as they walked through the barren hills. The tiefling trudged forward just in front of her, but even up the steep incline she kept something of her own frenetic pace. Phaedra thought of Khelgar's words, and of how much closer she and Neeshka had been once and how much she had taken Neeshka for granted since then. Things had been so different, and so much simpler back then. Now she didn't know what to say to Neeshka, knowing that being a warlock meant something of her power would always speak to Neeshka's blood, and remembering the awful things Torio had said in the trial about her. But wasn't this trip meant to be about healing, and a second chance? If she never made the first move, everything would just stay the same. Carefully, reluctantly and almost holding her breath, she sidled up to walk beside Neeshka.

"Remember last time we were here?" She said quickly, with a smile that she hoped disguised her nervousness. Neeshka turned and gave her a long, hard look before she replied.

"Of course" She said, with bristling defensiveness. "Don't you?"

"It seems like so long ago, doesn't it?" Phaedra answered awkwardly, side-stepping the accusatory tone in Neeshka's voice. If possible, she'd avoid any kind of conflict. Things had already gone bad enough with Elanee, but maybe she could mend her friendship with Neeshka.

"A lot of things were different back then" Neeshka shrugged off the question, but her evasive response made Phaedra only more curious about what Neeshka felt about how things had changed since the early days. She remembered the tiefling's fierce individuality back then: how she and Khelgar had struck sparks off one another, and how Phaedra had always heard some clever quip from the tiefling at her shoulder after their every encounter with the undead, lizardlings, or the overbearing Greycloaks. But now, it seemed such jokey comments were rare. Neeshka was right, and to Phaedra it seemed she was the most different since then of all

"Hey, do you think Commander Tarn is still in the fort?" Phaedra pressed closer. Walking through them again she couldn't help thinking about her adventures in these hills the last time she had come through. She thought of the people she'd met: stoic harsh Tarn, crazed Lieutenant Vallis, that ghastly shadow priest, the first unexpected sign of the conspiracy which had grown around her…and of course her first meeting with Cormick, so different and so much more alive back then. The battles, which had seemed so terrible back then but were nothing to the things she had seen since, seemed to be traced in the stone at her feet. Her path leaving West Harbour was drawn into every line of the rocks, and swimming in the surface of her thoughts where no thought of that time had not been for a while. And Neeshka was the only one she could talk to about it all.

"The stroppy prig?" Neeshka glanced at Phaedra curiously, she hadn't been expecting the question or Phaedra talking to her at all. "Don't see him ever letting the fort out of his fist, learned his lesson from Vallis, I imagine"

"Gods…" Her first kill of a man had been…in the battle with Vallis, in the dust of these hills just below Fort Locke. There'd been so many since then. She remembered how she'd promised to keep the memory of those who died at her hand in her mind, but the anonymous crowd swamped her now. Along the way she'd lost the memory of his face, that Greycloak who had died by her arrow. She couldn't even remember him anymore. So much for promises, for dreams, for the way things were supposed to be. "Remember Vallis?"

"I'm not about to forget any time soon" Neeshka shuddered. "He was as crazy as a sack full of ferrets."

"And that fight…?" Phaedra looked out into the distance. If the past seemed so close here, what would it be like in the Mere? Would she be fighting with ghosts as well as with Elanee's shadow? Would it only remind her how much she had changed, how much everything had changed since she'd walked this way last?

"You saved my life" Neeshka said quietly, and Phaedra instantly looked back at her. Of course…she'd killed that soldier to save Neeshka. The tiefling was looking back at her intently, for the first time there was something deeper in her eyes than the wall of defensiveness that had stood there for so long, something that glinted with vulnerability and a strange longing. Phaedra looked back silently, there was nothing really she could say, although a strange impulse rose within her to take Neeshka's hands, or pull her close, as though the tiefling were the younger one and hurting. But she knew Neeshka wouldn't think it a favour if she tried to tug things any closer to the surface, especially with the rest of the party so close by. So she stayed silent, and kept walking on, and in a moment it was gone, and Neeshka looked away quickly, as if ashamed of what she'd let Phaedra see. But she'd seen something, and she wouldn't forget it. Neeshka needed her. And it was time she started acting like she knew that.

Oooo000000ooooo

Something about the Mere was changed. Phaedra hadn't expected that. Even after what had happened to Elanee, she hadn't convinced herself not to expect to simply walk back onto the Mere's wild paths and find things encased in the same familiarity in which she had left them. Well, things did…look the same on the surface, she supposed. The same stagnant, glistening pools of dark water shining under the faded sunlight, a pall of stonewashed grey. The same thick, slimy film of green life, coiling from the thick black mud underfoot, and the thin, drooping trees draped over the waters, the dank ferns and thick logs all but draped in green moss. The mud underfoot was the same, thick and black, clinging to Phaedra's boots as she trudged onwards. But the path towards West Harbour had grown far wilder. The muck was thicker than she had ever seen it, a clinging, squelching welter and already the Mere's voracious life had begun to grasp at the path, a coiling mass of weeds and glossy ferns slowly drawing the road back into the boundless murk beyond it. Halueth and Mistletoe had constant trouble with their cart, which was always getting stuck, but they trudged onwards. Maybe Bishop could have told her something different, but she couldn't see any sign of anyone going down this path for some time. That was worrying, but it wasn't what unsettled Phaedra most. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. But a big part of it was the complete, utter silence. You might expect the Mere to be silent, but it definitely wasn't, not normally. Quite the opposite. There was always some sound of life: whether it was the whistles and whoops of the birds wheeling overhead, or the incessant whine of insects at all hours hovering over the stagnant water, or the splashes of hidden life under that water, or the rustle of the unseen creatures in the undergrowth as they played out all their drama of hunter and hunted entirely out of sight. But now, there was none of that. There wasn't even a whisper of wind. Everything was completely still. And it wasn't a comforting silence, it was a silence that pressed in on you, that haunted and hunted.

More than that, though, there was a sense of some brooding thing out there in the mists, somewhere out there upon the cloud-streaked horizon. You couldn't call it a presence, nothing as concrete as that, but...it weighed upon her. The feeling of it was heavy, and constant. There was not a moment when you could stop, relax, the moment you did it was there upon you again, pressing down on your mind. And she wasn't the only who felt it. Elanee was white with exhaustion, tension written in her every jerky step. And it wasn't the tread that was draining her. Phaedra had to admit she was worried about Elanee, but this thing she felt didn't have the kind of power that had taken Kalil and had attacked Elanee in the forest, not yet. It was weaker, distant. But its malice was still potent enough to weigh upon them both. Bishop, who of course remembered the Mere the way it was too, was also on edge, though less visibly. His hand was tight around his dagger, and he was never still, always sniffing the air or scanning the horizon. The animals were perhaps the most affected. Karnwyr mirrored Bishop's restlessness, padding edgily around, his teeth bared as if in challenge to some invisible enemy but Karnwyr wasn't about to run. Just like his master, he dared the world to do its worst. Mistletoe grew more and more on edge, padding the earth, her nostrils flared, the whites of her eyes showed as she tossed her head constantly. Only having Elanee walking nearby would calm her. Halueth reacted with the same stoicism with which Casavir confronted the unsettling ambience, simply trudging onward, but he was tense and Mistletoe's growing panic was tiring him. Perhaps this same feeling was what had driven the rest of the animals away, though she couldn't quite understand how that could be. And the rest of the party was silent, everyone felt it, but no one quite could speak of it. This wasn't how Phaedra had expected to return to the Mere. Nothing seemed the way it was, nothing had that comforting familiarity it should have had, instead hostility seemed to seep from the very air. The Mere had always been dangerous, she'd known that, but…never like this.

"That your village over the ridge?" Neeshka's voice, when it came at last, was startlingly loud against the complete utter silence of the Mere. "You can see the smoke"

"Smoke?" Phaedra almost jumped, alarmed suddenly. She hadn't quite realised how on edge she was.

"Relax, princess, it's just hearth fires" Bishop padded to her side, and as he lifted his arm to point to the horizon he, quite deliberately she was sure, brushed right past her quite intimately. "You'd think after Ember that you'd know what a burnt out village looked like" Following the direction of his arm, she saw them, a couple of faint, wavering trails of grey smoke drawn against the gloomy horizon. They were quite still; rising straight up to the thick, pressing grey cloud…there was still no wind.

"Yes, it is West Harbour" She said quietly. Now that it came down to it, she felt an inexplicable reluctance to make the last few steps. She…didn't want to see West Harbour. But how could that be? She'd come all this way, she'd wanted this so much. What was the matter with her?

"Are you alright, Phaedra?" Shandra frowned, looking closely at her, and Phaedra flushed, embarrassed that her feelings had been so obvious.

"No of course not" She forced a smile. "Let's just get there" That didn't sound at all like someone who was overjoyed to reach their beloved home again after so long an absence from it, but it was all she could manage.

West Harbour's site and the flatness of the Mere were such that a traveller approaching from the north wouldn't quite see anything of the village until they'd almost reached it. But as they got closer and closer, Phaedra found herself dreading the moment when the Mere parted and the village was there before her. What would she see? And what would she feel when she did?

And then suddenly it was there, and in her pensive thoughtfulness it almost crept up on her so that the village appeared before them in a completely unguarded moment and everything she felt was on the surface…and she felt…nothing. The shallow palisade had been repaired since the attack, and now surrounded the village fully again, if anything it was higher and stronger than she remembered. Otherwise, some progress had been made on repairing the village but it was far from finished. The Harbourmen had always prided themselves on their ability to rebuild, to draw from the ashes of every tragedy a new start, new families, new buildings. And it had been over two months since the attack. So why was the Starling barn still a burnt-out, black skeleton? The Mossfield homestead had been half-rebuilt but still had no roof, Tarmas' house over by the river was a patched-up and ramshackle shell of its former self, and as far as she could tell Brother Merring had made no progress on his little shrine by the river since she'd left, although only days before the attack he'd been joyously boasting that he'd have it finished in the week. And yet the smoke from the hearths still rose to the clouds, and closer now she saw movement amidst the decrepit buildings, so the Harbourmen were still here. What could have happened?

"That's your home?" Shandra murmured, sounding almost as surprised as Phaedra was. Her confusion was clear on her face, as though nothing of this was what she had expected, but she had never seen West Harbour before, so how could she even begin to understand what was so wrong with this picture? Phaedra nodded mutely, wondering where the burst of joy that she was supposed to feel was. She'd played her homecoming over in her head many times on this journey, and…every time she felt a rush of feeling and welcome, as all the worries and stress fell from her shoulders. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing West Harbour so dilapidated still, when she'd expected things almost to be back to normal, but she couldn't help the suspicion that it was something deeper, a change within herself, as if West Harbour no longer welcomed her.

They approached by the front way, the same way Phaedra had left by, and she remembered her heart-wrenching farewell at the very gate they walked towards: Tarmas, Brother Merring, Retta, Bevil and…Daeghun, they'd all been there. Would they all be the same as they were in her happy memories, or would they still be shattered and ruined shells like the village itself? She had so much she wanted to say to them all…and to Daeghun most of all. But it would not be a pleasant reunion with her foster-father. He'd hidden too much from her, now she knew just how much, and it was too much to hope for that he would be able to explain all that deception away. But would he even try? She'd kept her simmering anger at bay for some time, but Daeghun…Daeghun might unleash it. If he still, after all this, showed her no feeling, she knew it would be hard to reign in her rage.

"Stop right there!" She was shaken from her thoughts by the sudden shout of a familiar voice. Blinking, she looked around her as if lost, struck again by the desolation before her. And then there was a face from a past that seemed so far away that it could be a dream, Wyl Mossfield was running toward her, accompanied by Pitney Lannon, both wearing militia armour. They'd been guarding the gate, how curious. West Harbour had never needed guards before. The effect was almost comical, the huge, hulking bully Wyl, beside the tall, slender Pitney, and then they both drew their swords and it wasn't funny anymore. "What do you think you're doing here?" Wyl snarled as he reached them, waving his sword around jerkily. Phaedra stared at him…Wyl had never been the most pleasant person, but right now he looked like a starved and cornered animal. With his bloodshot eyes, unshaven features, and the animal scowl on his features, he seemed half-mad. And Pitney, an honourable, decent young man as far as she remembered, scarcely looked any better. The dark suspicion in his eyes had no place on a face as blandly pleasant as Pitney's. But he stayed silent, following Wyl's lead. "This is Harbourman land, we don't want none of your kind here" Wyl sneered.

"Point that sword somewhere else, unless you want to lose a hand, boy" Bishop said coolly. Karnwyr growled at his feet.

"Adventuring scum" Wyl snapped, drawing his sword across his body as if in preparation to fight. This was impossible, surely Wyl wasn't this stupid? What had happened to him? "You're here to loot us aren't you? Well you won't find us an easy target, not anymore" His gaze travelled over the party, seeming somehow to miss Phaedra entirely, although he should have recognised her right away, and found Neeshka. "A demon!" He cried, his eyes flashing.

"How did I know this would happen?" Neeshka murmured.

"Wyl" Phaedra stepped forward quickly, before things got any worse. Finally Wyl looked at her, and a cloud seemed to pass over his eyes. Almost instinctively he pointed his sword at her. She shrank back, how could he not know her? What in Lathander's name was wrong with him? And Pitney, standing silent and threatening like a shadow of Wyl, was no help either. His gaze on her was completely blank.

"Don't come any closer!" He hissed, waving the blade around with none of the skill or discipline that Georg had always insisted on in the militia. "Or I'll take your head"

"Oh, now I really want to kill you" Bishop muttered.

"Wyl, Pitney, it's me" Phaedra raised her hands unthreateningly and stepped closer, trying to calm them. "Phaedra, Phaedra Blake. Don't you recognise me?" Suddenly Wyl looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time, and his gaze cleared a little…shock and a fear she couldn't understand flashing across his heavy-set features.

"Gods…Phaedra" He breathed. "Phaedra…how…? Are you…dead? Are you a ghost?"

"It's me, Wyl" She said quietly. Both Pitney and Wyl stared at her, how they stared, as though they never expected to see her in the land of the living again.

"Now, what in the Hells is going on here?" She felt a sudden rush of thankfulness as Georg's commanding voice rang across the silent Mere. Georg would know what was going on, he'd be able to tell her everything. He was always in control. And sure enough, the Georg racing toward them with an easy stride was exactly as she remembered him. Still carefully shaved and bronzed by the sun, with his armour tended to, and his sword safely sheathed at his belt. When he reached them, he was barely out of breath, and the surprise in his face told Phaedra that he, at least, knew her right away. "By Chauntea, Phaedra Blake" He gasped. "I always knew you'd come back here one day"

"Well met Georg" Phaedra said softly. Here at least was a welcoming like she expected.

"If I'd known it was today, I'd never have put Mossfield and Lannon on the gate, though" George sighed "Sorry for the bother." He turned to his trainees, but his admonition had none of the furious fervour with which he usually corrected the militia. Instead there was a note of pity in it. "Stand down, lads, don't you know one of our own?"

"It was only…because she had a demon with her…and we all thought she was dead" Wyl muttered.

"Yes, well, I think you'd better get back to guarding the gate, then Wyl, there's a good lad" Georg ordered, and Wyl and Pitney quickly left without another word, returning to their stations on either side of the gate. "Poor souls, never quite the same since the attack…" Georg murmured, watching their retreating backs. "If anything, they've got worse as time's gone on. I put them on the gate to give them something to do so they aren't a danger to themselves or anyone else. We never get anyone coming through here anymore, so I thought they'd do no damage."

"Not such a smart move to give them swords, then" Sand said dryly.

"Those blades are blunt, and neither of them have threatened anyone before" Georg's gaze travelled over the party, quickly appraising each of them with that keen-eyed zeal with which he'd evaluated so many of West Harbour's young men for the militia. It was hard to say what he thought exactly of them. "But no one here feels safe without a sword anymore, least of all those two. They bawl like babes without them" Phaedra opened her mouth to ask more, but Georg quickly retreated. "You'd better come on in" He said hurriedly. "Things aren't like they used to be, I'm afraid, but hopefully we can give you and your friends enough Harbourman hospitality to put that incident behind you" Georg was right, things definitely weren't like they used to be. What was happening to West Harbour?

"Somehow I don't think you're here to stay" Georg said softly to Phaedra as they walked through the gates of West Harbour. "Not with this crowd of followers you have after you. They don't really look like they'd belong here, though Gods know we could use all the help we could get." He raised a hand before Phaedra could even start to think up a reply. She'd thought she would decide when she arrived, but Georg was right, why had she brought the others with her if that were the case? She doubted they'd take the news well, if she had said she was staying. But with the village in such a state, and from Georg's tone, she suddenly wished things were simpler, and she really was returning for good and for certain. "You don't have to explain it to me, though, I understand." Georg continued "From what I know of things in the world outside, I doubt things were as simple out there as you thought when you left"

"You could say that" Phaedra answered. Daeghun's original charge had been to simply take the shard to Duncan, but the time when she had ever believed that would be a simple charge was so far back that she could scarcely imagine it? "I need to talk to my father, and I wanted to see how the village was doing" She couldn't keep the edge of distress from her voice. It was clear life hadn't returned to normal in West Harbour. Thankfully Daeghun's house up on the other side of the river was wholly intact, but then again the attack had barely touched it. Normally winter was a time when repairs and buildings were gotten on with, but it didn't look like anyone had had any time to do anything but rudimentary repairs on the buildings which had damaged during the attack. She saw mothers and children she knew working exhaustedly with the cattle and other livestock, pigs and chickens, but all of the animals looked just as restless as their own. A few raised their head and looked at Phaedra with shock as she passed, and their curious whispers passed all around her like the rustling of sand. But not a single one came up to greet them, and she couldn't see Retta or anyone else she'd known as well as her. And apart from Wyl, Pitney, and Georg, none of the men were around as far as she could tell. She could see the piles of grain from the Harvest in the open barns, even stacked in the open, half-destroyed Starling farm, though it was covered for the rain there. But she had a small, sneaking suspicion that preyed on her as she walked…that maybe there wasn't quite enough for the rest of the winter.

"I won't deny it, Phaedra" Georg coughed apologetically. "Things aren't as good as I'd hoped they'd be by now. We've tried to get back on track, but stuff just keeps on going wrong and there's so much else to think about, it's hard to find time to even get started on deciding where to begin." He sighed, looked out into the Mere a moment. "It's enough to make a man want to give up entirely" He muttered, more to himself than to her, and Phaedra stared at him, sure she had misheard. Georg had never been a man to even think about giving up on anything. Especially when the village was at stake.

"Looks like I was wrong" Bishop skirted his way to the front, taking the place on the other side of Phaedra from Georg, as if he had some right to be there. Phaedra glanced at him, wondering what he meant, and he met her with an insolent smile. "Here you had me thinking Harbourmen were tough, princess."

"Who's this?" Georg glanced, frowning, at Bishop.

"She keeps me around for my shining wit and good looks" Bishop shrugged, saying it with an utterly straight face.

"Oh does she now?" Georg grinned, seeming to forget about what Bishop had just said about the village, or to dismiss it as another joke. Of course the joke was right down his alley. "Looks like you picked up an admirer, eh Phaedra?" There you go, he'd always fancied himself something of a rogue. She should have known he'd find Bishop amusing, where no one else did. "Well met there, boy, you sweep her off her seat in some seedy tavern?"

"Oh yeah" Bishop, of course, used the opportunity like no else could. "She wasn't even conscious when we were married" Phaedra sighed inwardly, that was a new one, but she knew it was better to just let it go. Both Bishop and Georg would just find it even more funny, and themselves even more clever if she reacted.

"Mind your tongue, Bishop" Casavir snapped coldly. Phaedra glanced at him, she thought he'd given up on trying to reign in Bishop, but clearly enough was enough. She sympathised, and she knew it was only for her he felt like this. But Georg was enjoying it, and really in the end it did her no harm. So what if they had fun at her expense? Everyone here knew it wasn't at all true.

"As long as she's here to do it for me?" Bishop grinned, oh, he went even cruder. That was nice to hear. "Come now"

"Well said, well said" Georg chuckled, and despite the off-colour exchange Phaedra felt glad to see him back to his old self. Even if it was mocking her like he always used to do. "Say, you've got quite the group, where did you pick them all up?"

"That's a long story" Phaedra smiled.

"And what have you got there back in that cart?" Georg glanced back at the huge coffin, and Phaedra's smile faded instantly.

"Another long story" She said softly. "And another reason I've come back now."

"Well, you can tell it all tonight" Georg retreated, sensitive to her need not to speak, not yet. Retta had to hear first, and Bevil… "I'm sure we'll get everyone together to hear it once the hunters get back and work with the livestock is over. Sure will be nice to see the whole village gathered together again"

"Hunters?" Elanee pushed forward abruptly. "You've had people going into the Mere for food?" Phaedra blinked, normally only Daeghun did that. Everyone else was too cautious of the Mere, and they understood that it was rare to find anything unless you had Daeghun's skill.

"Well we don't like it, but we've had no choice" Georg sighed "Not that they've found much…" He paused "But you didn't come here to hear about all our little worries, not after everything you must have seen out in the world. First let's get you somewhere to stable the horses, maybe the Starling barn…and make some kind of room for all of you." He continued "I'm sure we can find it somewhere, since you've all come this far. Even if we can only offer a barn"

"We will gladly accept anything you can offer" Casavir seemed to want to make up for Bishop's comments. "We all have reason to be grateful to this village, it is difficult to know one of West Harbour and not to feel some degree of admiration"

"Is it now?" Georg looked at him curiously for a second, then back at Phaedra, and she was sure some crazy idea was taking root in his head. "Anyway, Phaedra, I assume you're going to be staying with your father up on the hill." Phaedra paused, silenced, feeling the weight of what she might say rise like a lump in her throat.

"Yes, I think I will" She said at last, better she spoke to Daeghun in private, she supposed. And she wanted to be in her room again. Maybe there she'd sleep better, and these strange dreams from the last nights would stop plaguing her. And though Georg's welcome had been wonderful, still there was something missing from this, from all of this, something she should have been feeling but wasn't. And something more, too, that weight in the air from out in the Mere still pressed on the back of her head, fainter here, but still leeching the air of any warmth. Maybe in her room she could escape it. Maybe there she'd feel at home for the first time.


	61. Chapter 61

_Hello all, apologies that this chapter seems somewhat meandering and not really of that much relevance to the actual story in some sense. I kind of knew the whole of the West Harbour return saga would be like that, but I felt I had to do it. It was so important for Phaedra's character, and there are important bits for the story hidden in there. Most especially stuff about Esmerelle. I do know who Esmerelle was, and her story will be completely revealed alongside Phaedra's own. If anyone would like to take a guess, you're welcome to it, but I won't confirm anything in public. _

_Obviously there's a lot of thinking too, as Phaedra comes to terms with who she thought she was. I may come back and edit chapters like this one later when I decide what's important and what isn't, but for now it seems to be complete as is. If anyone has any suggestions, once again I'm willing to hear anything._

_And once again thank you to Gaspode for tireless efforts. Sorry if I've been a bit lax in replying! :D_

* * *

"This is…nice" Shandra said quietly, glancing curiously around Phaedra's old room. It was exactly as she'd left it, exactly as it had been that last restless night before she'd departed the village, down to the slightly crumpled blankets on the bed. She doubted that Daeghun had even been inside. Georg had said that her father was out scouting in the Mere right now, as he had been so many other times when she'd needed him. Nodding silently at Shandra's assertion, she strayed over to the desk, glanced down at the open book she'd left there that last night…open to the ancient romantic poem 'Wind on the Fireside', one of her old favourites. The beautiful words had always set her heart fluttering when she was younger, now they merely discomforted her. Certainly she had done her fair share of walking in the "wind's whistling claws" and delved as many "deep, dark mines" as the unknown author of the poem could have wanted, but she'd never felt anyone's eye watching over her, or seen their star in the sky, or heard any words of love but those that she had bitterly regretted. She remembered Cormick's words, back that time in the Watch Headquarters, about how deeply Daeghun had marked her, and how she could never feel love now because of it. Was that true? Could she ever imagine speaking such words to anyone? Certainly not Cormick. Idly her thoughts strayed to Casavir, and she felt a light flush touch her cheeks. Certainly he was closest to the man she had imagined when she was younger and poring over the poem…but, no that thought was as foolish as it had ever been. They both knew better. Or at least he did. She was still sometimes plagued by the echoes of his magnetism. The thought of Bishop was so ridiculous she wasn't even sure why it occurred to her, perhaps because he was the only man she could easily imagine walking the snow-streaked wasteland the poem evoked. That image…him alone in the white wilderness, with Karnwyr perhaps by his side, had a strange intensity in her mind, something she blamed entirely on the beauty of the poem. But she quickly shut the book before he could bother her any more.

"Something bothering you?" Neeshka muttered, and Phaedra quickly looked up, flushing even deeper that the tiefling must have been watching her as those stupid thoughts went through her mind. Georg had quickly got himself to organising things for the party, suggesting that Phaedra have a few of her friends to stay in her own home…Neeshka and Shandra were the obvious choices, if only to stop the scandal that would no doubt, despite the villager's strange indifference to her so far, blow up if she invited any of the men to her home. No matter that they'd slept in the same groves, caves and copses for months now. She knew West Harbour all too well for that. Georg had thus seen Sand, Bishop and Casavir to the Starling barn with the horses. The ghost of a smile touched Phaedra's lips at the thought of the three of them together tonight with nothing to distract them from each other. Oh, to be a fly on the wall then. But her smile faded as she thought of Elanee, who had politely refused Georg's offers to find somewhere else for her to stay. The thought of Elanee being here in such a confining place as her own room was unwelcome after their disagreements, but…tonight Elanee would be alone, and Phaedra had a hunch she would use the time to go out into the Mere herself. It was dangerous, but Phaedra knew she couldn't stop her.

"No" Phaedra answered Neeshka at last. "It's just strange…to be back here, different to what I thought it would be"

"I'll say" Shandra said quickly. "Somehow I never got it into my head that you came from somewhere…well…like this" They had a few moments just to unload all their baggage here, until, Georg had promised, he'd get some of her old friends together to see her. Tarmas, Brother Merring…and Retta, of course…the cart and its terrible cargo were still downstairs. Would Bevil come too? "I mean…things must have been tough for you, growing up here" Shandra went on, and there was genuine pity in her voice. "I'm sorry…I used to think you couldn't understand what it was to be like me, a farmer out in the middle of nowhere and then having all this happening to you. But now I know…you do, of course you do" Phaedra glanced sadly at Shandra. Was she so different to everyone else in the village? Was it so impossible to believe that someone like her belonged here?

"So, you have returned" And then she heard it…and wondered that she could ever have forgotten what it felt like to hear that voice at her back. Hear the coolness of it, the dry emotionless intonation, never softened, never graced by feeling…not even now, not even after so long and so many dangers. Phaedra turned slowly, tensing as though to face an attack. Daeghun was in the corridor, standing just beyond the threshold of her room. He wore his leathers, his bow was over his shoulders…he'd must have just come back from his hunting out in the Mere. Perhaps he'd met Georg on his way in, perhaps he'd heard the news from him…or perhaps he'd simply come back here and just seen her. Either way there was no trace of surprise on his face.

"Well met father" Phaedra said quietly. He hadn't changed, of course. Every angular line of his face was the same, the same steady, cold green eyes, unlined yet bleak and somehow sallow features…she'd never quite appreciated how inhumanly his elvish nature presented itself. And now, after seeing Duncan, who presented similar features softened by humanity and alight with joy, Daeghun's looked even more…like stone.

"And you are not alone" He added softly, and his cold gaze travelled over the rest of the room, over Shandra and Neeshka, pausing only briefly on each of them. "Others have joined your quest." She couldn't shake the feeling that there was some note of recrimination in his voice.

"Well met, I'm Shandra" Shandra, as she always did when she was nervous, pressed herself forward earnestly, while Neeshka preferred to shrink back, regarding Daeghun with watchful guardedness. "You're Phaedra's father…what a pleasure…"

"Foster-father" Daeghun corrected coldly. Phaedra almost winced, did he have to say that? Did he really have to say that? Why rub it in, that he had no real reason to care for her in the slightest? Never mind that she was already feeling lonely enough, never mind that she had come here to confront Daeghun…one kind word would have melted her. But there would be no kind words for her, not here, not from him.

"Ah" Shandra blinked, awkwardly searching for something to say. "Well, good to meet you. This is a wonderful village, good to see where she grow up and all, meet the people…" She trailed off slowly, Daeghun's gaze didn't waver in the slightest, but he didn't even attempt to reply.

"Am I to understand that this return is permanent, daughter?" He said, re-capturing his earlier tone, as though Shandra hadn't spoken at all, in fact as though Neeshka and she weren't even in the room. "Or have you some other reason to be here?"

"I don't know" Phaedra found herself answering, the truth, the vulnerable, helpless truth of her lack of direction and certainty, contemptible though she knew he might find it. Somehow before his withering aloofness every layer of strength she had drawn around her during her journey peeled back, and she found herself a girl again, lost, confused, aching for approval. She had thought she'd left those days behind long ago. And Cormick's words still played in her head as she looked at him, and tried desperately not to see anything of herself. "I had to come back, there were things I needed to do, to say…"

"And is the danger from the shards is passed?" Daeghun raised an eyebrow. Trembling, her fingers ran to the pouch at her belt…their weight was still there, as always, chained to her. And the hilt of the blade lay in her pack. It was all there, all the sad, terrible truth.

"I found the leaders of the creatures who attacked the village…the Githyanki, and I killed them" She swallowed, her throat was suddenly dry…why did her answers tremble with justification, as though this were some kind of interrogation, some kind of test. She felt like she was standing before him, ten again, and trying desperately to remember her elvish verbs. "I killed all of them"

"I see" Daeghun's eyes narrowed upon her, as though evaluating what he saw once again. But there was no approval, no congratulation in his voice and his eyes were still as cold, no sign of what he thought of what he saw visible within them. "The Githyanki…I have heard them mentioned once or twice in passing" He mused, softly, as though to himself. "Invaders from the outer planes, a fierce foe" He glanced back at her, and the cool disregard in his eyes hit her like a lance. She was vaguely aware of Shandra and Neeshka both watching them: Shandra aghast with horror, Neeshka with veiled steadiness. But all her attention was upon him. "Yet…I think Phaedra there was more to your journey, and to those shards than that" Daeghun continued. "Are they still hunted?"

"I…" She desperately wanted to rail against him for this, forcing her into this position. She knew she had to answer him truthfully, what choice did she have? "Yes, they are. I encountered a man, a very dangerous man, who appeared to have some interest in the shards. But…" Hastily she raced into more justification. "I don't think he knows I have them, and he couldn't know I'd come back here. There are others who maybe do as well, but…I've been so careful, father."

"Well, I hope you had good reason to put the village in danger, then" Daeghun answered, emotionlessly, and something in Phaedra snapped. She'd had no greeting from her father, no love, no pride in her accomplishments and how she'd grown, no sympathy for everything she had suffered and the pain she had borne…all for him, all for the task he had lain upon the shoulders of the girl she had been. 'Go, take this shard to my half-brother in Neverwinter'…her mind recoiled from the brute practicality with which he had instructed her. As if it was that easy, as if it could ever have been that easy, and how well he must have known she bore a shard in her chest, and he knew, he knew that…and yet still he sent her away, telling her the shards were dangerous to the village. Had he meant her to stay away for ever? And now…criticism! Criticism, from him! What right had he to criticise her? She should have thrown the shard back in his face, and demanded he take it himself! But instead…she'd thirsted for his approval, and done as he'd asked, the obedient, innocent little girl aching for father's love…well she wasn't that innocent girl anymore. Now she knew how much he'd hidden from her, how much he'd lied.

"Good reason?" She snarled, all the anger rushing from her in a sudden ripping hiss, and her own voice sounded ugly to her ears. "Good reason?" Hysterical laughter burst from her lips, she couldn't control it, and Daeghun's cold, impassive gaze upon her only made her wish to laugh more, high and scornful laughter that raked the air. "Father, yes, I had good reason!" She was almost sobbing with it, and she could barely force out the words through the ache clamped around her throat. It wasn't just Daeghun she was railing against, and her anger was a roaring thing in her mind, anger against everything that had gone wrong on the journey he had sent her on. All the anger she had repressed and stepped aside. "You lied to me, father, from the day I was born, about my mother, about everything."

"Duncan…" Daeghun breathed resignedly, and that the intensity of her reaction still didn't touch him sent ripples of agony through her heart. Why couldn't she close herself off from him as he closed himself off from her? After everything, why could he still affect her like this?

"No, not Duncan" She snapped. "Duncan told me nothing, just as you made sure he wouldn't. Not until I'd found out for myself, found out…" She raised her hand to her gown, tore down the shoulder, so that her flesh gleamed in the candlelight, white and spotless, down to just above her breast…and there the ugly scar. "That I'm carrying a shard inside of me, father. That there is a shard beneath my scar! And you knew…"

"I did not know, Phaedra" Daeghun said quietly. Even her hysteria made no dent on his self-assurance, and she knew at once that everything she had said had made no difference to his belief that he had done right by concealing so much from her. And there was no surprise either from the revelation of the shard she had borne all her life, giving the lie to his attempt to calm her. "We found the shards, yes, but what reasons did we have to believe one within your body? After all, you survived, the wound healed, though you were but a babe in arms."

"But you must have suspected it" Phaedra shook her head. "And still you never told me, anything! About what happened to my mother…what really happened, and Shayla!" At that name she finally saw that finally she had got through to him. His eyes flickered away, a flash of something sparked within them. She couldn't quite read it. But she knew that it had hurt him, and she felt a rush of satisfaction, which still had the sharp edge of knowing that it was Shayla, always Shayla, who had got through to him. And that she was the cause of Shayla's death. In answer, Daeghun was silent for a long moment. And so was she, suddenly shocked by what she had said, how deep the pain had run in them both, how sudden the eruption of her anger had been and how intense. Silently she pulled her gown back over her shoulder…wondering that she could have got so out of control. Had there truly been such a flood of emotion just under the surface? All this time? She felt both Neeshka and Shandra's gazes on her, and knew what they would be thinking, the shock and horror in their faces, but she didn't want to look at them.

"Believe me, Phaedra, I had my reasons for what I did" Daeghun said at last. "However I sense any justification on my part would be wasted. Clearly you have made up your own mind" A part of her bitterly respected that…any kind of justification would only enrage her more, but it was not a natural way for a father to react, and it was no balm to her pain.

"Then I want to know, now" She said. "About my mother. That's the least you can do, father." She remembered what Duncan had told her about Esmerelle, but her thirst to know her mother had soon exhausted the idealised picture his love for her mother had drawn. It wasn't Duncan's romanticized picture of an untouchable beauty she wanted, it was a living, breathing reality, or as close as she could get. And she knew Daeghun would give her that. No sentiment would touch his description, if he finally opened his mouth now. She should have demanded this a long time ago. She had the right to know.

"I see you cannot be dissuaded" Daeghun murmured. "Very well, but I would prefer this to be told…to you alone" He glanced quickly, with a forbidding note of recrimination at the watching Neeshka and Shandra.

"Would you two please leave?" Phaedra glanced back at them herself. "Go and tell Georg, and the others, that I'll be down in a few minutes…please"

"Phaedra…" Shandra walked up to her, looking stricken, unsure of how even to react, what to say, how to make things right. But it wasn't her responsibility to do any of that. Phaedra wished she and Neeshka hadn't seen the last few moments, she knew neither of them would soon forget how much Phaedra had lost control, and how little it had affected the man she called father.

"Go, please, Shandra" She said softly. And Shandra did, what choice did she have? Neeshka looked back, once, as she left, curiously blankly, but then she too glided down the stairs and was gone. Phaedra slowly turned to look straight back into her father's hard eyes. "Tell me" She said quietly.

Oooo000000ooooooo

There was no tavern in West Harbour. Bishop knew the place that had birthed and bred someone like Phaedra had to be a provincial hovel, but, Hells, even the place that had birthed and bred someone like him had had a tavern…and a whorehouse too, of course. Then again, maybe that was the reason he'd turned out the way he had, and she had turned out the way she had. But even Redfallow's Watch hadn't been as isolated as this. His village might have been as fiercely independent as West Harbour once in its history, but by the time he'd had the great fortune of being birthed into its squalid surroundings, it had become little more than a run-down parasite on the trappers and trackers of the Mere, offering a rest-stop, ale and a woman in exchange for their coin. The only people who actually lived in Redfallow's Watch were tavern-keepers, whores, beggars and a couple of those trackers who'd become too old, crippled or drunk to ever move on, and scraped a miserable living by crafting bows, daggers and other tools for the men who passed through. It had been a shithole. But at least it had had a tavern. And right now, even the dirt-cheap piss that Redfallow's Watch had hawked would have been welcome. He'd forgotten the boredom of life on the fringe of things. Bishop always liked to be in the centre of the action, one reason he'd convinced himself that putting up with Phaedra was worth the trouble, after all. But barely an hour in West Harbour and already he was getting bored. Even some of the women here were looking promising, after a week on the road, and the irony of having someone from Phaedra's home would add a sharp bite to the proceedings. They were mostly empty-eyed wenches, with an unappealing lack of life in any of them, but he knew if he wanted to he could have any of these village girls, give them a taste of what life really felt like. Likewise he itched to be out in the wilds, but what could he hunt out there anyway? There was nothing, just the empty, silent Mere, not the Mere he remembered. He shook it off, not his problem. Let Elanee dither and whine about it, and if West Harbour wanted to fight against the inevitable that wasn't his concern either. He had to admit, there was something admirable about the way they refused to accept that their village was doomed. He could see where Phaedra got her stubbornness. But doomed it was. And there was no point in roping yourself to a sinking ship. He supposed he'd better make sure Phaedra didn't do just that. But if Shandra's bleating was anything to go by, he might not have all that much trouble convincing her to abandon ship.

"Yes, she's with her father. She wanted a moment alone with him" The farmgirl was desperately trying to sound like nothing was wrong, and desperately failing. She was in quite the state, Bishop noted coolly. Daddy didn't take to Phaedra's return as the girls would have liked, then. They were standing by the bridge, milling about without Phaedra on hand to direct their every move and every minute, the whole crew too. Devil-girl and the farmer had just come down from Phaedra's house with the unwelcome news that their lovely leader wasn't coming out any time soon.

"You left her alone with Daeghun?" The druidess bent in anxiously. Bishop shot her another assessing glare, aware once again that she knew far more than she was letting on. But in the end he didn't care in the slightest if Elanee had secrets about Phaedra. It wasn't her life-story he was after. Elanee, however, had spied on Phaedra and him, had thought that she could sneak around without him noticing, and he'd taken that as a challenge. So he'd set her up for that fall with Phaedra. Just to let her know what he was capable of. And if he ever thought of this as a competition, not that the paladin stood a chance, Elanee was in Casavir's camp for it. Prying her away from Phaedra was a plus.

"We didn't have a choice" Shandra shook her head slowly, but she couldn't meet Elanee's eyes. "You should have seen her…" Her voice trailed away, and she fell silent. Well now, there was something here. Her father…the one she'd claimed was a better ranger than he was, if he remembered correctly. And it would be easier to persuade Phaedra to get out of this village, and fast, if he knew exactly what it was between them. She might leave on her own, but it was better to be sure, and he liked the idea of setting out her direction, without any of these fools even being aware of what he was doing. He glanced back across to the bridge, and saw the tiefling standing, apart from the others, fidgeting and looking very much alone. Her brittle composure barely disguised the loneliness streaking off her. Bishop considered her critically…he wasn't looking for allies, but he'd used her once before, and knew he could do it again. Elanee was Casavir's spy and his promoter; why not recruit one of his own? Someone staying close to Phaedra while they were in West Harbour, someone who had no reason to like either Elanee or Casavir. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Plus, here he looked the tiefling up and down, noting her thin but sculpted body, narrow, angular features, somewhat starved desperation, and the hunted look always hidden behind those burning eyes…she'd do for him if he ever decided to work off some tension on the road. He knew her type, damaged goods, he could easily have her and at the same time get her working on Phaedra for him. She just needed the right touch. Slowly, as the rest of the party fretted over their absent leader, he made his way over to the tiefling.

"So, devil-girl, what's the bet they don't move until our darling leader gets here?" He said, with a casual swagger, but as she looked at him, astonished, tensing up as though to flee he just kept on talking, and held her eyes with his own. "Ten gold…twenty? You've always seemed like someone who chances with fate. I think we're similar that way, you and I" He laid the words down with significance, and she looked at him still, unable to glance away. It was a lie. True, he had his hunts, and she had her thievery, but in the end they were nothing alike. Hells, he probably just about had more in common with Phaedra than he did with Neeshka, at least Phaedra fought tooth and nail if she had to, instead of whining about the way the world was so unfair. Maybe they both had sob stories in their past, but Neeshka had never got away from hers, and his was just about as far behind him as he wanted, though here in West Harbour he was ironically closer to what was left of Redfallow's Watch then he had been since that last time.

"Bishop" She muttered, rubbing her arm with one hand. He knew she remembered how he'd used her, to get Phaedra alone, to kill her in fact, before she'd woken from that poison. But he could get her to forget, or rather to remember what it was that had allowed him to manipulate her back then. "What do you want?"

"To talk" He shrugged. "Nothing…wrong with that, is there?" He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin.

"No, but I just don't think we have much to talk about" She said, looking away painfully. Her shields were up. This would take just a bit of work on his part, well it gave him something to do while Phaedra was occupied. All these women got wet about the same kind of thing anyway.

"You know, I think you're wrong" He circled her, moving to meet her gaze and hold it once again, and at the same time subtly drawing her away from the others. "I think we have a lot to talk about"

"Like what?" Neeshka prickled somewhat, but he knew that part of her annoyance was at herself for so clearly responding. Oh devil-girl, Bishop allowed himself a hungry smile, this was almost too easy.

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, you saw exactly what the farmgirl was bleating about" Bishop raised an eyebrow. "Why don't we talk about what our swamp princess' father is up to in there?"

"Of course" Neeshka rolled her eyes as she tried to turn away, sardonically, as if to hide the flash of pain and the dart of frustration that sunk deep in her gut. "You want to talk about Phaedra, well go and ask Shandra if you want all the dirt. Hells sleep with her too…see if I care…"

"Hah" Bishop scoffed with open mockery. Mockery of Phaedra, and of Neeshka too, who was so jealous of her leader, that it was the easiest opening to get through that paper-thin pretence of indifference. "You don't think I could do better than her, than the pair of them together, if I wanted? You don't think I have done better?"

"You're…not here for her, for Phaedra?" Neeshka blinked and looked back at him. There you are…that's right, devil-girl. Let yourself have your pathetic hopes…

"You really think I've followed behind her this long for that?" Bishop continued, rippling his voice with the same scorn, driving the pain deeper into the tiefling, exposing her. "That I've put up with that self-righteous prick of a paladin and his panting elf whore because I'm that desperate to get into the cold bed of a skinny, swamp-reared half-breed with more stubbornness than sense or sex appeal?" He gave an easy bark of laughter, drawing her in as though this were a private joke between the two of them, and he saw the confused smile flit across her face as she suddenly saw Phaedra through his eyes, how stupid and naïve and sexless she looked to him, and how stupid Casavir and Elanee looked too. How stupid all her jealousy and her fright and self-consciousness looked too, and how deeply that ridiculed her doubts but how it vindicated her too. Freed her to see how stupid the idea was. Well then too bad for Neeshka, he had come with Phaedra to fuck her, but not because he found her attractive…although…she did have more going for her than being skinny and swamp-reared. "I almost might find that insulting, if it wasn't so funny" He glanced back at her, and let his voice drop to an almost dangerous hum, reminding her quickly that he wasn't the kind to joke, unless it was at someone's expense.

"Why, then?" Neeshka shook her head, struggling with her want to believe him. Her thief's caution sensed a trap, but her desperation was so much more powerful. "You're always…close to her, flirting with her, giving her those looks you always do…and why…then, ask me about her?" Here was the heart of the matter, her suspicion of the real truth, that he was only using her to get to Phaedra.

"She wants it, she pretends she doesn't…but she does" Bishop gave Neeshka a sly look, once again as though they shared some kind of secret joke, as though Neeshka too were part of some common plan to ridicule Phaedra and undermine her even as they both followed her. Neeshka just wanted to belong somewhere, to be part of some crowd, her tiefling's devil blood had left her so isolated that the first person to accept her got her pathetic, wide-eyed devotion. At least until that person, with her own problems growing, began to neglect her, then devotion could just as easily be turned to contempt, so long as it was guided the right way. And then she'd be looking for a new idol. "It's just funny to see her struggle like that, and to see the paladin get all stiff and clench-jawed about it too. If I wanted Phaedra that badly, I'd already have had her and I'd be long gone"

"Then why are you here?" Neeshka looked up at him, and the pathetic hope in her eyes gave the lie to her token protest. She'd already forgotten, or chosen to forget, how he'd abandoned her last time when he no longer needed her. He couldn't be the first man who'd had her like this, no doubt he wouldn't be the last. Women like her never learned. "Following her at all? To West Harbour…?"

"Have I ever pretended to be here for any other reason than because I'm good at killing, and our dear little princess attracts just enough idiots willing enough to try knifing her?" Bishop shrugged. "Even if…" He leaned in, sharing the joke once again. "I sometimes understand just why they do it." The flicker of a smile touched Neeshka's lips. "And here in this swampy shithole it's funny to see how the paladin and his bunch fall apart with her so distracted."

"You never say her name" Neeshka muttered, but Bishop chose to ignore it. Perceptive of her to notice that, but it wasn't any of her business that acknowledging Phaedra as a person was not on his agenda. So long as she was "girl" or "princess", he knew, despite the illusion of his faithful servitude, who was really in charge here. Phaedra had gotten so used to it now she'd never really understand that it was his way of subverting her authority, slowly, piece by piece. "Well, you're right, about them at least" She gave a nod to the rest of the party, still anxiously hovering by the bridge. Only Sand was at ease, coolly standing to the side, but then again he was using Phaedra, to him she was a shiny trinket to add to his collection. Elanee and Shandra were still nervously conversing, going in circles round each other over and over again, and Casavir's edginess was less visible, but his shoulders were clenched around a core of unease. "I'd never put gold on them doing anything without her say-so"

"And I'm sure you know better than to bet against me" He grinned, injecting just the right amount of menace into his voice.

"I'm not Casavir" She said, shrugging.

"I've noticed" He answered, softly. She blinked, and looked straight into his eyes, knowing that he was flirting with her. He let nothing show. She'd read anything she wanted into his expression anyway. "So, are you with me or what?" He said "Want to keep messing them all around just a little while longer?"

"Why not?" She shrugged, making it sound casual when it was anything but. "I'll do it" She leaned in too, and glanced around her first, as though she had something significant to say. "Right now, I can tell you something, Bishop" She said, an edge of mockery in her voice that imitated his own. She learnt fast, learnt fast how to be the perfect tool. Then again, that was all this was to her, a way to harmlessly get back at Phaedra for the perceived rejection, and Casavir and Elanee, she'd never realise how he'd use anything she told him. "She has serious daddy issues. That father of hers is a nasty piece of work, and she practically went crazy in there. I've never seen her lose control like that before"

"Well, well, no wonder she's such an uptight little prig" He shook his head, and Neeshka openly snickered this time. She could be a vicious little dagger if turned on the right person. Just what he needed. "As you're sleeping with her tonight, see if you can't get anything more from her about this little shithole of a village, and oh how miserable it was for her."

"Sure" She grinned cunningly. She liked that, but the way she was hovering around, as if expecting something else, was starting to bore Bishop. Hopefully he could get away with this without spending too much time with her. He reminded her of Malin, not really worth the admittedly little effort it had taken to work on their insecurities and get into their beds. Sure, he wasn't there yet with Neeshka, but it wouldn't be long, and at least there was that, he'd have something to do while Phaedra floated around pointlessly. But she was too much like the other women he'd used the same way. When he had her, it might scratch the itch, but he wouldn't look back on this, and think it was worth putting up with her petty little snickering. Still, at least he could use her against Phaedra, that was what this was really about. In the end one woman was the same as any other, and Phaedra was really just a tool too in the end, a tool to get back at Duncan, and to lay the past, finally, to rest with the other decaying corpses under this swamp.

Ooooo000000ooooo

"Your mother…I have no doubt Duncan has spoken of her, in his own way" Daeghun began softly, with the slightest rasp of contempt for Duncan's feelings. Phaedra didn't protest, she knew now that there was no point, no point in appealing to Daeghun's better nature. He didn't have one. She just kept her gaze pinned to her foster-father's eyes, and kept the calmness of her resolve within her own, despite the nascent turmoil boiling beneath her surface as she considered the man who had raised her. "But his sentimentality never touched on Esmerelle's true character…and besides they were never as close as he imagined. His devotion repelled her, as well I can understand." Phaedra blinked, that did wound her, the thought that her mother was more like Daeghun than Dunan himself, or the image he had presented. But she had come for the truth, and she had to face it. If this journey had taught her one thing, it was this. "Duncan and I travelled the realms in those times, doing errands and quests for the insufferable of the land." He paused, finally he admitted it. She remembered how the idea that he had been an adventurer had shocked her once, before she'd realised the extent of his deception. "Bounty hunting, tracking, treasure hunting, the kind of thing that normally constitutes what some ignorantly call adventuring when there is not some world-shaking errand to accomplish" He continued, levelly. "We encountered your mother in a tavern in the south, beyond the Mere. Even then I could sense the aura she had, the sense of purpose…she shone like a beacon in that miserable inn. Though I did not share her faith, I always respected her strength of will…a strength in these latter years I have become more and more conscious that I lack" A mysterious statement, but Phaedra was too interested in the account to probe it further. Like Duncan had said, Esmerelle had been a cleric, of Sehanine, Daeghun's reference to faith only confirmed it. And yet Daeghun's account seemed coloured differently, her mother seemed…a stronger presence, and yet subtly more like Daeghun himself.

"Suffice to say, mutual necessity brought us together" Daeghun continued. "Esmerelle declared herself entirely directionless, and we welcomed her into our band. Very soon she was the one leading us. She could impose herself on another with an almost supernatural charm, as you have witnessed my brother was glamoured by her, and even I found myself following her almost instinctively, though I was the elder among us. She was 90 when we met, but she never spoke of what had come before her relatively recent conversion to the Moon-bowed Goddess' flock. But certainly she had other powers…well-hidden, but there if you had the eyes to look."

"What powers?" Phaedra found her mouth was dry and she had to swallow a few times before speaking. Her voice, when it came, was rough and uneasy.

"Sorcery, powerful sorcery" Daeghun answered. "Of a kind I have not witnessed before or since, she restrained it with the single-minded desperation that only she could muster, as if it was a mark of some terrible sin. She despised it, but she could not resist it always. But, as I said, at times there were signs" Phaedra stared at him, had her mother concealed a secret fire within herself too, was she too a warlock hidden in a sorcerer's cloak? That would explain her mother's hatred of her own Gift. She felt a rush of guilt and despair, was that what she should have done, laid down the mantle of her magic at the feet of Lathander? Would her mother turn away from her in shame? But Daeghun didn't pause for long, already he spoke again, and Phaedra struggled to keep up.

"She was still…a child in some ways, an adult in others" Daeghun seemed to struggle for the words. "Sometimes she was naïve, almost innocent, in what appeared to us to be the certainties of life out in the world we inhabited. I suspect she had a privileged life, before her circumstances changed. But if her honeyed words did not get her what she wanted, she had no qualms about killing those in her way, with ease, almost flair" Daeghun went on, though he looked into her eyes he didn't seem to be speaking directly to her, as though he was swept under a tide of memories. "Her anger was slow to rise, but, when roused, was born of a towering pride, cold and merciless as ice. She was sometimes almost unbearably haughty, sometimes crippled by regrets we couldn't fathom. At times she would pray for hours begging for forgiveness, I know not for what she asked absolution. But, even so, if something was important enough to her, she would do nearly anything to accomplish it, including acts of which the Goddess she worshipped would not have approved and which put us all in danger. She was incredibly single-minded, and proud, too proud." He sighed softly, and Phaedra considered the dizzying array of ideas she had been presented with. Though powerful enough glimpses on their own, each sentence Daeghun uttered seemed to show a different side of Esmerelle, like shards of a shattered mirror all showing different things, and she couldn't see what unified them all into a single figure.

"And you came to West Harbour?" Phaedra encouraged, since Daeghun seemed to be sinking into the silent mire of his memories.

"Well, we travelled for a time, not long in elvish years but long enough in your own." Daeghun answered. "But Esmerelle's recklessness cost us much. Others joined us, at times, but they died, or left us." Like Captain Flinn from Highcliff, maybe? "In the end even Duncan departed to Neverwinter to found his inn. She let us come close at times, but never too close…never close enough for Duncan. And never close enough to reveal who she truly was before she joined us. In the end I too had enough of death and desperation. We parted from each other amicably enough, and I settled in West Harbour, with my Shayla, and began to build a life to last" Phaedra had noticed the omission of Shayla from the narrative so far. Where, then, had she come from and how had she entered Daeghun's life? But she knew to ask would be to press him too far.

"Did my mother give up adventuring too?" She wondered instead.

"Esmerelle, give up on anything?" Daeghun shook his head. "Never. She maintained her drive, and perhaps indeed found some worthwhile cause in which to spend it, for I did not see or hear of her for nearly three years. I found that a heart can heal over time and I learned to count the years by human time, I had become content…" He paused, and his features seemed somehow to close up, pass into shadow even deeper than the soft candles' glow. "But she returned one day." He said slowly "I remember it…so well. We had no warning of her coming, she simply charged in one night, ablaze with finery and fine clothes that suited her beauty as though she were born to them. She was also…thick with child, with you. Before you ask she never spoke of anything of it to me: not of your father, not where she had acquired her luxurious trappings, or anything of our time apart. Her silence was as complete as it had always been. And I knew better than to ask. But I know that her first act was to burn every single one of the precious silks she bore, and cast her pieces of jewellery, with gold enough to feed West Harbour for a year, into the Mere." Phaedra stared at him, aghast. Still nothing of her father, no name, no face…but now a terrible suspicion that her parents had shared some dark secret, for the riches Esmerelle had destroyed must have been…tokens from him, surely, or reminders of him at the least?

"She stayed with us until you were born" But Daeghun was winding down to the bitter end of his tale, inexorably following the stream of his recollection towards its terrible conclusion. "And my letter informing him of her condition brought Duncan running to us, which was why he too was in the village alongside us when…the attack began. Esmerelle was walking with him in the hills that day, trying to explain what he would not accept, and you were in the care of another, for Shayla and I, too, had our business to which to attend. It came suddenly and entirely without warning, fire swept down through the Mere, and smoke streamed from the village. Almost immediately we too were attacked by demons, and we fought to reach our compatriots across the ridge. By the time we arrived Esmerelle was already frantic for your safety. I bade her remain there in safety, but as soon as I was gone to assist the Greycloaks who were stumbling into the trap, she and Shayla easily outmanoeuvred my weak-willed brother and left to find you. By now I expect you know what I found when I returned to the village after the battle was done" And then Daeghun fell silent for a time, a pinched, cold silence that accused her of asking something she could not fathom from him, of rousing all the pain that he had spent so long denying. But she barely noticed, there was so much to consider in every word he had told her. Duncan's inability to stop Esmerelle and Shayla that day, that was the reason Daeghun disdained his half-brother so. But Esmerelle still remained a mystery. An outline had been drawn, perhaps, by Daeghun's words, but her mother's story remained almost entirely a blank. But…there was nothing more to say to Daeghun, and clearly he had nothing more to say to her. If he believed that what he had given was the best he was able, then…truly there was nothing more to say. But then Daeghun did say one thing more, almost with difficulty. "Phaedra, I do not mean cruelty when I say this, you should not have returned here" He said. "West Harbour…it is not the same as you remember it"

Oooo000000000oooooo

Amie's grave, Phaedra had always known she would come here…this melancholy place, lonely, isolated, and yet somehow filled with more memory than anywhere else in the village. The mound of earth, which she'd left newly overturned, rich, black earth, had sprouted a suffocating cloak of leaves, ferns, weeds and grasses which choked it with a startling voraciousness. No one had cared enough to look after it, or any of the other mounds that marked the West Harbour dead, which had normally been tended at least a little. It seems as things had got tougher in the village, the Harbourmen had steadily withdrawn from what had once been most important to them. The startling listlessness she had seen in much of the village had taken even the respect due to the dead. But she knew Amie wouldn't mind, not as much as Phaedra did. Some of these graves dated back to the war too, one might even hold Esmerelle, though Daeghun had never revealed which one did. It felt a little, as she knelt in the earth again before Amie's grave, as though her mourning wasn't only for her friend, but for her mother too. Her shadowy mother…with her mysteries and her secret past, her faith and her pride, her potential for dark deeds hidden in Daeghun's reticence and her crushing guilt.

"Amie, I'm so confused" She murmured, into the still and silent air. "Nothing's the way it was supposed to be" She thought of their girlhood together, their silly dreams of adventure out in the wide world. Even when they'd grown older, they'd imagined the wondrous freedom of the world outside, the chance to learn incomparable things about magic…charming rogues and chivalrous knights. Phaedra's natural caution had always kept her fancy in check, but Amie's longing to experience a world beyond the narrow confines of the village had only grown more and more intense. But now…Amie lay beneath the earth, and Phaedra had found that nothing was like they'd imagined it to be. Her freedom shrank smaller and smaller every time she thought she was helping, now lords and knights demanded her service, and the city of Neverwinter enclosed her in its pristine, cold embrace. And the more she learnt about magic, the more she understood how little she could trust it. The chivalrous knight was emotionally unavailable, the charming rogue was a manipulative killer. And yet she couldn't help but feel that if she'd had her friend with her, things might have gone better. Always it had seemed like Amie had been the one taking charge amongst the three of them, Phaedra, Amie and Bevil, but somehow Phaedra had now found herself the leader and standing alone. And where was Bevil? She'd thought he would come running the moment he heard of her arrival, but he had not come to the house, or to the bridge, and it was already coming on to evening. Every hour she spent in West Harbour it felt more and more alien. Was that the change in herself, or were the warnings of Elanee and Daeghun working on her mind? She was still shocked at what Daeghun had said to her, the directness of his words. What could he have meant? After what he'd told her she couldn't bear to ask, and had fled from him in silence. Fled here…

"Chauntea…it is you" She leapt up suddenly, turning on her heels, to see Retta Starling making her way up the ridge behind her, stumbling on her aged footsteps. Phaedra hid her shock, but she was astonished to see how Retta had aged. She had always been a small woman, but now she seemed to have shrunken in on herself. Her hair, always something she had taken pride in, was lank and thinning, not even bound up in the way it had always been before and it framed a face ravaged by time. And her gown was spotted and torn, where before it had always been faultless. There was a shadow behind her eyes, and no welcoming smile greeted Phaedra's eyes. So…she knew… "You are back" Retta murmured, almost to herself.

"Retta…" Phaedra stumbled away from Amie's grave.

"Georg told me what you brought with you, my Lorne, my eldest" She nodded, her voice wavering and reedy, the voice of an old woman. Phaedra had told Georg quietly about Lorne, secretely hoping that he would be the one to pass the news on to Retta and save her the trauma of enduring that. That wish now seemed grasping and cowardly. "Don't grieve, child…I asked you, all those months ago, for answers and you have found them, even though your concerns must have been far greater in Neverwinter than my grief. Lorne will be buried here with his father, that's all I can ask for."

"Retta, I killed him" Phaedra said softly.

"I know" Retta answered. "But to me he was already dead a long time ago." Phaedra blinked, Retta was making this far easier that she had thought, far easier than it should have been, easier than she deserved. But there was something so unnatural about her quiet acceptance. This was her son. A son she had cared for through his surliness and rages, pined for in all the years of his absence. "I'll never be able to understand what happened to Lorne to change him." She said quietly. "But I don't think I want to understand either." She looked back at Phaedra, intently for the first time through the fog of mournful indirectness. And suddenly the pain shone through. "Phaedra" She muttered "I always wanted your homecoming to be special, I wanted to be ready and waiting, to persuade you never to leave again. But I had to look in that coffin, look at my boy and what…you did to him…I find it so hard to look at you now, Gods forgive me"

"I understand" Phaedra bent her head, hiding her own pain from Retta. In a sense killing Lorne had killed her dream of West Harbour too, long before she had ever come here and seen…this. "Retta, I know I have no right to ask you this" She said quickly. "But you must leave West Harbour"

"Leave…West Harbour, why?" Retta stammered, blinking, and somehow the fog of indistinctness seemed to close around her again, as though the very idea was suspect.

"Retta, can't you see it?" Phaedra looked up at her again, astonished at her reticence. "Something…evil is going on, out in the Mere, here. You've got to leave before things get worse"

"We can't leave, Phaedra" A cloud passed over Retta's face. "We can't leave West Harbour, this is our home."

"Retta, listen to me…" Phaedra implored.

"No, listen to me Phaedra" Retta shook her head slowly "I was wed here, I have raised four children here and buried two and my husband, now I will bury one more. This is our life, our home. Most of us can't just leave and throw ourselves on Neverwinter's mercy"

"I know people in Neverwinter" Phaedra tried to protest. "They can help…"

"You forget I know Neverwinter as well" Retta answered. "No one will help. We can only rely on ourselves, and we'll share West Harbour's fate, whatever that is"

"And what about Bevil?" Phaedra cried suddenly. "Will he share that fate too?" Again the cloud parted, and something real and painful shone through in Retta's eyes.

"Bevil…" She murmured softly, almost tearfully. "My boy…"

"Retta, where is Bevil?" Phaedra stepped closer to her, pressing in on that sudden show of agony, prey to a horrible notion now. "What's happened to him?"

"Bevil was attacked…only a few days after you left" Retta, though, stepped back away from Phaedra's advance, trying to escape. "We don't know who they were, or what they wanted, but they…tortured him, dear Chauntea, my poor boy. He was hurt so deeply…it's been months now, and…he won't see anyone" She swallowed. "He won't see you, especially not now, not after Lorne"

"Dear Gods" Phaedra gasped, staggering on her feet with shock. Bevil, oh Gods, Bevil, what could have done that? Could the Githyanki have attacked him? She'd thought she was making things safer for him by leaving, thought she'd make things safer for the whole village. Was all her effort wasted? And Bevil, was he okay? But Retta took advantage of her moment of distraction to flee, barely looking back as she staggered down the ridge back towards the village. Phaedra couldn't bear to follow, she was far more disquieted now than before. Retta's refusal to even consider leaving, even after the attack and what had happened to Bevil, alarmed her deeply. Was it just Harbourman stubbornness, or something more? Phaedra would have to try again, she would have to speak to Bevil, and find out what had happened to him…to everyone else in the village. Somehow she had to persuade someone. She was now surer of that than ever.

oo000ooooo

It was almost entirely Georg's doing in the end, but somehow the irrepressible Militia captain roused the listless, apathetic inhabitants of West Harbour enough to get together some kind of party to celebrate Phaedra's 'triumphant return'. Even in the dead of winter, the bonfire he'd instructed the exhausted milita to build provided plenty of warmth, and things in the Mere never got as cold as they did further north. And they'd moved a plethora of old tables and furnishings out into the centre of the village, almost everything that had survived the attack and nothing newly built to replace what had been lost; a ramshackle collection of tables of differing heights and benches and chairs that weren't enough to hold even half the village, leaving most of the guests to squat in the mud. Not that anyone complained, well not that anyone talked much at all. Sure, someone brought out some ale, but it must have been leftover from Lazlo Buckman's brewery out of the back of the barn, except he'd perished in the attack, and it was barely drinkable now. The men sipped it anyway, glaring suspiciously at the strangers amongst them, Phaedra's companions, and, increasingly, Phaedra herself. And, getting only sullen suspicion as their answers, her friends weren't really bothering to talk at all either. In the past the villagers would have leapt at any chance to celebrate and get out of farm drudgery, but the fields were empty, and clearly their hunting had been just as unsuccessful. What was passed around by some of the sullen women was meat salted and dried so tough it must have been left-over from last winter's supplies. Georg was making the most of it, talking boisterously and loudly as if this was any other feast, and swigging ale as he told yet another outrageous tale to the admiring Shandra. Phaedra got the feeling that he was flirting slightly with the farmer, but clearly she didn't mind, and at least it was some life in the place. Bishop too, seemed to have attracted some attention from the girls on either side of him, something he predictably revelled in, no doubt saying something outrageous which caught admiring glances under fluttering lashes from the young women who'd been just as listless as everyone else only minutes ago. Whose idea was it to put him in the middle of a bevy of single ladies, Georg's no doubt. Well Phaedra thought sniffily, he could have done better than Petra Harmann and Sara Lannon. The one had thrown herself at every single man in the village at least twice by now, and the other was a coarse and mean-spirited bully. Bishop, of course, didn't care a whit, she shot him a glare, taking in the self-satisfied glow that poured from him. Behaving so disgustingly, in her village. It bothered her.

The only others making any serious effort were the two wizards and they were in a world of their own. Tarmas was to her left, and discoursing with Sand, who was on his left, they were talking about her and making little effort to disguise it. She wasn't surprised that they got along, at least in the way two acadmics with mutual interest and a healthy sense of competition could get along. It was all quite technical, but Sand was questioning if Tarmas had ever sensed the potential for a warlock's gift in her, and Tarmas, who had been annoyingly fascinated by the idea that she was a warlock ever since she'd explained it, was running incidents in her past over in his mind. She didn't like any of it, but it was necessary, one of the reasons she'd come here.

"You look different, Phaedra" Thankfully she was distracted by an attentive, somewhat surprised, murmur from the occupant of the seat to her right. She turned quickly. Brother Merring was looking at her carefully, like a puzzle he was trying to unlock. He was thinner, now, his robes didn't fit him anymore, and the air of serenity he'd always projected had intensified to something almost…inhuman. His lovely blue eyes seemed more brilliant, but less focused, his manner was distracted. It was like he already had a foot in another world.

"Oh…" Phaedra tried to focus on his observation, reaching up to touch the idle strands of her hair sweeping over her shoulders. It had grown a lot longer since she'd left the village, longer than anyone in West Harbour would ever have had it. And she was wearing a gown from Neverwinter, dyed a deep sky blue, and cut to the sleek, silky style of the city. It bared her neck lower than any West Harbour maiden would have dared, and clung snugly around her elbows and waist. Certainly she was a lot different from what Brother Merring must remember.

"Not that, nothing so simple as that" Merring answered, distantly, his gaze intent upon her still. "Your journeys have…purified your beauty, rather like gold is purified by the flame. I think…sorrow has sculpted you, and…there is some new fire in your eyes that adds to their lustre. You have gone through many trials…" Phaedra stared at him, Merring had always been fond of a poetic turn of phrase and she'd loved the beauty it had imparted to his sermons, but…this rambling only disquieted her.

"Trials, yes…" Phaedra said quietly, and thought of how difficult she had found it to pray lately, how alone she sometimes felt. "I've…found it hard…to keep up with my devotions on my journey" She admitted.

"Lathander has left me, Phaedra" Merring imparted this most shocking piece of news as if it were the most normal thing in the world, another piece of village gossip, or a little nugget of lore. If anything he gave it with a beatific grin. Phaedra's jaw dropped and she stared with horror at the cleric, Lathander…gone from him? Impossible…He never abandoned his clerics, Gods rarely ever did. Unless the cleric commited some horrible sin, or cursed them himself. And even then, the stories were full of faithful who had lost faith only to be returned to the fold by miracles or long spiritual trial. There was always hope, the Gods never simply…left… "I have lost all touch with him in the last month, my hands no longer heal, and my prayers are no longer answered. When poor Bevil was attacked, I could not heal him. That was the first sign of it" Merring continued, holding his gentle smile. "Some darkness surrounds the Mere, a shadow has fallen over us, something the dawn's light can no longer pierce."

"So you have felt it too?" Phaedra seized onto this admission, finally someone coming out and saying that there was something awful and terribly wrong here. Something that meant maybe she could persuade the people to leave before it got any worse. "Then you have to leave, you have to help me get everyone to leave"

"I cannot abandon my flock, or my sacred mission" Merring laughed, whimsically. "My faith is stronger than it has ever been, my duty firmer."

"But you just said to me…?" Phaedra blinked.

"This is a test of faith, child, all of it" Merring was looking at her with amusement, as though this were something so obvious that she couldn't see it, like as simple allusion in scripture she had missed. "When I commanded Lathander's power before, I had no need of faith, for His works were ever before me. Now…that He is no longer here, I believe without seeing, without knowing. Phaedra, now I know what belief means." He lowered his head, almost prayerfully "My faith is purer now and I shall lay it down pure when I die here."

"Sweet Lathander, you've gone mad" Phaedra threw herself to her feet, shooting a panicked glance over everyone at the tables: the listless, half-dead looks of the villagers, none with the slightest hint of welcoming cheer, or surprise that she was back, or questions about her travels, Wyl and Pitney, hunched over in their seats, with the ugly distortion of madness so clear on them, her companions who were shocked and confused, the empty seats left for Retta, for Daeghun, for Bevil, Tarmas' complacent arrogance, Merring's absurd passivity, even Georg…feasting when everything was so wrong! "Everyone here is mad!" She cried out. "Can't you see it, any of it? You're in danger, you have to leave the Mere…!"

"Typical" Someone spoke up…Phaedra blinked and looked around, shocked by the sense of bitter sarcasm in the voice. It was Petra Harmann, silly in her sensuality, desperately lonely in fact but never one to show the slightest malice. She'd shrugged off Bishop and was looking at Phaedra with a lean, hard look of hatred. "She leaves us when we needed help, now she thinks she can boss us around, make us do the same!"

"You're no Harbourman, not anymore" Webb Mossfield shouted suddenly. She looked at him too then, once the only decent one of the Mossfield brothers, quiet, submissive…and now glaring at her with ugly anger.

"She never really was, was she?" Someone else snapped, who cared, who cared who it even was? All the villagers were standing now, casting their seats down, and glaring at her with a united wall of hatred, and rejection. Suddenly all the listlessness was gone, suddenly the air boiled with an outpouring of anger. Everything they'd thought in the silence of their minds while she'd walked amongst them poured from their lips, a molten flood of accusation.

"With that father…"

"And that playing around with magic"

"What can you expect from a half-elf?" On and on it went, a blurring cyclone of malice and Phaedra rooted to the spot within its centre.

"Phaedra" Suddenly Brother Merring stood too, there was no hatred in him, only that same beatific smile. Suddenly it looked like the smile of a madman. "Accept what you cannot change, submit to the will of the Gods…"

"By Mystra, she's right" Then Tarmas threw up his staff, breaking through the chaos like a blade, and Sand raised an eyebrow as if appreciating his style. "You're turning on the one person who's actually spoken the truth, the truth I should have spoken a long time ago! Only…something has preyed on my mind of late…" He paused, a look of confusion fluttered across his face, but he fought through it. Phaedra almost gasped with relief, looking at her mentor with admiration. Perhaps magic users resisted this baleful influence better than those who had no experience, certainly magic like Tarmas' required a hugely strong will. Either way, someone was speaking up. "We're going to starve out before winter ends, and no hunter has dragged back a single miserable carcass for the last two weeks" Tarmas declared. "West Harbour is finished, we need to leave, if anyone wishes to survive…listen to her…"

"And we should trust the word of a foreigner!" Wyl Mossfield grunted like an animal. "A Neverwinter mage! Where was Neverwinter when we were attacked? You're no Harbourman either!" A chorus of ugly assent greeted his words, growing in strength and malice as Phaedra shrank back in horror. It hadn't worked. And things were growing uglier by the second. Suddenly the villagers before them had the haze of intensity that surrounded a mob, a lynching mob. Hands went to weapons amongst her companions. "Harbourmen look after ourselves" Wyl sneered "We don't need none of you witches, of elves…"

"Enough!" Georg roared suddenly, his voice rang out across the swell of hatred like a trumpet blast, and suddenly all was quieted, quieted to an almost just as unnatural hush. The Harbourmen looked almost confused, glancing around themselves as though they couldn't remember how they'd gotten where they were. Their eyes clouded over once again, a few even returned to their ale or the chunks of nearly inedible meat. But in an instant all the anger that had been so horrifying had gone… "Please, everyone…" Georg looked suddenly exhausted, beaten down, and his voice was hoarse with fatigue. Phaedra suddenly knew that Georg remained too one of the sane few, and had been holding the village together almost entirely on his own. The same will that had kept he, Tarmas and Daeghun free of the affliction now was the only thing keeping West Harbour going. He'd even tried to present a normal front to Phaedra… "Return to your homes, the feast is over" He said softly, and the Harbourmen, once again purposeless and vague, began to drift away. "I'm sorry Phaedra" He said quietly, looking at her. "If I'd known…I'd never have let you come here" Phaedra opened her mouth, tried to speak, but suddenly her throat clenched tight, a paralysing ache seizing her chest. Prickling heat rose in her face, and her eyes suddenly blurred. Tears…oh Lathander…raising her trembling hands to her flushed cheeks, she tried to hold them back. But the memory of the villagers, once friends, people she'd known, turning on her like that…it swamped her mind, rising within her like the burning pain as the tears stung her eyes. Abruptly she turned on her heels and fled. Fled away from Georg, the ruined banquet, and every single one of the people she'd once called the people of her home, back up the hill and towards the house where she had lived a cold and loveless imitation of a family. Flinging open the door, she ran to her room, and flung herself on the bed where she'd dreamed her dreams of love and life. Daeghun was nowhere to be seen, but so much the better. Now she knew just how futile his quest for her had been. She'd left West Harbour to save it, that had been the guiding purpose of her journey, her guiding star, and now…look at what had become of the village anyway. What, now, did she have left?

Oooo00000oooo

Phaedra slept in the end…in the end she'd cried herself to sleep in her childhood bed. But her dreams were not the same images that had possessed her as she'd fled to the familiar warmth and comfort of her blankets. Not the poisoned faces of her former neighbours, or the silent and haunted Mere. Not even the memory of Amie, or of Bevil, or of any of the small petty anxieties that had so possessed her in this bed when she was younger so as to seem to sink into its very fabric. No, wrapped in a shell of slumber, she sank through her conscious self, through all these dark and trivial memories, past the tumultuous swell of her emotions, which were disturbed to their very deepest depths now…and past the unconscious, where true dreams began. Here images floated around her: half-forgotten things, Elanee, and a flow of barely remembered sensations, a song in elvish, in a lilting, gentle voice, and warm arms around her, a scent of lillies in the Mere. Then Bishop and even more disconcerting sensations, these things she'd never experienced except in those troubling dreams she'd made sure to forget, pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, honey sweetness and the sharpness of the thorn both. This was what those trite words…that silly little admission, that she was attracted to him, really meant. And it scared her. But she was drawn deeper, into a primal darkness. And here was where dream ended, and normally she knew that she forgot what exactly was there. She knew, too, that this time she would forget it when she awoke, though she couldn' say how she knew. The knowledge, though, brought a strange serenity.

And she stepped out into a dark room. It was some kind of dungeon. Almost baroque…in the sense that it tried very hard to fulfil the idea of what a dungeon should be. It was long, and narrow, black stone packed tight together formed walls and ceiling. But it was dry, and clean, almost obsessively clean, and there were no chains or bars, only one door behind her, slightly ajar. The ceiling was quite low, but the sense of it didn't oppress her really that much at all, neither did the darkness, although in fact now she thought about it the whole place was filled with a nebulous glow, almost…purple, emanating from just in front of her, where a magic circle of sorts had been drawn in pure lambant power upon the stone floor. It was a breath-takingly complex design, spayed out like the spokes of a wheel, runic, each spindly runic line led to another, and another, until you couldn't see where it began or ended. It would be easy to find your eye lost within it. She knew it was some kind of summoning circle, but she knew nothing about summoning, except that such a design would be necessary only for a summoning of both terrible power and incredible subtlety. This was a mastery of magic so far beyond her… Who could have crafted it?

"This is very special, Phaedra" Of course, slowly she turned, and there was standing Black Garius. In the shadows, where he habitually seemed to lurk like some pale, freakish spider beneath a stone. No…that thought too seemed foreign to the strange atmosphere of serenity creeping over her, so she put it aside, along with the annoying whine of fear, pure terror in fact, that buzzed in the corners of her mind which had no place here. And the understanding that Garius was re-commencing a conversation he'd been having with her for some time. A completely one-sided conversation. "I know you will appreciate it" The master wizard walked, no, glided across the stone floor, his sleek black robes shimmering in the werelight. He came to a halt near the edge of the circle, and beckoned her closer. She came, without resistance. Dreams had their own logic, but…this wasn't really a dream was it? That thought, too was lost, as Garius pulled her like a marionette to his side. "I have, in fact, long debated whether I ought to show this to you, whether you will understand" He looked down at her, being slightly taller, over the magnificent collar of black feathers that hung over his shoulders. His pale eyes shone like silver fire as he held her own with the terrible intensity of his gaze. "But now I see you, I know the truth…and my doubts shame me." He clutched his hands to his side, possessed by the sudden rush of passion.

"You must know everything" He rasped as though the words were forcing their way from his throat. "Everything…all my plans…you must, only you can understand, Phaedra. We are running out of time" Then suddenly, as though possessed by the same urgency, those silvery eyes shot back to her, found something within her, and pierced through her like a knife. Shock tightened the lines around his eyes, and his lips paled. "You are in the Mere?" He gasped. "No!" He stumbled back. "You cannot be in the Mere, not now…" His back was to her for a moment, and she looked innocently back at him, as unnerved by this display as by anything he had said. Then he turned back and the fear was gone from him, replaced by a cold, deadly light of purpose. "Phaedra" He said, and the intensity of his gaze was like nothing she had ever felt before. And the edge of urgency in his voice was so firm it was almost terrifying, so masterful that she knew whatever he asked she could not but obey. "You must leave the Mere, Phaedra Blake, leave it now, without hesitation. By the geas I have placed on you…this I command you" She blinked, feeling his words settle themselves into her skin like ink sinking into the pages of a scroll. "Now" He said hoarsely. "Phaedra Blake, awaken…" She stared back at him, blinking innocent dream eyes at him, unsure of what exactly he meant. And then she was flung back, though the walls of the prison, through every vault of her mind and back into her body and into her child's bed. She awoke drenched in cold sweat, gasping and shaking with the aftermath of the terrible vision, and of Garius' terrible warning. As before the darkness of the prison drained away like dark water down a hole and even as her mind seized at it with desperation it was gone. But this time, it left something behind. The words were still engraved in her mind, the spell still cast, and as they burrowed deeper and deeper she knew they were there, and a part of her knew why and who had laid them. But as she lay back in her bed, shivering, she dared not confront it, and pushed it, and the words, deeper into almost forgetfulness. But the spell could not be undone. And, as she arose, slowly, silently, she knew what she had to do. The Mere...she had to leave the Mere...


	62. Chapter 62

_Here we are again! Yay!_

_This chapter has many many dramatic lovely things. Bevil makes an appearance at last! Bishop and Phaedra have a little chat and so do Bishop and Casavir..._

_I have neglected the poor paladin lately, I confess. But hopefully this goes toward making up for it and explaining what he's been up to lately. Honestly I'd originally planned him to speak to Bishop a LONG time ago but things kept getting in the way. Well now he does at last. _

_Thank you to Gapode for the review and discussion. Oh, that reminds me, in the last chapter I changed the Neeshka and Bishop interaction substantially so you might want to take a look at that quickly. Otherwise, thank you to Cerulean Night for the favourite and Hanaith's Fury for putting me on alert! I appreciate it. _

* * *

The sunrise over the Mere had a sallow, lifeless quality that compounded Phaedra's growing unease. It seemed to curdle and sicken the air she was breathing, as she sat in her nightgown on the windowsill of her childhood room looking out into the swamp's dead expanse. How had she ever believed she would find safety in this sick, brooding wasteland? She now found she couldn't bear it, her every fibre ached to be away from this ghastly place. Although she had convinced herself that it was the events of the last evening which had so repulsed her, her sudden and violent aversion to the Mere was so strong and so compulsive that it almost seemed to come from somewhere outside her, as if someone was pulling an invisible cord at her soul, drawing her slowly closer toward him. She shuddered, what a hideous image, no doubt a consequence of the awful night she'd spent in her childhood blankets.

Sleep was becoming more and more unbearable, lately every night she woke before dawn in a mess of tangled blankets, her heart pounding and her breath short and shallow, as though she'd been desperately trying to flee some shadow in her dreams. And try as she might, after waking thus she couldn't sleep again. Over the last few days it had taken her hours to even get to sleep in the first instance, like some part of her was desperately trying to force her to stay awake. The constant struggle exhausted her, and the stress of it only added to the strain of everything that had happened, blurring her ability to think clearly, to come up with some way to get someone to leave West Harbour before…before whatever evil that lay thick upon the Mere like a film of oil coating everything dragged the village into the darkness. But last night had been even worse than usual, so bad that she hadn't even tried to get back to sleep, and had spent the last, lonely hour sitting here silent and still looking out into a Mere she could no longer endure. Neeshka and Shandra, their bedrolls spread out next to her bed nearly filling the whole room, were both still fast asleep: Neeshka tossing and turning at every small sound, constantly alert, Shandra lying still in the heavy slumber of a farmer. They'd both come back soon after Phaedra last evening, but she'd pretended to be asleep herself, unable to bear talking about what had happened to her village to anyone. It was just too raw, and neither of them could quite possibly understand what this felt like. To return to where you were meant to be home, and find it so changed, it was impossible to share that. She…ought to stay longer still, help…somehow, find some way to help…but the Mere…it was pushing her away, pressing on her like the air itself was thickening over her skin, making it crawl with the desire to escape. When she tried to convince herself to stay just a little bit longer just in case she could get through to someone in the village, the longing to be away from this poisonous place seemed to rise in her mind like a tumour, pushing against the sides of her skull. She had to be away, now…as soon as possible…

At once there was a massive crash from downstairs, a banging noise that sent Phaedra jumping from her perch in a sudden shock, wondering what exactly she had been thinking just now. And then it happened again, and again, a crashing pulse that shook Phaedra each time, and then she suddenly realised that someone was banging on the front door downstairs, hard. Quickly, leaping over Neeshka who she didn't even notice had woken, opening glinting crimson eyes, she ran for the door, the knocking still going on insistently as she raced down the corridor. Daeghun wasn't here, she didn't know where he was, and no caller would ever come to this house from the village for him. Whoever this was…she knew they were here for her. And somehow she knew who it was before she'd leapt down the stairs, her white nightgown and golden hair streaming behind her. Hurrying, she reached the door in a few fluid strides, and flung it open. Standing there in the doorway, his hand raised to knock again and pressed into a tight, clamped fist, his face flushed and the veins in his neck and temple standing out with anger…was Bevil.

"Bevil…" She began, then he swung out with one hand, and struck her across the face with a dizzying force. She didn't even know what had happened until she was staggering on the floor against the table, her world spinning, and her cheek stinging with the force of the blow. Gasping with the shock of it more than anything else, she raised a hand to her cheek, tears stinging her eyes, as she desperately tried to orient herself enough to look back up at Bevil…Bevil who had hit her…

"How could you?" Bevil was screaming at her now, but his screams were ragged, hoarse yells of grief and anger, and tears were streaming down his flushed face. He charged into the house after her, but though his arms were shaking and his muscles clenched tight, he did not hit her again. "How could you kill him?" He cried down at her, as she trembled helplessly almost unable to move and almost sobbing herself, with fear, with shock, with grief, with guilt…she couldn't even tell. "You knew, you must have known…oh Gods…Lorne…" He turned away, collapsed against the door frame. And then he broke down completely, sobbing like a child. Tentatively, Phaedra allowed herself to rise, though her legs were shaking uncontrollably and she could barely see through the tears. Lorne…

"Bevil…" She began again, and though the whole side of her face was aching…he'd hit her, just like his brother had, she moved over to him gingerly. Now she saw the wounds which must have been from the assault Retta had warned her about. Four of his fingers were bandaged together, they'd been broken…and he had new scars, one was livid across the side of his face, gouged almost like the mark of a claw, and his arms, bare in the light cotton tunic he was wearing, had a network of tiny scratches, a lattice of marks that told Phaedra one thing that sent her heart sinking in her chest…these were not scars of a battle…these were the systematic, brutal marks of torture. Someone had tortured Bevil.

"Oh Gods…" Bevil's broad farmer's shoulders heaved as he tried to speak through the sobs racking his body. "Phaedra…I'm so sorry, Gods…I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…" He collapsed towards her, and though he was taller and broader than her, fell into her arms. He practically felled her again, such was the weight he put upon her, but she managed to stand firm, and gingerly placed an arm over his heaving shoulders. He was sobbing into her neck, pressing himself closer against her, yearning for the comfort of closeness. He had hit her; she understood that it was in grief and realised now that this dawn, as per the ususal procedure of Brother Merring, they must have buried Lorne. He must have come straight here from the funeral. But he had hit her. She had expected tears, even anger…perhaps even that he would, like Retta, ask never to see her again, but, for gentle, calm Bevil to hit her…everything had changed here. "I…when I knew you had come back" He sobbed into her shoulder. "I didn't want to see you. I knew…it would all come back but I was never going to hurt you." She glanced sharply down into the mess of uncombed hair brushing her neck; that was a strange thing to say. "I wasn't going to come here" But she let him go on. "But when I saw Lorne in the ground something just snapped. I…had to do something, say something or I'd go mad. Gods, Phaedra say you forgive me…"

"I understand" She said softly. And she did. His anger at Lorne's abandonment and miserable fate with no way of getting back at his brother, had been turned on her for one moment of half-mad grief. And she understood his confusion, that she had been the one to kill the brother he had still loved, despite everything. His reaction was so much more natural than Retta's. But still his heavy, suffocating closeness was uncomfortable. As she tentatively detached herself he let her go. "Bevil, I'm so sorry. If there had been any other way…" She said quietly looking up into his crumpled, grief-streaked features. He had changed too, he was thinner, and unshaven, his stubble a rough shadow, and in his eyes there was some shadow she couldn't quite see past. But he did look more aware than the other Harbourmen.

"Chauntea, you look so different" Bevil muttered, not seeming to hear her. He was staring down at her now as if she were a ghost. "Gods…" He sighed suddenly, raising his hand to his face with a new horror and guilt in his eyes. There was something weighing on him, something deep poisoning his spirit, hardening his stature. Something that also helped to explain why he had struck her, but what was it? "When I imagined you coming back…" He said, his voice hoarse "So many times I thought about the first time we'd meet, what I'd say, and it was never like this. Never with you bearing my brother's body with you…and with me…like this…and what happened" He paused, not saying anything else, or revealing what he meant. "And you…you don't look like you belong here anymore, Phaedra. You're like something from Neverwinter, or from a story…"

"It's still me" She answered softly. Everyone had acted as though she had changed, but the face in her mirror still seemed almost the same to her. Perhaps it was the change in her spirit that they saw. But surely Bevil could still see her as she was? He'd known her so well before…

"And I saw those…people you brought with you" Bevil still didn't seem to hear her and pressed on regardless if he did. "Those men…who are they, Phaedra? That tall, silent one with the hammer, with the cold eyes…and that other one, the dangerous one, he looks like a bandit …they're not like us."

"They're my friends Bevil" Phaedra replied, drawing back and knowing for sure now that Bevil was not himself.

"They don't belong here" Bevil said. "You shouldn't have brought them…"

"I'm not staying Bevil" Phaedra interrupted him before he could get any further. She didn't want to hear any of this for a second more. "I'm leaving…today, in fact, as soon as I can."

"What?" Bevil looked at her with horror, barely comprehending. "But…you…what is this to you? Just a social call? Or were you just dropping my brother's body off, getting rid of the baggage, so you could go back to being a hero…?" His voice rose, and she knew his anger was coming back.

"Bevil, stop" Phaedra pleaded. "You know it isn't like that"

"How can I know that?" Bevil snapped. "I don't even know you anymore!"

"Don't say that…" Phaedra drew back as though he'd hit her again. And in a way he had…if even Bevil could stand there and say that, was there anything of the girl he'd known left in her? Anything of West Harbour left?

"I should have known you'd do this…" Bevil lowered his head, and a part of Phaedra wondered at this; something of this anger was born not of Lorne's death but of a self-hatred she couldn't understand. Somehow he wanted her to strike back at him. There was some festering guilt deep inside him. "I should have known always…"

"Bevil, can't you see it?" She drew to her full height, trying to get through to him. "The village, there's some evil here, out in the Mere, some shadow, and it's sapping the life from everyone! They're…dying, and I can't get them to leave, but if you spoke to them, to Retta…"

"How can you say that?" Bevil looked appalled. "You don't get to say that kind of thing to me, to any of us! Those of us who stayed, who tried to look after the village…"

"You know I had no choice!" Phaedra's voice rose, cracked under the strain. "You know that!" For Bevil to accuse her of that, after the guilt she was already feeling.

"There must have been some other way" Bevil said. "I've thought about it a lot, but Daeghun…you listened to him right away like you were always secretely desperate to get out of here!"

"I knew that the village might be attacked again if the shard stayed here" Phaedra cried, aghast, how could she be justifying this to Bevil, of all people? He'd been there the whole time…beside her, he knew all of this. "I was attacked only a day after I left the village, in the Weeping Willow Inn…and after that on the road they hounded me all the way to Neverwinter and they even infiltrated the city to get to me! If I'd stayed a second longer there'd have been another attack, and none of us would be here!" As she spoke of the attacks, Bevil suddenly almost convulsed, his features twisted up…and she saw the raw pain festering deep within. And the guilt…it was eating Bevil up from within. "Bevil, what's wrong?" She hurried over to him, and gently laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to catch his eyes to see what this horror was. "What happened to you?"

"No!" He drew back as though her touch burned him, desperately trying to avoid her gaze. "No…I'm not like you, Phaedra. I'm not strong. I don't have your power." He shook his head, inching towards the door now as if he longed to flee but was still drawn, inexorably to her and to what he longed to say but couldn't like a moth to the flame. "I should have known, even when I felt something for you…"

"Oh, Bevil," She gasped. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be, not to me" He shook his head firmly. "You can't fault what you are, who you are, and you were always meant to leave this village, leave us fools who were dazzled by your light…" He finally looked directly at her, and she felt her heart crack under the pain in his deep blue eyes. "Can't…you stay just a little longer?" He pleaded suddenly.

"I…I…" A part of her was desperate to say yes, desperate to salve his agony in any way she could, but suddenly the revulsion from the Mere, from everything around her, all rose within her like bile. Everything around her seemed to press in, the room compressed around her, and the throbbing ache in her head forced her thoughts still. "I can't…" The words almost pressed from her throat without her volition. "And neither can you or anyone else here. If you hear anything I've said, Bevil, listen to this. You've got to leave the Mere, now, before it's too late"

"You…you're sure?" Confusion fluttered across Bevil's face, and she saw the dead shadow over his eyes lift a little. Oh thank Lathander, Bevil's absolute trust of her, undented even by what had happened to Lorne, was fighting through the baleful influence.

"Yes" Phaedra answered. "I'm certain now" And certain she was, more certain than Elanee's warnings, the state of the village even those terrible things should have made her. She knew, like it was an instinct from deep within, that if they wanted to live, they had to leave now, and fast. And yet she couldn't stay, to help them. She couldn't, she just couldn't….

"Okay" He nodded firmly, and somehow a weight seemed to leave his shoulders. "I…I'll be right behind you then, just as soon as I can get mother moving." He suddenly reached for her, and touched her face, his gentle, but rough, calloused, farmer's fingers trembling as they ran over the swollen ache of where he had hit her. "I'm sorry" He said again, his voice hoarse again. "I…can't believe I did that to you…maybe I am more like Lorne than…"

"No you're not" Phaedra had to stand on her toes, but she leaned in and brushed her lips gently against his forehead, right where his floppy hair hung down to his brows, a sister's kiss. This was what he had always been to her, a dear brother…more family than Daeghun had ever been.

"I loved you" He said quietly, when they were that close, the closest they had ever been in all those years. "Even though I failed you, Phaedra…I loved you…" And then, not daring to explain those cryptic words, he turned away and fled from her house, leaving Phaedra suddenly feeling unbearably cold and alone. The second man to confess such feelings to her, the second Harbourman…and the second she had turned away, although Bevil had understood her feelings, and Cormick had not. True, Bevil she did love…but just not in that same, desperate, yearning way that both men had felt for her. Perhaps Cormick was right, perhaps she was meant to be alone. And yet, again unlike Cormick, she desperately wished she could have been happy with Bevil. Maybe then they could have fled this blight together, found some safety somewhere far from the Mere and lived the life that perhaps she should have lived; a farm somewhere out of the way, a humble marriage, children…a simple happiness. But, maybe because of the shard in her chest, maybe because of the fire in her blood, or the elven song in her heart…or maybe because of Daeghun's neglect, she could not. Agonisingly, she closed the door, every motion seemed to hurt…but it was only the rush of tears flooding back. And Phaedra fell to the floor by the door of the house that had never been her home, and she cried again, although by now it seemed that she should have wept every tear her body could hold. And she wept for Bevil, and for that life that flashed, just once for an agonising moment, before her eyes, a simple dream, and for the wreck of West Harbour…and everything that had gone wrong. And in her pain she was oblivious to the almost silent footfall as Neeshka padded her way back along the corridor back to her room….

Ooooo0000000ooooo

"By Tyr, who did this to you?" Casavir leapt up the moment Phaedra hurried over to where the rest of the party had met up with Shandra and Neeshka in tow. The paladin came over to her immediately, and looked with shock at her swollen cheek. He almost seemed as though he wished to take hold of her, but restrained himself if that was really what he was feeling and not simply wishful thinking on Phaedra's part. She wondered where Casavir fitted into the terrible, painful revelation that had come to her once Bevil had left her behind. Certainly his presence still troubled her in some indefinable way, and the simple world that she had imagined for her and Bevil would fit him no more than it would fit her. She didn't know if her feelings were just hero-worship, or something deeper that would last in any meaningful way. Did it really matter either way? She didn't know what Casavir felt for her and doubted she ever would, if it even went beyond the chivalrous regard he was showing her now.

"It's nothing…" She glanced away quickly. There was nothing that could be shared, if she told Casavir that Bevil had struck her, he would no doubt come to her defence immediately for her honour. But she couldn't allow Bevil to be hurt, not anymore than she had already hurt him. "Just…a mistake, an accident, it's over now." Inadvertedly, she caught Bishop's eyes as she tried to avoid Casavir's. He was looking at the welt across her face with a sudden flare of something dangerous.

"Did your father do this?" Casavir's icy eyes glinted with a cold flash of anger. Phaedra looked away from Bishop and at him quickly, wondering who had told him anything about Daeghun. Shandra and Neeshka had been with her almost all night, and no one else knew Daeghun at all, did they?

"No, he was gone all night…" Phaedra answered, and she couldn't keep her voice from trembling a little. She was leaving, now…and she might never see him again. "I don't know where"

"You look exhausted, Phaedra" Elanee fluttered at Casavir's shoulder, as usual seeing past the surface wound to the deeper thing troubling Phaedra. And Phaedra resented her for it. Was she allowed no secrets…no life outside their constant attendance upon her? "Have you slept at all?"

"I slept perfectly well" Phaedra said bluntly. Perhaps it was just tiredness talking rather than anything else, but her frustration seemed…excessive even to her. It was at moments like this she wondered if there was something else to her sleeplessness, something she was doing her best to hide from herself as well as the rest of the party. Uneasily she immediately passed over that. "I'm fine, alright…" She said, knowing that she sounded defensive but not knowing how to stop that weedling, frustrated tone in her voice. "I just need to get out of here…" Though Elanee and Casavir shared a glance, no one said anything to question that. After all, they'd all seen what had happened to the village too.

"Where…do you wish to go, my lady?" Casavir leaned in over her. Oh Gods, that question…where did she even want to go, where could she go? There was no home left for her here anymore, and only the growing press upon her that strained her more and more every minute she remained in the Mere. She…just wanted to get out of here…now, right away. But in the end she knew there was only one place she could truly go, no matter how reluctant she really was to return there.

"Neverwinter" She said quietly, at last. "We head back to the city…"

"Of course, my lady" Casavir nodded austerely. She sensed somehow that this wasn't the end of things, that Casavir had more to say to her, and would in time but the paladin never rushed things, and he would wait for the right moment to speak his mind. At least…she would much prefer to speak to him, than Elanee right now.

"We're all with you, Phaedra" Shandra said at her shoulder, leaning in. Phaedra gave a small smile back to her. How much harder would this be without her friends at least? "But what about…the village?" Shandra shot a cautious glance around the almost silent and empty tableau of the village, already looking dream-like and impossibly fragile in the tendrils of the morning mist, as though the Mere had already half-drawn the village into itself. It was early morning still, but there should have been someone to work with the livestock, an even punier and more sickly-looking bunch than Phaedra had even thought.

"I've done what I came here to do" Phaedra said "And I did my best to save them, maybe someone listened…there's nothing else I can do…" She looked up to the house on the hill, her house and Daeghun's…and thought of her foster-father with far more mixed feelings than he deserved. "But maybe in Neverwinter there's a chance I can find out some way to reverse this curse, or fight it somehow before it's too late for them."

"With the Circle gone, perhaps that is our only chance" Elanee acknowledged.

"And, don't take this the wrong way, but you always seem to be running into this King of Shadows character" Sand added rather glibly. "I'm sure he hasn't quite given up yet, which gives us a chance to find out more about him."

"That's reassuring" Shandra murmured.

"We're better off getting out of here before we turn out like the rest of them anyway" Neeshka said, suddenly, with what Phaedra thought was a shocking lack of sensitivity, and a strange new confidence for her. She shot the tiefling a pained glance, but Neeshka didn't look repentant in the slightest. Well perhaps it…was what they were all thinking, and perhaps the real reason why Phaedra found herself so desperate to get out of the Mere. Was the horrid blight already working on them, even now? It made Phaedra not want to breathe the poisoned air of this place. The Mere's sickly atmosphere ran like oil over her skin. She just wanted to get out of here

"Look, some of your friends are coming over" Shandra observed suddenly, and Phaedra looked up to see Georg and Tarmas both moving over to them, looking very solemn amidst the unctuous glow of the Mere's sickly morning.

"Can't say I blame you for moving out so soon" Georg said, once he'd reached them. "Not after what happened last night." He sighed, haggardly. "I've spent too long denying what was right before my eyes, but…what happened then…that was a village I couldn't even recognise, and I've lived here all my life" Phaedra looked at him with pity. He'd always protected the village, but right now, against this foe, what could he do?

"It's clear now" Tarmas nodded. He too looked drained, his skin pasty. "There is some malignant influence working on this village."

"We believe it's connected to the King of Shadows" Sand supplied. "An entity of which, regrettably, I can tell you little more than that."

"Gods" Georg raised his trembling hand to his forehead. "Haven't we already endured enough…now to go through this too?"

"Georg, Tarmas…" Phaedra stepped forward gently to them both. "This is only going to get worse. I don't know how long the village can last, but it won't be long. You need to get as many people out of here as you can"

"Believe me, child, I know that well" Tarmas said. "But the entropy amongst the villagers is impenetrable. It may already be too late for them." Phaedra looked at him, aghast. Don't say that…dear Gods, don't say that. "Those of us who are still in full possession of our wits may have to consider the possibility of…abandoning what cannot be saved" Phaedra felt a rush of horror, was this her mentor, the man she had trusted…being so selfish? But then, with a sickening ache settling in her stomach, she thought; what was she doing any different from what Tarmas was suggesting? She almost fought back for a second, struggling through the repellent influence intruding upon her mind, but the repulsion of the Mere was just too strong. No reason prevailed against it, even conscience was silenced as she felt a disorientating wrench down to her very spirit, a pull away from the Mere, away from West Harbour and any possibility of corruption. She couldn't bear this place a second longer, she just had…to get out of here.

"Aye, do as you will" Georg nodded. He didn't seem to judge Tarmas' decision at all, merely absorbed it as another blow. "You have no stake here, wizard, no one will stop you." He turned to Phaedra, and perhaps reading her acute discomfort, reached forward and laid a paternal hand on her shoulder. "Phaedra, maybe you leaving is the one chance this village has got left" He said. "There is something big riding on you, that's clear, and maybe, just maybe, you might get us off the hook on the way…"

"I take it you're not considering leaving, then" Tarmas sniffed.

"No, this is my village, my home" Georg answered firmly. "I'm the captain of the militia here. I'm not abandoning them." Phaedra looked at him with awe, this was a kind of nobility, and a kind of loyalty that was as far removed from Neverwinter as the village was, but this was Georg, all the best of West Harbour. Casavir's nobility was like Neverwinter's, a towering loyalty to vast abstracts, where Georg's was small, parochial, bound to the people of this village, sunken deep into the foundations of the place. Even though…he would be marooned in this swamp with the village falling apart, even though both Phaedra and Tarmas had warned him things would only get worse, even though he must know that there was only the slimmest of chances that Phaedra would find some way to save West Harbour…he would still stay with his people. It made Phaedra feel able to hope just a little bit more.

"Phaedra" And then Daeghun's dry, cool voice sounded behind her once again. Slowly, warily, she turned. And there he was, he must have approached from the back with that absolute silence of movement which Bishop shared. He held one of his Duskwood bows in hands, but she barely noticed it. She couldn't hide her unease, the stiffening of her shoulders as she looked into the bleakness of her foster-father's eyes. She knew now that coming to West Harbour had brought none of the catharsis she'd hoped for, and with Daeghun least of all. But at least he had come. It would have been worse to leave, being so unsure of what could happen, without ever seeing him again. "You can do no more here" He said "Do not torment yourself with what you cannot change" Phaedra looked at him with pain, so how long had grief tormented him to make him into this dry statue of a man? Grief for what he could not change, Shayla's death…if thing kept on going like this, would she end up like him?

"He's right" Tarmas nodded and shot Daeghun a sideways glance. Phaedra realised that these were perhaps the only three people left in the village who hadn't been affected by the curse, yet. They all shared that strength of will, but how long would it last against this seeping sickness of the Mere? "And what of your plans, elf?"

"I will stay as long as I am needed" Daeghun said, closing him off again. What did that mean, would he stay until the Mere took him too, or would he leave like Tarmas once things got beyond saving? If so, where would he go? To Neverwinter…? Duncan? "One last thing, lass" Daeghun ignored the speculative looks of Tarmas and Daeghun, stepping closer to Phaedra. "I noticed you have lost your bow in the course of your travels" Phaedra stared at him, of course…she had, Lorne had broken it… "So I have made you a replacement" He handed her the bow he held, and unresisting, yet…stunned she took it in her hands, almost automatically running her fingers over the polished dark wood, feeling its silken smoothness under her touch, sanded and waxed to perfection. Under her lightest tug, the wood gave beneath it…bending ready to be pulled, and yet she felt the incipient potential power humming beneath the surface. The bowstring was swamp boar gut, strong and supple. Slowly she looked up, into her father's smooth, unlined face, even now his walls were up, she could see nothing behind them, but…this gift…he must have spent days crafting this, presumably expected to use it himself, and now he was handing it to her. And he had spent years learning his craft, more than a human lifetime perhaps. It was beyond precious; somehow it seemed to be worth more than every treasure she had found on her journey. "Use it well" Daeghun said simply.

"I will…" Phaedra nodded slowly. Confusion whirled in her mind as she looked back at her foster father for a long moment, perhaps things weren't as simple as she had thought. Maybe she had wronged him…by believing he had maliciously kept secrets from her…maybe she had…about Daeghun she wasn't sure what to believe anymore. But she knew now that she could not sever her feelings for him as easily as she had thought, they would always have a bond, unwished for, perhaps, but still there. "Thank you father" She murmured.

"Farewell, again, daughter" Daeghun said softly. "You had better be on you way."

Ooooo00000000000000ooooooooo

A solemn mood prevailed over the party as they travelled back through the Mere once again. Perhaps it was the Mere's influence, that coiling corruption just out of reach…or perhaps, after all, it was simply the heavy events of the past few days. Phaedra could scarcely believe she had been in West Harbour for only a day and a night, it seemed impossible that so much could have happened to shake her so profoundly in such a short time. It already seemed like she had been in the Mere for…an intolerable period, it itched at her constantly now, wheedled her continuously, so that she bit down on her tongue rather than speak in case she screamed out with the frustration of it. Without even knowing it, her silence fed into the silence of the party, so that as they trudged on through a Mere grown now much more hostile, no one really spoke at all. Even when darkness fell, and they camped out a night in the bleak wilds of the swamp, absolutely the last thing Phaedra wanted to do, with only a small fire between them and the encroaching, predatory darkness, the silence was nearly entirely complete. And she sat there and endured it alone with gritted teeth, as the tug upon her grew stronger and stronger in the silence. She didn't know how to even start to explain it to any of the others, and after West Harbour she wasn't sure she even had the words anymore. Would she ever? Slowly one by one the others settled into their blankets and into sleep, and she knew that none of them quite knew what to say to her either. But Phaedra sat up as the night drew on, staring into the slowly dying fire, and sinking into a strange, almost uncomfortable reverie. Her thoughts drifted further and further from her…closing her eyes she almost saw, like a half-shadow cast by the fire, a high throne-like chair, and cold, unadorned stone walls. And she caught the rustle of silk on the wind, and a voice on the edge of hearing…whispering something dark, intimate…and secret…

"Hells, princess, you've been dull lately" She started at Bishop's voice, which instantly slammed her back into the dulled reality of her sitting here rather uncomfortably in the middle of the trackless wilds. She blinked, trying to centre herself again where she was, rather disorientated as if she really had left the place for a second…she must have been about to fall asleep, and what strange, dark fancies haunted her mind these days. Glancing around her, she saw Bishop standing over her, looking rather…dangerous in the firelight that played in a wash of shadow and light over his predatory features, the spark of the flame reflected in those wolfish tawny eyes. She'd forgotten how tall he was, and was annoyingly aware suddenly that the rest of the party was probably asleep.

"Bishop" She said, her voice sounded scarcely like her own, faint, frail, exhausted. In fact, after everything, compounded by her barely sleeping, that was how she felt. "I'm not in the mood right now, alright?"

"And what exactly are you in the mood for?" Bishop sniped. "Sulking around like some temple bitch?" Shifting angrily, she shot him a warning glare. "That's better" He smirked and she was angry that she'd given him any reaction at all. Didn't he see that she just wanted to be left alone? It was even worse when he took the liberty of crouching down next to her, though she made sure not to look at him again. His presence imposed on her more than it should have done. And she couldn't help but notice when he reached forward and picked up the bow that Daeghun had given her from amidst her packs, testing its give with easy familiarity, although it was quite a bit too small for him.

"What are you doing?" She asked snappishly.

"Just taking a look, testing out your father's craft" He said. "You did say he was better than me at this kind of thing"

"Oh, I'm sure he is" Phaedra crossed her arms. This time Bishop didn't rise to the bait, simply smiling enigmatically as though he knew better but he wasn't going to press the point. Gods, his arrogance…

"Say, how about we test it out?" He skilfully hefted the bow, as he lithely stood. "As he was good enough to make it for you, may as well see if it performs up to scratch" Phaedra didn't move.

"No, thank you, not now" She said coldly.

"Come on, princess, lighten up" He looked down at her sideways. "Don't you want to know how well this thing works before the next bunch of idiots try to kill us?"

"It's the middle of the night" Phaedra complained.

"You're not sleeping anyway" Bishop countered lazily.

"It's pitch dark" Phaedra scowled at him. "And Gods alone know what's out there"

"Don't give me that, princess, you can summon light with just a word" Bishop answered. "And I'll protect you" He grinned mockingly. "Or Karnwyr will, I think he likes you." Phaedra glanced down beside him to see the wolf sitting with unnervingly complete silence at the edge of the faint, flickering ring of light cast by the fire. He was watching her intently, scarcely even seeming to blink. His yellow eyes gleamed and glinted, as shadow rose and fell over him from the fire. He didn't look very protective…not that she'd ever need that from Bishop, or his creature of course. "So are you coming, or are you going to cut the crap and tell me the real reason you're being such a cold bitch lately?" Bishop said, leaning over her again.

"What do you mean?" Phaedra glared at him, but he only raised an eyebrow as if he was still waiting for her to answer. Either…go with him, or tell him…the confusing mess of reasons why she felt so ill at ease lately…she knew he'd never give up until she did one or the other. She almost opened her mouth to snap at him to remember what had happened to her village, but paused before she could, knowing in some indefinable way that the village was not the only reason for her mood, though she couldn't have said anything else about what was, and she had no doubt Bishop would find some way to pry that truth from her. And frankly she didn't want to talk about that, not to him, not to anyone. Well really there was only one choice. It could only be a limited amount of painful and humiliating to go out with Bishop again. "Fine, let's get this over with" She pushed herself to her feet and seized the bow stubbornly from his hands. He could use his own, thank you very much.

Walking out into the swamp with Karnwyr padding at her heels, absently conjuring a globe of light around them, she remembered the last time they had tested archery, on the way to Port Llast. Those days…she'd almost imagined…something happening between them back then, however unwise it would have been. But then she'd learned about Malin, and it had all crashed down around her. So long as there was no competition around them this time, she'd just get this done and over with, no matter what Bishop thought he wanted from this, he wouldn't get it from her.

"Here" Bishop strung his vast bow. "I'll fire an arrow, and let's see if you can match it" He nodded to a vast, gnarly willow tree that rose from the filthy waters of the Mere like some ancient idol, looming in the darkness. It looked…unearthly in the soft glow of the light spell with the darkness all around it, like it had drank something deep and dark and poisonous through its roots from the very heart of the Mere. Without another word Bishop shot, with his usual deadly precision, straight at the heart of the willow's trunk. "Your turn" He nodded to her.

"No forfeits this time" Phaedra said, remembering her last disastrous attempt at this. Bishop shrugged, but gave no clear reply. So she decided she might as well get this over with, get the teasing and casual insults done so she could go back to the warm fire. She took up her own bow, sighing with impatience, took aim and fired. The shot went wide, far wide. Hells, she cursed inwardly, Bishop had been right…the bow had a different balance to it, a certain…lightness that her previous bow had lacked. The latter, though Daeghun's work had been an inferior version made of Mere wood rather than Duskwood. This one gave so effortlessly that she'd mistimed the shot, and it would take some getting used to before she could start fighting with it. She glanced at Bishop, tensing herself for some irritating barb, some glib, mocking comment, but Bishop didn't even seem to care.

"Try again" Was all he said. Rather confused by his unexpected seriousness, but strangely compelled by it too, she nodded and did so. Again the shot went wide. Again Bishop didn't mock her. "You're trying too hard, princess" He said. "Go by instinct, let the bow do the work for you" Again she tried, and again and again, each time Bishop offered her advice on how to improve. Suspicion of his motives passed as she got into it more and more. It…felt good. The repetition of it, the rhythm drew her in: draw the arrow, slot it in, aim and fire…then fall silent and hear Bishop's rough murmur at her ear…then try again. Somehow she fed herself into it, until it became all she could think about, and the weight of her troubles and dark thoughts slipped away. Even the compulsion, and the itching agony of still being in the Mere, faded as she focused more and more intently on correcting the most minute aspects of her technique under Bishop's direction. It surprised her how rusty she was, with her archery; it seemed she'd given too much weight to her magic lately. She'd forgotten the pleasure that this, the simple practice of the bow, could bring. And somehow…too there was an element of this, whereby striking at the tree felt like striking back at some indefinable enemy…the Mere's evil growing in the shadows like some vile fungus, or the inexpressible influence driving its claws into her mind. Karnwyr watched them inscrutably from the side. Absently she wondered what the wolf was thinking would happen here. Had he ever watched Bishop do this with other women? With Malin maybe? What did he expect would happen between them? That thought caused her to slip up completely, and the arrow went utterly wide.

"Hells!" Phaedra cursed, and the word seemed impossibly loud as she realised it was the first thing that had been said in a while. During her last few attempts, Bishop had simply been watching her, silently. He had an indefinable menace, standing there with the uncertain light of the spell flickering and wavering around him. But of course she told herself he didn't look even more indefinably attractive like this, as though he belonged here in the dark wilds of the Mere with his tawny eyes glinting inscrutably as he looked at her coolly.

"Having trouble?" He said softly.

"I just…got distracted" She answered cautiously. In reply, Bishop moved over to her with one fluid stride and not a word of explanation. Passive, unsure of how quite to react, she let him get close, let him take hold of her with sudden, shocking directness. Before she truly even understood what was going on, Bishop had both her arms in his firm grasp. In a sudden flare of an instinctive panic she didn't even understand she buckled, but Bishop kept firm hold of her.

"Hells, relax princess" Bishop muttered in her ear, as if she was completely over-reacting by being uneasy at being man-handled by him. "I was just going to show you how this is done." His hands moved over her's, swallowing up her own; his grip was very strong, and the callouses on his hands were rough against her smooth skin as his fingers wrapped around hers. They took hold of her bow, guiding her own fingers into place. He had positioned himself just behind her, and the whole of his lithe leanness had to be only inches from pressing against her back. Certainly her head was perilously close to falling against his shoulder and she was sure she felt a glow of the warmth of his body against the night all around them…or was that just the flush rushing through her own body? She was aghast at his boldness, but found she couldn't say anything at all, only let him guide the bow into place. His arms now surrounded her; one found a quite improper place around her shoulder as he pulled back the bow-string steadily to the straining point at which the tension was enough to fire it. And there he held it just a second longer than perhaps was necessary. She couldn't tell, not being able to see him at all and afraid to look in case she ended up finding herself any closer to him. Though she found her hands were shaking, Bishop held them still. And…somehow through all of the discomfort and embaressment or perhaps because of them, it was one of the most sensually charged moments of her life. She felt…his breath in her hair, the strain rippling through his muscles as he held her and the bow still, and the formidable strength coiling in those muscles…he pulled back the bow further than she could have done, further than she would have dared. The same tension seemed to rise within her, until she found herself almost breathless, awaiting the moment of release. And then he did let go. And, despite that he was holding her, and despite that the bow wasn't made for him at all, it flew straight to the centre of the willow and lodged itself within the bark just above the first. Phaedra stared at it with shock…how was he this good at archery? How was he so much better than her? And then she realised that Bishop was still holding her, that he still hadn't let her go.

"Bishop…" She warned quietly, and then her voice caught in her throat before she could get any further when suddenly Bishop moved, leaning in, and drawing her so close that the small distance between them melted away. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he was about to kiss her, but then he stopped with his lips inches from her face. She looked up into his eyes, transfixed, with her heart pounding out a rapid patter against her chest. He didn't look…like he wanted…that from her, instead he looked deadly serious, and yet…the dangerous intensity in his eyes was acting on her like some kind of fever.

"Now, tell me, princess" He said softly, roughly… "What's really going on with you?" She blinked, unsure of what he meant for a brief moment. And then she knew, and she felt a rush of real terror. Don't make her do this, not talk of that…

"I don't know what you're talking about" She whispered emptily into his face. If only she could look away…if only she could escape…but he held her fast. She couldn't even try.

"I think you do…" Bishop answered firmly. "You're whispering things in your sleep every night, you're spending half the day in a daze, and don't think I haven't noticed just how desperate you are to get out of the Mere." He leaned in even closer. "Don't pretend nothing's going on." He said. Phaedra shuddered. His words hit her like arrows from his bow. Every one…reinforcing the suspicions she'd tried so hard to ignore and forcing her to confront them. And since it was him who was confronting her, it forced her mind despite her own frantic resistance down the natural path to that night in the Flagon…when she lay in her poisoned delirium, and the desperation of her request afterward. She'd suppressed those memories as best she could, but Bishop could always strip away her illusions, force her to face the truth. Did he think he was fulfilling her plea now, confronting her alone out in the darkness where she had no chance to escape? She was desperate to escape, to find the solace in the same empty denials, but Bishop's gaze pressed in upon her, and she knew what name he was waiting for her to speak…Black Garius…

And then Karnwyr let out a ragged howl that split the silence like a knife. Instantly Bishop spun, dragging a shocked and unresistant Phaedra with him, and yet somehow at the same time shielding her within the enclosed circle of his arms as though she was some treasured possession he was greedily protecting. While Phaedra was struggling to catch up, still half in shock from what Bishop had asked her and now at Karnwyr's sudden interruption, Bishop let go of her and drew over his shoulders his own huge bow, tensing up like he was expecting to fight. An attack…? And then she saw Karnwyr. The wolf was looking out into the darkness, his hackles raised and teeth bared. There was…something out there, just beyond the globe of light. Phaedra tensed, all the blood draining from her…

And then there was movement in the shadows, a shuffling unsteady movement, and Phaedra, whispering the incantation, drew up her hand…and the light spell suddenly intensified, rising up into the darkness so that the light it shed spread out into the swamp, washing over the sludge and weeds of the undergrowth. She saw something, a shadow…a figure from the darkness, and then Karnwyr leapt in a flurry of snapping teeth and snarls and he cannoned into something just within the darkness. A high-pitched, inhuman howl arose from the figure as the wolf's tackle brought it down and Karnwyr ripped and tore into his foe, and then there were other shapes rising from the darkness. Bishop was already moving, he fired quickly, and his arrow sent another of the approaching creatures tumbling into the fetid waters. And then Phaedra finally saw it, and knew what was coming…undead, more loathsome walking corpses like those she had encountered in Highcliff and around Fort Locke before. This time, though, there was no dungeon, no necromancer crouching beneath the ground…these undead were moving freely through the swamp, and barely a day's journey from West Harbour. The Mere had given birth to death and undeath. Bishop kept on firing, ignoring Phaedra who still stood by him and stared horrified into the shadows. Every time a creature appeared in the globe of light, and sometimes even before Phaedra could see it he would fire and fell the terror…and Karnwyr was amongst them too, pulling down others with tooth and animal rage. She'd never really concentrated on how the wolf fought but she saw him now…he was canny enough to avoid his foes' lumbering attempts to drag him down, and fast enough too, bounding from side to side in amongst the undead until one presented a vulnerability then he would seize it and pull it down, quickly ripping out its throat before it could present any difficulty. It…was the hunting tactic of one who had long hunted without a pack. And yet she noticed too how Karnwyr lured certain of the undead into a vulnerable position, drawing them into Bishop's flurry of arrows, while he in turn would always cover his partner if one of the undead circled too close. They worked as a team.

And then she remembered that she was simply watching, and the undead were still coming, with no way of telling how many of them there were. She cursed herself for being so slow, for leaving it all to Bishop and Karnwyr like some damsel in distress. Well…she was no damsel, and if striking the tree had felt like striking back at this evil, then incinerating its dark minions would surely present her no difficulty. Without even whispering any kind of incantation, she opened her mind to the power, and her hands ignited. It was ready to be used. Her fingers pulsed with power as the flames grew taller, hotter…and she let the power build within her, rising like a pyre, until she felt it burn through her whole body. It reminded her strangely of watching and feeling Bishop with her bow…the surge of potential energy aching to be unleashed, and the strange…magnetism of such a build-up of latent strength. She let it simmer for a moment within her, spreading her arms until it wound around her, building up the power, and then she thrust it, exploding, from her body. Fire shot across the Mere in a flaring blast of brilliance, sheets of flame burst through the night air, lighting up the dank water and burning through the darkness. Karnwyr pulled back almost instantly, almost turning mid-leap, and bounded back to Bishop's feet as the fire raced over the swamp in a gush of blazing power and a rush of heat. Phaedra clenched her fists together, forcing herself to control the fire, to direct it, and it responded, thank the Gods, ripping through the shadows in a blazing maelstrom that swiftly consumed what remained of the detachment of undead. And then, flickering and sparking in the darkness and sending a wash of light high into the sky, it fed upon itself and died there in a brilliant paroxysm above the poisoned Mere. Once all was dark and silent again, Phaedra lowered her hands, unexpectedly breathless, her heart and head pounding. She had controlled it, she could control it. And its power was unbelievable.

Carefully, she glanced at Bishop and Karnwyr, the pair were both watching her: the wolf with a new cautious respect, the man utterly impossible to read. Funny that she could tell what Karnwyr was thinking so much easier than she could with Bishop. But it was clear Bishop was not finished with what he had begun to say before the attack. Well, frankly, she very much was.

"We've got to warn the others, tell them that there are undead out here" She said quickly, breathlessly, swiftly allowing this new imperative to sweep away any sign, any lingering thought, about what Bishop had just forced her to confront. "I knew we shouldn't have delayed, we've got to get out of the Mere right now" She'd wake the others, pull them from their bedrolls if necessary. It was clear now…the Mere was far more dangerous than even she had thought…undead…out here so close to the road, nothing was safe anymore. They had to move, they had to be gone from here. She hurried past Bishop, not looking at him again, but knowing his eyes were still upon her and that if he was silent now he would not be forever. But right now he let her go, and followed silently behind her as she fled back to the camp and that was all that mattered. As she went, she found herself casting one more plaintive glance back to the south, towards the West Harbour road. No one in the village had spoken of undead being so close, perhaps they did not even know. Were the creatures circling in, preparing to strike…? And yet something told her this baleful corruption would never be so destructive, so wasteful. It would prefer to slowly drain the life from the people, feed from them, finish what it had begun. Though the thought was chilling to the bone, it yet gave a small glimmer of hope. As long as the village still stood there was yet hope.

Ooooo00000000000ooooooooooo

Casavir had been silent for a long time. Of course, he had spoken when he was needed: offered his more practical advice, seen to Phaedra when she had emerged from her father's house with a bruised face and a soul that was far more wounded, helped to rally the party when she had come back to the campsite in the Mere white with terror and insited they travel onwards in the pitch darkness. But, speak though he must about these practical realities, his silence was a deeper thing; a silence about what concerned him most deeply of all. Such silence came a great deal easier to him than it had in the first fevered and guilt-racked beginnings of his vows. Back then he had not understood that a paladin was as much a priest whose sacrament was the battle as a simple warrior with a cause behind him: courage, conviction, duty; the demands upons a paladin were far greater than these: he had also to have faith in the darkest moments, to be true to his vows no matter what, to endure all trials trusting in his God and in the power of justice and sanctity which he embodied. Few ever reached that high pinnacle; he had not. And yet endurance had become easier in these later days. As they walked on along the now-empty highway which led from the South through Neverwinter Wood towards the great city, with the tall trees shot through with a soft evening light, rustling in a cool, fresh breeze all around them, he considered his silence.

He had said his peace concerning Sand, and Phaedra's warlock powers back in the city, he could say no more of that, only hope she listened. Likewise her disagreement with Elanee was between them, he had no right to interfere. And Bishop…Casavir turned his head and considered the man walking conspicuously absently from the rest of the party. He still despised the man, sensed the reek of savagery and evil coiling in Bishop's heart…but he had come to the realisation that his earlier attempts to make Phaedra see what he did had been wrong. Better to silently trust her, he was a paladin and he should have faith enough to see that Phaedra's purity would win out against Bishop's evil; he ought too to have trust enough in her to believe that. His calling was not to decide Phaedra's path, but to follow in her footsteps, and be there for her to bear her troubles whenever she needed him. And yet…he could not rid himself of the thought that when she had woken them all that night in the Mere speaking frantically of undead it had been Bishop who had been awake beside her, who had…it seemed fought off the undead attack alongside her. He told himself that it was not merely for Phaedra's sake that he was worried, and that his feelings had nothing to do with his concern about Bishop, merely his duty to those he fought alongside. Elanee's troubles with Phaedra had something to do with the ranger, too, he was certain of that. And that was only the latest in a long line of troubles of which Bishop had been the centre, splits and cracks in the group that had been whole before he had joined them. It was for everyone in the party's good, then, if he warned Bishop away from going too far.

But he wouldn't speak to Phaedra, he would trust her, and besides she did seem to be avoiding Bishop quite conspicuously since that night, but there was nothing to stop him confronting Bishop on his own terms. He'd avoided that for a long time, sensing that the ranger was thirsting for a contest between them and loathe to give him what he wanted. Confronting Bishop like he would have once in his life confronted any noble with whom he contested would somehow have validated the ranger as some kind of worthy rival, another man of honour with whom to spar in the terms of chivalry. Bishop was manifestly not that, but perhaps Casavir's hesitance still had done more harm than good. He could still confront Bishop, not in terms of honour and chivalry, but in terms the ranger would understand, terms that would make him hesitate before he ran roughshod over the rest of the group. He'd gotten away with too much too long. And so, with all of this in mind, when the ranger left the rest of the party when they settled down for the night Casavir made it his business to follow Bishop out into the forest. The ranger didn't go far. It was quite clear, when Casavir reached him in a small glade carpeted with leaves, that Bishop had swiftly realised that he was followed. As Casavir entered the grove the ranger mockingly waited for him to catch up, leaning insolently against a tree.

"Something you need?" Bishop said, with a mocking jeer, as he moved away from the tree and Casavir came to meet him. That wolf was at his feet, as always and looked at Casavir with eyes too canny and too distrustful to be a normal creature's. He was another of Bishop's plots, no doubt. "I heard you stomping through the undergrowth like a swamp boar"

"Indeed?" Casavir said coldly. If Bishop wished to engage in cheap insults, it lowered him and it did not touch Casavir. Let him say his peace. Once he was done with his crude blathering, Casavir would have his own to say.

"Whatever it is, it must have got you all troubled up to your halo to make you come all the way out here." The ranger continued, the ugly swagger to his tone informing Casavir that this was a bait, and a crude one. Bishop wanted him to hit back. "Maybe it's jealousy"

"It has nothing to do with her" Casavir said firmly. Speaking of him in those terms was one thing, but of Phaedra he would not abide this talk. The ranger's words were slime; he spoke of Phaedra, who was due their utmost respect as their leader, as a woman, and as a friend, with such vile baseness.

"Really?" Bishop leaned in, reeking sarcasm. "Guess I called it wrong then." And here his hand ran along his bow, an almost caress, loading his words with implicit threat. "But the thing is, when I shoot an arrow, it doesn't miss"

"I am watching you Bishop" Casavir answered. Here was the warning he wished to give the ranger, the reminder that Bishop was not the only one who could make threats, that there were others close to Phaedra who knew him for what he really was."I do not trust you, and she shouldn't either."

"Sounds like good advice to me" Bishop sneered. "Same thing I told her about you" Casavir could not restrain the disgust that such a statement sent through him, he knew that he instantly tensed, instantly looked at Bishop that much colder and deeper, and he knew too that Bishop saw it too.

"What do you mean?" He could not but ask, though he knew it was what the ranger wanted. He wanted Casavir to think of secret meetings, lies whispered in the dark...he fought for calm, grounding it in his newly avowed trust of Phaedra.

"You can distrust me all you want" Bishop shrugged, but his golden eyes glinted, fixed on Casavir.. "Thing is, I'm still a league's throw more honest than you are; some paladin who can't even figure out how he feels about a woman half the time." Again, the sharp edge of contempt in his voice, this was Phaedra he spoke of. "It's the problem with you holy warriors" Bishop continued contemptuously. "And why you're such trouble on the battlefield." He glanced sideways at Casavir, and the ugly glint in his eyes spoke of some disgusting speculation in that gutter-fed mind. "All that pent-up frustration, when all you really have to admit is that you need a drink from a wench's cups just like the rest of us"

"Do not speak of her that way" Casavir said, firmly and coldly. Enough was enough; if Bishop wished to cast such vile insinuations about him, it was no matter. The Gods knew which of them was more honest with Phaedra. He was not the one who pretended to be a guide and friend to her but actually only lusted after her body. Any feelings Casavir had for Phaedra were pure, godly, he wished only the best for her. Which was why he would not stand by and let Bishop express his lust in such vile terms. As if every man, every person, was like him, a slave to their basest desires. If we so chose, with the Gods' help, we could be more than that.

"Nah" Bishop scoffed, suddenly seeming angry, as though Casavir's words were the insult. "Don't be defending her honour. She can do it herself" Casavir glared at him, it was not always Phaedra's honour he was defending, though any respect and care he took of it was only just and righteous. He did not wish Bishop to hurt her, and if she allowed him to, he would. "And unlike you paladin, I know she can" Bishop sneered. "So I don't need to be getting all tough and clench-jawed" This was Bishop's refrain; about how Casavir was the one always trying to limit Phaedra, where Bishop offered her a kind of freedom. But true freedom came not in following one's every impulse, killing and whoring at a whim, an island alone subject to nothing, but in knowing one's true place in the cosmos, beneath the Gods and as a man or woman amongst and in service to others. That was what he wanted Phaedra to know, that down Bishop's path lay only despair and death.

"Then you know nothing about her" Casavir answered. Of course, he thought he did, he likely thought he knew everything about women just from his brief, hateful conquests. But Phaedra was not a vulnerable tavern girl, a desperate, crushed street worker, or a jaded whore from the city. And he doubted Bishop had ever cared to learn anything about any of them either, any more than he really knew Phaedra. She had been hurt a great deal in her life, and Casavir now knew that more than ever with what he had seen in West Harbour, and what she had seen there must have scarred her even deeper. Sometimes, she would need protection, even the strongest needed that sometimes, and a paladin's task and burden was to be there to answer that need. It was not to weaken her to admit that. It was to be aware of her humanity, her fragility. The same humanity, fragility, they all shared.

"Well I know what she likes" Bishop taunted, and his tone implied much and presumed much. "She likes someone who's not afraid to make the hard decisions, who's not afraid to do what needs to be done." His voice hardened as he went on, the edge of contempt slipping back into it. At his feet, Karnwyr was getting restless, edgy, another sign that the ranger was growing angry and his wolf knew it. "Because men like me are a sight more honest that anyone with a temple's cloak on their shoulders."

"Clearly you do not know me either" He shook his head coldly. What vile, desperate lies. Evil was always this banal in the end, unmasked of its terror. "Or anything of what the cloak of the temple truly means" He fixed the ranger in a cold glare. "But I know you; I have fought men like you a hundred times before. Men who live for nothing but their own selfish pleasure, who are chained to their own emptiness..."

"That is rich" Bishop smiled thinly, but Casavir saw the sudden flash of anger that passed over his tawny eyes. He didn't like that truth, didn't like it at all. No man like him ever did, they were slaves to their impulses and they didn't even know it, they assumed they were somehow free. There was no freedom to be found in the darkness. "Now you think you can judge me. And you really believe she'll ever listen to that kind of bull-shit?"

"You want her" Casavir accused, his voice hard. This could be turned both ways. His lust for Phaedra was so obvious, but he would not want to be reminded that he was so in thrall to it, to her. "Everyone about her calls to a man like you" The challenge, perhaps, or simply the spite of it; in the end Bishop's motivation didn't matter. What mattered was that he was after Phaedra, and he would not have her. That was nothing to do with Casavir's feelings; any woman ought to be protected from this selfishness, this wild contempt for everything good. And a paladin was to do that.

"Hells, paladin, if I wanted her badly I'd have had her already" Bishop gave a cynical, ugly laugh. "She's just another woman."

"You think I don't see it?" Casavir snapped. The ranger was clearly lying. If he could uncover any clue of it, he would be one step closer to being able to unmask Bishop and protect them all from his inevitable treachery. "The way you look at her; the only reason you're still here is because you lust after her"

"Careful, paladin, or I might just start getting angry" Bishop said softly, Casavir wasn't intimidated but he had to admit that the ranger had a formidable air of danger, of murder about him at such moments. He hadn't lied, he'd encountered many men who were like Bishop, but something about the ranger was different. "She doesn't control me; no one does"

"Of course" Casavir shook his head. "You can't even control yourself" Bishop's eyes flashed, but there was no other visible sign of his anger. Casavir wondered for a moment if his assessment of Bishop as wholly driven by his impulses was wholly accurate. Did the ranger have some other agenda? Impossible...he would have seen something by now.

"Are you quite done, then, paladin?" Bishop asked sarcastically. "Accomplished what your little talk wanted you to do?" Casavir glared at him, but he knew he had done what he had come to do. He had given his warning, and it had been heard and noted. "Good" Bishop sneered "Now get out of here" For all his cynicism, acting like Phaedra didn't matter to him, something about Casavir's position did anger him in truth. "And let her make her own decisions. I do" Casavir turned away from Bishop, and slowly left the glade. He didn't look back, although he felt a strong urge to, as though he expected Karnwyr to be following. It shouldn't have felt like some kind of retreat, as though Bishop had won. This was not a contest, he reminded himself. Perhaps Bishop thought so, but it profoundly devalued Phaedra if they turned her into some kind of prize to be fought over. He only hoped that their conflict would remain invisible to Phaedra, if only to free her from experiencing any more distress than the sorrow she had already endured.

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It was, in fact, a strange relief to Phaedra when the walls of Neverwinter came into sight, glistening in the crisp morning light over the hill just beyond the last curve in the road. That was not to say it felt anything like coming home, not in the slightest, but at least she knew where things stood here, what was what and who she was within it, something she could no longer say for West Harbour. And there were people, Khelgar, Duncan…who she would be so glad to see again. Leading Misletoe with a gentle pull on the reigns, she found her step grew a little lighter, her burden a little less heavy. It was a beautiful morning, clear and clean and hale, and the first time she had noticed such a thing since she had left West Harbour. The terrible compulsion upon her had in fact left her the moment she'd strayed from the Mere, but she was left with a lingering unease, and prey to strange, vague impulses that did not seem to be her own. The dreams that plagued her at night hadn't stopped either. And yet…Neverwinter, though she'd seen too much here to suspect that the city was the sanctuary it had once appeared, still…had to be safer than being out alone on the road. What she should be safer from still remained locked in the vaults of her mind, and if she ever thought about it she vowed it would remain there, Bishop's efforts notwithstanding. She'd successfully avoided speaking to, and even looking at as much as she could, the ranger on the journey from the Mere. And thankfully he hadn't tried anything again. Perhaps he was occupied with the growing tension she sensed between him and Casavir, something she had thought was rather behind them, but which had reared its head again lately. She sighed, it wasn't her problem, so she should be able to put it from her mind. But she couldn't stop herself suspecting that she was the root of their conflict, and that frustrated her no end.

The gates loomed above them, and the light gleamed over the austere marble stone and on the dull iron of the portcullis that hung ready to be released to seal the city off from an invader. It seemed so impregnable to Phaedra again, that she had to remind herself that the Githyanki had infiltrated it, and so had Ajah. Even now the crowds that flocked into the city now as every morning, bringing the produce and goods that fed the great city…any of them could be spies, assassins. Gods, she shuddered and forced that thought away: she couldn't live looking over her shoulder the whole time. Surely she'd been away from the city long enough for Nasher to root out any of Torio's remaining agents? Look, the security had even been increased; a sergeant of the City Watch, one she vaguely recognised from her days as a Lieutenant working her way into Blacklake, stood just by the gate, scanning the crowds carefully and along with him were a group of five other Watchmen, more than enough to stop any trouble.

"Squire Blake!" Suddenly the sergeant shouted out her name, her name across the crowd. She felt her heart sink with foreshadowing before she even fully understood, but as she looked up and across the crowd met the stunned gaze of the sergeant there she knew what this meant; Nasher was calling again. The sergeant pushed through the crowd to reach her, but already many of them had heard her name called and were whispering, staring, pointing. The City Watchmen looked at her with awe, even the sergeant stared at her for a moment before he evens spoke, misty-eyed with admiration and surprise. So, her fame had spread. "Gods I can't believe it's you…" The sergeant gasped, before somehow finding himself again in protocol. "Errr…Lord Nasher sent us to watch for you at the gate. You're wanted at the palace"

"Thank you" Phaedra said quietly. Did the man sense her creeping reluctance? Barely a second back in Neverwinter and Lord Nasher already wanted her. But she would have to go; perhaps Nasher had information that would help her. She turned, and let her gaze travel over her friends, by varying degrees shocked or disgusted by the sudden turn of events. Some of them were attracting some attention too from the crowd. Had some kind of legend built up around Phaedra and her party after the trial? Now knowing Sand as she did, she doubted that the growth of such a legend had been wholly organic though what purpose Nasher meant by this she couldn't tell. "Can you take Mistletoe and the supplies back to the Flagon?" She softly requested.

"Are you sure about this?" Shandra nervously requested.

"Yes, go" Phaedra attempted a smile.

"Can you at least tell us what Nasher wants?" Elanee glanced at the sergeant, who blushed under her gaze but upon realising what she was asking instantly straightened and looked even more shocked.

"Haven't you heard?" He said, staring back at Phaedra. "That sage…Aldanon's been kidnapped"


	63. Chapter 63

_Whew, this is a long one! Sorry! Just had a bunch of stuff to get through! Hopefully enough happens to keep your interest through the whole thing. _

_Thanks to Lynn Pintel and Gaspode for reviews, and for everyone who's keeping reading for all this time. As you may have noticed, we're building up to some quite exciting things to happen! Can't wait for the next few chapters; mind you something happens here which I've been planning for a while, only it's not quite so exciting and more just plain sad. But sometimes these things just have to happen..._

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Phaedra vaguely remembered Aldanon's butler, a pleasant-looking, sandy-haired young man. Now, facing him across Lord Nasher's throne, she was reminded of the moment she first learned the truth about the shards that still hummed at her belt, that sang in her heartbeat. And she remembered how Aldanon had expressed nonsensical doubts about shadowy figures crawling around his home at night. She'd instantly assumed the Githyanki were behind it and hence rather put Aldanon from her mind once they were dealt with, but now…Aldanon was gone, and as Lord Nasher had just finished explaining, this young man, by the name of Harcourt, was the only survivor from his household. She'd come to the palace just a few minutes ago but, despite what must have been the suddenness of her arrival, Lord Nasher had instantly dismissed his aides and received her, likewise immediately summoning Harcourt from where he'd obviously been staying in the palace. It troubled her indefinably that she could be so important to the Lord of Neverwinter, but she understood the necessity of haste and appreciated it. Nasher was looking more strained now; the glittering gold and blazing white of his armour failed for Phaedra to hide the lines dusted over his face, or the deep shadows under his eyes. Things with Luskan had to be difficult after what he'd done to Torio, and the disappearance of Aldanon, after the murders when she had first come to the city had seemably ceased, must trouble him. It must be a great burden to bear the hopes of a city. And yet he had seemed grateful that she'd returned at all, though he had hidden it behind royal reticence.

"Harcourt, explain to the squire what happened at Aldanon's mansion" Nasher commanded, in his rich, resonant voice.

"Of course, my lord" The young butler bowed fluidly, before turning to Phaedra. Though she couldn't quite read the impassivity of his features, she knew he was examining her and likewise remembering the girl who'd met his master on that fateful day. She wondered what he thought of what he saw now. "It was just under a week ago now." She sensed that this preciseness of his nature was characteristic, perhaps what had made him so invaluable to the scatter-brained Aldanon. "The men came to the door, a small enough gang it was true, but as it turned out more than enough to overpower us. "None of us were warriors, Squire" He swallowed, the first sign of strain in his graceful professionalism. "They said they came from you, with important information about the shards" Phaedra's ears pricked up. If they'd known her and that she had some connection with the shards…surely that narrowed down the perpetrators? "Naturally Master Aldanon lowered the wards" Harcourt said softly, almost apologetically. "It was chaos after that. Two of them took the master right away, they trundled him out of the house like an animal and Gods alone knew where they took him. Then they laid into us…" He paused, and though he must have described this before, the horror of it passed over his features briefly once again before he found his composure. "The maids…the other staff, were all dead…in moments. It was an efficient, well-planned operation. It was only by the grace of Tyr I managed to escape, and hide in the master's laboratory, but I was the only one who knew the house well enough…" He sighed deeply.

"Do you know anything about who these people were?" Phaedra pressed quickly, knowing Nasher and Nevalle must have asked all this and more of Harcourt already, but everything she could find out might be important, especially since the kidnappers had known her name, and had clearly had something to do with the shards. "Or what they wanted with Aldanon?"

"I apologise Squire, but it happened so fast" Harcourt shook his head solemnely. "They were killers, trained killers, and they knew exactly what they wanted, but beyond that, I can tell you little else."

"There's more, Squire Blake" Nasher leaned in gravely. "Tell her what Aldanon discovered just before the attack, Harcourt"

"Yes, of course" Harcourt nodded, stepping on briskly. "He, that is, we…had been researching the silver shards you carried in the Archives for some time after your meeting, Squire. Only days before the attack we came across an old reference about such a shard in Neverwinter, discovered shortly after the war with the warlock, the King of Shadows" Phaedra gasped, growing more and more interested. Another shard in Neverwinter, just like Aldanon's? "The shard was quickly acquired and thereafter held by a fraternity of lords of this city, wealthy men who had a casual interest in collecting arcane artifacts" Harcourt went on. "According to our reference, there were four who remained alive at the time of writing, the Lords Hawke, Gentry, Dalren and Tavorick."

"Sweet Lathander" Phaedra cried "The men who've been murdered!" Originally she'd thought the Githyanki were behind the murders too but she remembered how the last, Gentry was it…had been killed the same night she'd driven them from the city in that fraught attack on the warehouse. Quite clearly the shard was the goal of the murderers, but she knew there were others apart from the Githyanki looking for the shard too. That warlock in the caves, the King of Shadows; he'd commanded demons, just as the Cloaktower had sensed. If he was the one who'd killed the other nobles, could it be that he was behind the kidnapping of Aldanon too? But he couldn't know her name, or her connection with the shards, thank the Gods, the only one who truly could possibly was…she closed her eyes a moment, pressing down a wave of revulsion. No need to think about that. Not now, not ever…

"Yes, all but Lord Tavorick" Harcourt nodded. "We reasoned that the lords have been passing the shard from one to the next, just ahead of the demons"

"And they were right" Nasher added quickly, as if urging Harcourt to hurry along. "Cyran Tavorick has served this throne nobly for decades, so when the Guard rescued Harcourt and he informed us of the danger Cyran was in, I immediately dispatched a detachment of the guard, under Captain Ballard and Marshal Cormick, to the Tavorick Estate." Cormick…? "Cyran Tavorick was indeed in possession of a silver shard, exactly as described" Nasher went on. "And he still is, which means that he is almost certainly the next target. The Watch has set up a temporary guard in his estate since the events of the last week"

"But my lord, Lord Tavorick must be in great danger" Phaedra gasped. "Even with the Watch…"

"Indeed, he may be, but he is also our last chance to track down the murderer" Nasher nodded. "I had hoped that the involvement of the Guard might draw whoever searches out this shard into the open. It has yet to do so, but until it does, Tavorick and his shard shall remain under heavy guard." Phaedra wasn't sure about this. Surely the shard could be better protected somewhere safer, like the treasury? She almost wanted to ask for it herself…she still had a strange longing to have the shards close, but clearly this one who hunted them had not yet had word that she possessed any and she had no need to draw that kind of attention to herself. The shards she had were her problem, let Tavorick's be Nasher's problem. It wasn't like she was looking to actually reforge the Silver Sword or could even if she was. "Which is why I've turned to you" Nasher leaned in towards Phaedra. "It's been a long time since the murderer struck last, against Lord Gentry, which means he is either distracted or biding his time. Either way, we need to get his attention. You, Squire, always seem to be in the middle of these events. Perhaps your involvement will draw him out."

"My lord…" Phaedra protested immediately. She had no desire to be bait in this plan. If the King of Shadows was behind this, and he found out about her shards too, she'd never be safe.

"Squire, you are a servant of Neverwinter" Nasher sat back in his chair, with a sigh. "And Neverwinter is not so strong at this time that we can afford to have this murderer loose in our streets, killing our nobility at a whim. Cyran…was, is, a friend…I would consider it a personal favour, after all that Neverwinter has done for you, if you would do this for me." A sharp retort ran through Phaedra's mind, but she said nothing. It was true, that without Neverwinter's protection Torio, not to mention the Githyanki, would just have seized her without reprisal. She didn't want to feel like she owed Neverwinter, but a squire she was, and she was not so stubborn as to tell herself that that meant nothing. "Of course I do not mean you to remain there as long as the Watch have thus far" Nasher continued, taking her assent as a given clearly. "But if you stay in the Tavorick Estate for one night, this night, with those of your companions who are willing, it will perhaps be the provocation our foe needs to step forth from the shadows" Phaedra understood that, and she did want to know exactly who had been killing the nobles, if Nasher's provocation even did function as he intended. But she couldn't help but remember, as if an echo of it struck her even now, the terrible power around that man from the shadows of the Githyanki base. If he truly did attack the estate…would even Phaedra and all her friends be able to stand against him? She reminded herself that the Watch would be present too. Gods she prayed it would be enough. He might not even come, but if he did…she doubted that alone she could stand against him.

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"Well, well, lass!" Phaedra was overjoyed to find Khelgar waiting when she returned to the Flagon. He leapt from the barstool with a jaunty grin, and immediately ran over and gave her a rib-crushing embrace that, despite that he only came up to her chest, lifted her off her feet. The first thing she noticed was that the dwarf actually wasn't carrying a tankard of ale for the first time she'd seen him in the Flagon. As Khelgar let her go, she smiled freely for the first time in days. Khelgar was the only one of her original companions with whom she still felt the same, easy warmth. She and Neeshka had…drifted apart, and she didn't want to dwell on how Elanee's protectiveness now irked her so much. Khelgar's motivations, his guileless quest for monkhood and his impulse toward fighting, had always been right there on the surface, and they'd never put any obligation on her except that of their simple friendship. As for as he was concerned, anything she did was fine so long as he could be there to fight with her; there was no sneaking around in the shadows with Khelgar, no hidden agendas or unanswered questions. Looking down at the dwarf, she couldn't help but keep on smiling…she had missed him. "You're back" Khelgar looked at her curiously, assessingly, with what she thought was perhaps a new perceptiveness. Yes…he had changed, but looking at him she found she couldn't exactly pin down what it was about him that was different. It was a subtle thing, a straightness in his posture maybe, or the newly controlled manner in which he held himself, as though his strength was fully and completely under his control, rather than carelessly always on the surface as it had been before. He wore a set of monk's garments now; a tunic of sorts in a sombre brown but cut to a different style to the spellcaster's raiment, more militant and more masculine, folded over his chest but tucked in under a belt, and loose trousers with high boots. All of it was clearly meant to give complete freedom of movement; Khelgar's fighting style would have to be entirely different now. Of course he still wore the black and silver Ironfist gauntlets clasped over his wrists, but set against the loose monk's robes they had an even more imposing effect.

"I am" Phaedra said at last, wondering if this new Khelgar could see that marks that the journey had made on her. She looked around her, at the Flagon once again, and wondered that this rather dirty, a little rowdy tavern in the Docks, with the smell of salt air, sweat and ale thick in the musty atmosphere, its blazing fire and its unruly patrons, could feel safer and more secure than West Harbour had. It was far from being anything like home, but at least here she didn't feel so exposed, so out in the open, so vulnerable. "And you're a monk of Tyr?" She said curiously, shaking off that thought once again. "Hlarin trained you, did he?"

"Yeah" Khelgar nodded vigorously. "Taught me everything I wanted, and a Hell of a lot more than I'll ever need to know on top of that"

"Sounded like all a bunch of useless philosophy to me" Neeshka sniped from the back, clearly she'd been talking to Khelgar herself before Phaedra had come in and seized his attention. "Just like those Trials"

"The Trials were only the beginning, lass" Khelgar said pacibly. Before he wouldn't have reacted quite so peacefully to such an aspersion cast upon his ambition, but this new Khelgar had a kind of equilibrium that she'd never seen in him before. "A monk's journey is one in which you question yourself and the world around you, and evolve accordingly." He recited, with an air of curiosity in his voice as he recalled what were obviously Hlarin's words, as though he were still pondering exactly what they meant. "The Prior said as long as I…uh…keep… 'persist' doing that, and take every experience as I come I should learn that I don't even need to fight my enemies. I'll have beaten them before they even attack me" He shrugged "Which sounds great but I'd rather just land a few punches and get it done"

"I'm glad you're back with us Khelgar" Phaedra smiled.

"It's good to be back" Khelgar answered with real, unaffected warmth. "The training was…something else, and Hlarin says I'll always be welcome back there, but nothing they can teach me will ever be quite like facing up to an army of Gith, or the undead, or whoever else thinks they can take you" He glanced around, and Phaedra saw that the rest of the party had gathered since she'd come back, curious, concerned, or in Bishop's case, looking largely indifferent, to hear about what had happened in the palace. "What's up for us next then?" Khelgar asked. "What did Nasher want?"

"It's like the guard said" Phaedra confirmed. "Aldanon's been kidnapped, but the Watch hasn't been able to turn up anything about who did it, and why. But Aldanon found out something before he disappeared, and thank Lathander, his butler survived to pass it on to Lord Nasher." She quickly explained about the three murdered Lords, the shard, and the threat to Lord Tavorick.

"Yes" Sand said, once she had finished. The elf touched his chin thoughtfully, his long fingers, spider-like, brushing the air. "That explains a great deal, and also links your quest directly to the murders, as I suspected from the moment you came here on the heels of Dalren's death. And you're right to suspect that warlock you encountered in the caves, the King of Shadows, or whoever he was. Demons do rather appear to be consistent with his modus operandi" He looked back at Phaedra, who was feeling slightly uncomfortable at the reminder that just maybe she was the reason the murders had happened. "Cyran Tavorick, now there's a name I haven't heard in a while" He mused. "A rather dissolute and stubborn man, if I recall the rumours, but harmless"

"And Nasher wants us to play babysitter for some old noble?" Shandra shook her head. "Not what I imagined from the adventuring life, really" Her humour seemed slightly forced, but she'd been subdued since West Harbour, always careful when she spoke as if she was afraid that anything she said could shatter Phaedra like glass.

"Just for one night, just to make sure we can't lure out the murderer that way" Phaedra answered, careful to avoid the pity in Shandra's gaze. That had been there since West Harbour too.

"It's quite a gamble, something I wouldn't expect from Nasher" Sand continued thoughtfully. "I wouldn't have expected him to be quite so…careless with either the shard or the life of one of his noble fellows"

"And you've ended up doing Nasher's dirty work again?" Bishop, ignoring Sand, sneered at Phaedra, rather unhelpfully. "Why am I not surprised?" She forced herself to ignore him, but his scorn still shook her. Normally she could brush off some of Bishop's insults from the side with relative ease, but being so focused on avoiding even thinking about him after their confrontation had made her even more sensitive to everything he did. Like how much he tensed up now he was in the city, something he didn't even seem to realise, but it was there in the tight lines of his shoulders, and how restless he was in the inn, always checking his weapons, or his armours, or scanning the inn with an eye keen with suspicion and contempt as if he was expecting an attack.

"If defending Neverwinter offends you, the rest of us are well equipped to handle this" Casavir said, superciliously.

"Paladin, you're not going to get rid of me that easily" Bishop answered, with an insolent shrug. "If old tattoo face shows up, I owe him an arrow in the forehead. And, if not, I'm sure I'll find some way to keep myself busy tonight while you're 'defending Neverwinter' like a good little lap-dog of Nasher" Somehow he layered even that with an incipient threat, as if whatever he would find to occupy himself wasn't going to be good news. Hang on, this was Bishop. Why did that shock her?

"Everyone's coming, then?" Phaedra said quickly, before either of them said anything else. Honestly, they were bickering again, like children. A chorus of assent greeted her words, and she relaxed a little. She'd feel a lot safer with all of them around, she hadn't realised how much the idea that the group might not come with her to what seemed like it would be a thankless vigil had affected her. It was Bishop she'd most thought would turn it down, in a way it was a surprise he had agreed to come. And a relief, she grudgingly admitted to herself; they'd all be safer with another hand along. They ended up dispersing fairly quickly after that; Phaedra needed to report to Tavorick's estate by nightfall which left the rest of the afternoon to get ready, and she honestly needed a long, hot bath and some new clothes. The journey had left her utterly drained and listless, and she felt a headache coming on. But there was still Duncan…she saw the half-elf by the bar looking rushed off his feet, as he hurried around his inn to serve his eager patrons mugs of foaming ale, but constantly casting anxious glances her way, his steps devilled by his obvious concentration on her. His attention was only half on the precariously balanced flagons, if at all, and they consequently slopped everywhere as he went through his rounds. He didn't even seem to notice, even when his patrons offered loud, raucous complaints. She supposed she'd better put him out of his misery, but the pounding in her head got worse as she walked over to intercept her uncle.

"Phaedra, thank the Gods" He said, absently depositing the tray of ale back on the bar. "How are you feeling, are you alright…?" He didn't give her a second to answer, which was lucky as she felt frankly like she was about to faint, and he kept on babbling as if he really was afraid of what she would say. "And West Harbour, surely things have picked up now? I mean, I've heard some strange rumours about the Mere lately, but seemed like just drunkard's talk to me." She knew now that Duncan must have known more than he'd let on about the events surrounding the shard in her chest…not to mention how strangely discordant his descriptions about her mother now seemed with what Daeghun had told her. Had memory or his hopeless longing blurred Esmerelle's true nature, or had he misled her about that too? But she couldn't bear to confront him…not now, she just needed to…lie down, Gods, what was wrong with her? The tavern, and Duncan's face, blurred before her eyes, the friendly warm light bleeding and warping into a mess of tangled strands of sickly shadows that streaked over cool stone, and wrapping itself around the cold uncertain glow of light falling through a distantly high-up window, like two lovers intertwined. "Phaedra, Phaedra…did you hear me?" Duncan leaned forward, and the strange momentary illusion dispersed in a second, streaking away from her gaze to the edges of her vision. Gods… she really was about to faint…she needed to get back to her room. "Are you alright?" Duncan looked at her with concern. "You look exhausted"

"No, I'm fine" She answered quickly, backing away from Duncan. "Just need to get back to my room. We've got to be at Tavorick's estate by dusk, and I have a few things to do before then"

"Phaedra, are you sure about this?" Duncan hovered anxiously, seeming unable to follow her, afraid as if he might provoke something from her. "I mean, going to Tavorick's estate like you are…"

"I said I'm fine" Phaedra protested as gently as she could. "I'll just heat up some water on the fire and have a quick bath, and I'll be fine."

"Phaedra, wait just a second…" Duncan protested weakly.

"No, Duncan" Phaedra stepped back, shaking her head, and feeling another lurch of disorientation. The Flagon swung around her, and she felt a sudden wave of hysteria sweep through her. "I've spent too long waiting, my whole life, just waiting for someone to bother to tell me the truth! But none of you did, none of you gave me a mere word of it! And you all lied!" Her voice broke with pain, there was something rising in her now, and words spilled from her mouth so carelessly that it was barely her own mind forming them. "Well I've found the truth, I know where it is now. It's under his hand, under his shadow, and he's waiting for me to find it, and he'll tell me everything. Everything you never did, about who I am, and who I'm meant to be!" She paused then suddenly, and the words that had sprang from her lips fell silent and heavy into the air. What was she saying? The protests had been rasped with a kind of childish petulance, a peevish possessiveness, that was nothing like her.

"Phaedra…" Duncan blinked with shock, peering down at her with mingled pity and fear like he thought she was mad. She stepped back on trembling feet, unable to say anything or even to try to explain, and immediately walked away with as much control as she could manage, not daring to look back at Duncan. Somehow she got to her room, barely able to remember how she arrived, and immediately she slammed the door behind her with trembling fingers. She collapsed on the bed, and somehow her gaze found the looking glass just across the room. Her reflection caught her immediately. She was so pale, almost sickly, with deep, dark smudges heavy under her eyes, like she hadn't slept in days, and even her hair seemed to be losing its usual shine. Something in her eyes was haunted, shadowy. She found herself staring at the mirror for some time and slowly the sense of disorientation and the headache faded, leaving her feeling terrified of what was inside her. Dear Lathander, what in the name of the Gods was happening to her?

Ooooooo0000000ooooooo

The Tavorick Estate, when they arrived there, was a picture of neglected decadence in the night-time darkness, an aberration in the pristine Blacklake District. Inside, in the main entrance corridor, the thick woven carpets on the floor showed hints of fabulously detailed designs but they were faded to almost nothing and half-unravelled. Rather tasteless sculptures of scarcely decent women stood on either side of the hall in splendid marble and carved to most elegant and voluptuous of lines, but they, and most of the room, were coated in a thick film of dust. The heavy gilded panelling on the walls was cracked and falling apart. There was scarcely any light, the torches on the walls weren't lit, and the only illumination came from a few windows that weren't covered up by sheer silk curtains that had fallen away to almost nothing, shedding a twilight half-glow upon the heavy, muted grandeur. The musty smell of decay was thick on the air, dust motes swarmed all around. It was, all in all, a rather tragic picture.

"What happened here?" Shandra breathed, almost as though she was afraid to disturb the heavy, silent air of the room.

"What always happens when a noble line decays and withers to a single aged and senile scion, without any chance of a viable heir" Sand answered. "Decline, squalor, the squandering of any prestige and financial means the family had left." He tutted. "And the Tavoricks were, once upon a time, a rich and well-respected family in this city."

"All earthly honour fades, in time" Casavir murmured with a prayerful note in his voice. "A lesson for us all"

"I suppose the Marshal and Captain Ballard must be waiting ahead" Phaedra said, eager to get back on topic and out of this heavy gloom. It was all too eerie to linger here, let alone discussing the decaying of all things earthly amidst this squalid degedration. It hardly seemed like anyone could live here, amidst the shell of their family's history and former glory. Couldn't Tavorick sell this place and move somewhere else, if he couldn't afford to keep it? But she supposed there was no point…he had no heirs, no future. Better to dwell on the past than that. It seemed unspeakably sad.

The entrance hall led into another vast expansive room, and though the dust and neglect was as visible here as in the entrance room, at least some effort had been made to clear it of some of the oppressive decaying riches. The floor was clean marble, someone had pushed the vast banqueting table, all gilded dark wood, that had once stood in the centre of the room off to the side where it blocked off another door…Phaedra glanced cautiously at it, a barricade, she realised. Likewise the decadent statues in the same style as those from outside had been pushed aside. And the torches on the walls had been relit here too, a line of flickering lights ran along the seemingly endless walls and rose in clusters from the vast, bulky pillars that ran along the back wall. Somehow, though, the vast shadows they cast in great straggly streams against the walls were deeply unnerving, and the flickering light dancing over the stone seemed almost eerie. There was a small crowd in the centre of the room, and a discussion appeared to be already in progress. Phaedra moved over quickly.

"I'm sorry, milord" Said the man at the centre of things, a tall and masterful looking soldier in gilded black armour that was both splendid and intimidating. "But the girl must leave." He was handsome and distinguished, the picture of a hero, with long blond hair, tied back, that was only just beginning to grey and a square-jawed profile. He must be Captain Ballard. He must have been very young when he'd first been a hero in the war, since he certainly wasn't as grizzled as his comrades from the door.

"Oh come now, look at her" The man in front of Captain Ballard protested, gesticulating wildly to the only woman in the group who stood meekly by him, head downcast, hands crossed in her lap. "Look! Pretty girl like her could keep any man alive even a spotty old wart like me" This man must be Lord Tavorick, noble and keeper of the shard, last scion of the Tavoricks and owner of this wasted, ancient mansion. He looked almost as wasted and ancient, thought Phaedra, before she caught herself short at the rudeness of the thought. Tavorick wore loose silk, gilded and purple, what seemed to be sleeping robes. He was very pale, his white hair wispy on his spotted scalp, wrinkles deep on his almost powdery skin. His nose still had that distinct aquiline shape of a noble, and his eyes still seemed surprisingly aware and sparkling, almost child-like, amidst the ravaged face. "That is what Nasher wants?" He glanced pleadingly at the stern-faced soldier before him. "To keep me from dropping dead, eh?"

"Lord Nasher is concerned about m'lord's well-being" Ballard said slowly with strained patience that suggested this was an oft-repeated refrain. "In the light of the recent deaths of m'lord's associates"

"Bah!" Tavorick spluttered "If Nasher cared about 'm'lord's well being,' he'd buy me a potion of youth. Failing that, he'd send me a harem. Eighty-four girls, one for each of my years. Yes? Maybe" Phaedra blinked, staring at the dissolute patriarch of this ravaged house. As unpleasant as that thought was, there was something undeniably pathetic about the old man, noble or not. But Black Ballard, unsurprisingly, wasn't moved. He fixed Tavorick in an icy glare, and the noble turned, with an exaggerated sigh, to the woman by him. "Soldiers" He muttered. "Melia, my dear" He addressed the young woman with an achingly gentle courtesy, a chivalry that belied his earlier lechery. "I insist you come back and play for me again. The night after next, perhaps?" Phaedra realised that Tavorick was most likely entirely harmless, most likely this woman was simply here to allay his loneliness.

"M'lord is very sweet" The woman said in soft, retiring, sugary-sweet voice. "I would be honoured" Melia was as unexceptional as her manner suggested, with a quiet, gentle beauty. The only thing that distinguished her was the opulent richness of her gown, too overstated to be the dress of a noblewoman. She was almost certainly a courtesan. But Phaedra barely caught much a glimpse of her, for she immediately turned on her elegant heels and began to walk away once her promise was given. She passed the party with barely a glance, her step had the measured, considered grace that was common to both a warrior and a courtesan in a way. But before Phaedra could consider her any further she was gone.

"Squire Blake?" Ballard turned to Phaedra with respectful consideration. "Captain Andrey Ballard, at your command" He executed a graceful bow with far more expertise than Guff and Wetherly outside. Then he glanced with an appraising eye over the rest of the party. "And you've brought extra manpower, excellent" He nodded approvingly, before finding Phaedra once again. "If you don't mind me saying, Squire" He continued, a little less formally. "It's an honor to serve with you. My men and I were there for your trial by combat. Warmed a lot of veterans' hearts to see you rout that Luskan dog"

"Thank you" Phaedra said quietly. Let Ballard feel triumph for that blow, she never would.

"I've already made an initial sweep of the house, secured the outer doors, and billeted my men on the second floor." Ballard announced, and it was a very strange feeling to have him acting as though she were his superior officer and he had his actions to explain to her, considering he was far older and stood far taller than her. But he was perfectly natural about it. "We're five in number, and all proven men" He turned and Phaedra followed him to find the rest of the soldiers. "This here is Comely Finn…" A finely handsome young man, almost too delicate amongst the other soldiers, but he had a short bow in his hands that his slight fingers looped around as he nodded shyly to Phaedra. "Doesn't say much, but he's killed more Luskans than any of us with those arrows of his." Ballard continued "My sergeant is Deorwin, called Greylocks" The other she didn't recognise, an older man with a distinguished air who smiled paternally at Phaedra. But that didn't detract from the deadly efficacy with which he carried a vicious axe and a large shield. "Like a father to the boys, and deadly with an axe. Guff and Wetherly you've already met." Phaedra nodded, that pair, a charming rustic duo who bickered like a married couple, had let them into the house. "I'll be bringing them inside and locking down the front door when night falls. By your leave, I'd like to barricade all the exits, as well"

"Of course" Phaedra nodded, aware that there was still someone here who Ballard had neglected to introduce. He knew it too.

"And of course you know the Marshal" Ballard added somewhat sharply, had Cormick managed to peeve off his commanding officer as well? "He's made that clear"

"Phaedra…" Cormick stepped forward slowly. Phaedra remembered what he'd said to her last 'I love you'…and how angry it still made her that he could claim that kind of hold over her. He hadn't cleaned up his act much at all since then, still unshaven, still darkly brooding in his looks, his armour unpolished and pitted. That did not bode well. "You came back" He noted grimly. Of course, he'd begged her to remain in West Harbour. But now she knew that there'd never been a chance of that. Meeting his dark stormy eyes, she wondered anew if she ought to tell him why there was no chance. But she found she couldn't.

"What's this, more of you?" Tavorick suddenly seemed to see Phaedra for the first time, peering, like some kind of oversized owl, under his thick eyebrows at her. She was glad of the distraction frankly, and quickly looked to the aged noble, ignoring Cormick again. "Does Nasher think an army's going to stop me dropping dead?"

"Well met m'lord" Phaedra said, as courteously as she could. "My name is Phaedra Blake and I'm here to help guard you"

"Well, good for Nasher." Cyran Tavorick looked into her eyes for a moment, and an appreciative smile touched his wasted lips. "He ought to send more women to guard me. Hells, sack all the men and hire on an army of pretty ladies. City Watch would be a good deal more popular, I guarantee it." Phaedra raised an eyebrow. "You remind me of dear Melia" He continued wistfully, not seeming to remember that Melia had just left. "She's one of Ophala's girls, comes here from time to time, to remind me what it's like to have a lady in the house. Lovely girl, Melia; plays the harp like a songbird. I can't actually hear it, you understand, but she's wonderful to watch. Beautiful hands."

"Do you have the shard?" She asked quickly, to get him back on topic.

"Got it right here, in my pocket" The old noble laid a hand on his waist, there was indeed a silken pocket there amidst the folds of his robe. Phaedra supposed she'd have to get closer to feel any kind of reaction from the shard, as she felt nothing right now, not even from the shards in her belt. But she had no desire to get any closer to the lecherous man, thank you very much. "And that's where it's staying too. Told Nasher I wouldn't part with it, and he said I wouldn't have to anyway." He sighed deeply, a wheezy rasp.

"Milord, perhaps it would be best if you head upstairs now" Ballard swiftly interrupted, before Tavorick could go on.

"Oh, very well." Tavorick grimaced "Shoo the old dotard away, he smells like boiled cabbage anyway. No, don't bother to disagree, I know what I smell like." He began to walk away, grumbling to himself as he went. "I'll be upstairs in my chambers. Think I'll go to bed and dream a bit. Always pretty girls in my dreams, and I don't even have to pay them to keep me company." He walked to a set of stairs at the back of the hall and made his way up them on a halting step, eventually vanishing deeper into the house.

"By Tyr" Ballard sighed heavily. "Deorwin, Finn…you go up and guard the door to that bedchamber with your lives. The rest of us will set up down here, if that's alright with you, Squire?"

"Of course" Phaedra nodded. She'd had her fair share of vigils, after all. With luck this one would not be as eventful as the vigil in the Solace Glade. Handsome Finn and dignified Deorwin moved off up the stairs without much of a word, though they both saluted Phaedra. Great, that left only Cormick…

"Good, we'll then I'll make one last sweep of the house by your leave, and then we'll bunker up" Ballard suggested, and Phaedra nodded. It was lucky that he was in fact the one doing all the tactical thinking, even if he supposedly referred everything back to her. And off he went.

"Now what do we do?" Khelgar grumbled. "Just sit around until something shows up…if it even does?"

"That's the idea" Phaedra shrugged, gathering her battle robes in one hand and depositing herself on a comfy part of the floor. Just wait it out. The rest of the party quickly found ways to do the same. Neeshka pulled out a pair of dice and invited Khelgar to play a hand, and Shandra, after a glance at Casavir, decided to join them. Casavir stood to attention by one of the pillars, an unmoving sentinel, and Elanee hovered near him, less able to keep solemnly still. Bishop, too, moved slightly away, with Karnwyr padding next to him he found a spot somewhere a little further back. Sand, sighing with distaste, made his way over to an ornate, throne-like chair off to the side, drawing out a scroll and quill and beginning to write in an elegant, looping hand some arcane formula or other. Marshal Cormick paced awkwardly to one side of the room, but he looked even more restless than Elanee, and Phaedra, realising he kept glancing at her, immediately looked away.

Ballard returned quickly. If he was less than impressed to see the Squire and her retinue largely engaged so frivolously he showed nothing of it, simply taking up his own post rather like Casavir had. Phaedra heard the creaking of doors, the sound of footsteps, and voices raised in characteristic bickering, as Guff and Wetherly came into the house, though the two stationed themselves just outside in the entrance hall. The wait had begun. Silence reigned, apart from the scratching of Sand's pen, and the murmurs of Shandra, Khelgar and Neeshka over their game. And in the silence Phaedra knelt on the floor and tried to calm her mind. Her dream-like disjunction was growing more intense, the eerie flickering light upon the shadowy stone walls sent waves of déjà vu fluttering through her, a deeply uneasy experience. She kept feeling like she would turn around and see someone standing just behind her, watching her, but she forced herself not to, knowing that there was in truth no one. She couldn't read her own mind anymore. Instinct and impulse swirled within her like eddies, her feelings rose and fell for no conceivable reason. It was getting worse…but she fought it without even acknowledging it was truly there, or delving into what it must be. Her outburst with Duncan had been filed away, buried, like every other hint that the battle in her mind was turning to the advantage of another. Focus was a constant battle

"Phaedra" The sound of her name suddenly spoken from the silence sent an agonising jolt of inexplicable fear through her but then she realised it was only Cormick speaking, and she had no reason to be afraid of Cormick. Irritated certainly, but not afraid. She looked back, and saw the Marshal had moved over to her and was stading rather uncomfortably in front of her. She hadn't even heard him come over, but it felt like she was only half-listening to the sounds within the estate, and half-hearing some imaginary echo of something else. Standing she suppressed the rush of irritation. Cormick really had no right to speak to her, or think he had any claim to a merest second of her time. But, for the sake of what she had seen in West Harbour, she could spare him perhaps what he deserved. "Why did you come back?" He looked genuinely baffled, and upset. "I warned you, I told you not to…and now they're using you again, just like said."

"Do you remember what I told you?" She said, aware that her voice was weighted with exhausted frustration. "There's no place for me in West Harbour anymore."

"Of course there is" Cormick blustered. "You're a Harbourman, there'll always be a place for you there"

"Not in my blood, Cormick, not like you are" She shook her head firmly "I'm half elf, and Gods alone know who my father was. Maybe I never really belonged there…but going back only made me realise even more how much I've changed and…" She swallowed "How much the village has changed too…"

"Has something happened?" Cormick leaned in urgently. "Is it Retta, about Lorne…I know it must be difficult but she'll understand someday. You can't throw away your only chance for something good and honest and pure…" Half of Phaedra wanted to shout at him that he knew nothing about her, the other half foundered in anguish at his incomprehension. If he went back to West Harbour now, he too would find it as changed as he was. But she couldn't bear to speak about the village's descent into madness, not even though he deserved to know.

"Cormick, enough" She raised a hand and he fell silent immediately, looking for all the world like a lost animal begging her for some sign of kindness. She couldn't give it. All the kindness in the world would not be enough for him. "We've both said more than enough. And it's clear that you don't understand me in the slightest or know anything about what would be best for me." She turned away, looking down at the floor through the glistening strands of her hair, closing herself off from him. She'd wasted enough annoyance and pain on Cormick, and it would never change him. Only he could do that; so let her feel nothing for him until he had. He wasn't her responsibility. She'd spent too long thinking he was. "Please, we have a job to do…please, just leave me alone…"

"Phaedra…" Cormick shook his head "Don't feel you have to do this, you don't…please stop before it's too late for your own sake and for mine"

"And that's quite enough from you, hound" Bishop, Phaedra almost jumped again…she hadn't expected him to intervene, but there he was, standing just by Cormick and looking at the hound with a jeering mockery as sharp as dangerous as the blade of a knife. "She's made it clear she's not interested, and that makes you about as important as a stain on the floor, which is all you're going to be if keep this up" Oh for Heaven's sake, that was absolutely no help. Still, and though she didn't want to look at Bishop she felt a strange gratitude and surprise that he had come to her aid.

"Hey" Cormick turned to Bishop, sized him up quickly and squared his shoulders confrontationally in the manner of a drunkard preparing for a bar brawl. The whole thing reeked of tavern drama…and from a Watch Marshal on an assignment…honestly, men were ridiculous. "Who in the Hells do you think you are? I don't know you, but if you want any kind of trouble…"

"That's enough" Phaedra stepped forward pushing herself between Cormick and Bishop, whose answering smirk to the Marshal worried her far more than his posturing did. "Cormick, Bishop…just stop" Despite her protests, it made her feel strange that men were fighting over her. Embarrassed, ashamed…but somehow…she shook her head, stop being ridiculous Phaedra. The whole situation was stupid and that was it.

"Marshal" Black Ballard thundered suddenly. "You are under Neverwinter's command and you disgrace this city with your behaviour." Cormick started at the fierce injunction, and seemed to struggle for a second. "I've already had my doubts about you, Marshal, do not test my patience or when this night is ended my word will go straight to the Watch that you should be let go from your responsibilities. I can't imagine why the Captain hasn't already dispensed with you."

"Run back to your master like a good hound" Bishop smirked. Cormick snarled, his hand ran to his sword blade.

"Cormick, don't" Phaedra pleaded, and Cormick slowly let go, staring back at her with such an intensity of feeling that it made her feel uncomfortable enough to wish she was anywhere else but under his gaze. "Let it go" He scowled, and seemed to waver for a second. Phaedra held her breath, praying Cormick wouldn't do anything more stupid.

And then suddenly it began. A rush ran through the room, a burst of an otherwordly wind that sent the drapes and curtains whipping about and the light of the torches dancing and sending streams of light and darkness sweeping across the room. Immediately everyone fell silent, immediately Phaedra felt her skin prickle with a sudden itch, and the fiery power within her rose up within her impatiently, yearning for something. She staggered, reigning it in within her with difficulty, but she felt the pinprick of some instinctive reaction rush through her again, and it churned up with impatience.

"Phaedra, what is it?" Cormick stared at her, hovering as though he wanted to catch her if she fell but didn't know how. Phaedra shook her head, trying to seize down on the power rising like bile inside her.

"Tymora…Gods…I feel it too" Then Neeshka was suddenly there beside her, running her fingers over her arms as though to scratch at an itch deeper than the skin. "It's in my blood; there's something coming."

"Demons" Casavir hissed. And then smoke began to rise up from every door to the hall, great billows of dark smog that lingered eerily upon the floor, as though weighted down by the very fact of its otherplanar origins. It poured forth like a flood, thick and malevolent, until the whole room began to reek of sulphur and the smell of burning, creeping hungrily over the stone until it was at their feet, curling over itself like the fingers of some greedy thing. And then the fires in the torches began to change. One by one, as if slowly lifting the curtain for some dark performance, the flames drew in on themselves and then became something different, something not of this world either. The light they shed was now a terrible eerie blue, something so wrong that looking at it made the stomach churn with some inexplicable fear and sickness. The worst thing was the complete silence in which it was all accomplished, a pressing silence, a hungry silence…

"By the Gods…" Shandra breathed.

"Not the Gods, I think" Ballard stepped forward, somehow looking unruffled even at this eerie sequence. "Weapons to hands…" With one almighty effort, Phaedra forced down the fire within her to mere embers. Free, and suddenly furious, she drew her bow immediately from her back, and pressed an arrow in place. She was sick of this! Sick of being constantly pulled this way and that by things within her over which she had no control! A few tense moments passed, each second was a slow ordeal. And then the sounds began, a chattering that drove into Phaedra's skull, the beat of wings, roars, crashing, gnashing of teeth…it was like a chorus of the damned, and it seemed to be coming from all around, through every door.

Suddenly the front door to the entrance hall was slammed open, and the pair of guards from outside Guff and Wetherly sprinted through, both bloodied, and carrying their weapons in hand, the blades of which were stained with thick, dark ichor she recognised…demon filth.

"Squire!" Guff yelled, hoarse and out of breath. "Hordes of little demons! They burst through the front door and forced us back!"

"Aye!" Wetherly called as he reached them. "And something else too, behind the rest. Whatever it is, it's big."

"Get behind us!" Phaedra cried, taking command suddenly and with an ease that startled her, even through the pounding of her heart, and the relentless hum of terror and infernal energy that she felt pulsing around her. "And tend to those wounds!"

"Aye, Squire." Wetherly acquiesced and they both responded immediately, retreating further back towards the stairs, which surprised her even more. "A few bandages, and we'll be back in the fray. Though Guff'll still be ugly"

"Look sharp, Squire" Ballard's voice was still as cool and in control as before. "They're coming through"

And come they did. Like locusts, a swarm of Imps burst into the room howling out an agonising din. There were dozens of them, all hungry for blood, shock troops to prepare the way for the main force. Immediately, Phaedra aimed, fired…and beside her Bishop did the same…two imps fell. She glanced at the ranger, he gave her an inscrutable nod. And she turned back to the fray, newly confident.

"Stay back!" She cried out an order into the suddenly violently loud room. "Let them come to us!" But Cormick was already leaping forward in complete and hopelessly reckless disobedience to her command, and his progress cut into a flurry of the foul little things. He felled, one, two, three with quick, easy strokes of his sword. Wings, ichor, pieces of imp were sent scattering and all the creatures rising in a single seething mass, their ire stoked, leapt for the Marshal at once. Oh, by the Gods… "Sand!" Phaedra screamed. "Quickly do something, help him!" For once the wizard had no smart-aleck retort, thankfully, and he immediately stretched out his arms. A crackling swathe of ice snapped into the air, brushing past Phaedra in a blistering sweep of cold as it went, and it swept around Cormick too, sending the Imps swarming back screeching their annoyance. A few were caught in the wave, frozen or cut to pieces by the blistering blizzard. Cormick stopped in place a second, looking slightly confused to suddenly have nothing to fight, but Phaedra saw that his neck was already scratched by the little creatures' claws. A second more, and they might have torn his windpipe out. His recklessness was disgusting. "Cormick!" She snarled. "Get back here now! Something else is coming, and by Lathander you are going to fight with us and fight as a team or you'll die here!" Cormick jumped, but thank every God who chose to give stubborn stupid Harbourmen a lick of sense, he sprinted back to her side, followed by the now vengeful swarm of imps. In a second they were all around, and the whole party immediately engaged the vicious pack of little beasts.

Phaedra pulled back, firing arrow after arrow into the vile swarm, but it was so inefficient, she could kill only one each shot, and her rate of fire was nothing near as rapid or as accurate as Bishop's who killed two for every one of her hits. And he had Karnwyr, the wolf leapt up and caught an imp in his teeth, dragging it screaming to the floor and crushed it in his powerful jaws. Neeshka danced amidst the beasts, her two blades flashing as she cut through imp after imp. She was most successful at avoiding the imp's vicious little claws, which when they were attacking from every direction was not so easy. Shandra was finding it most difficult, heaving her sword to the side to slice through an imp that was tugging viciously at her hair, but leaving her back open to another opportunistic little beast who leapt at her with teeth bared. Phaedra quickly felled it, and Shandra, turning, shot her a grateful smile. Casavir blazed with single-minded purpose, shining with the light of his God as he powered through the imps like a ray of sun cutting through darkness. His hammer and shield were both implements of Tyr's wrath, crushing and smashing the imps from the air. Sand sent scintillating blasts into the fray, cutting imps down in a dazzling display of the transmutative magic that drowned, disintergrated and smothered the little creatures in swathes of undeniable power. Elanee stood beside him, whispering a song of protection that sent loops of glistening light around those in the front line, knitting together scratches and wounds. And she saw Khelgar…fighting for the first time as a monk. He was a lightning-bolt of speed and precision, and having dispensed with his axe and shield fought with his fists alone, the force of his punches brought imps down as he darted into the fray. The Ironfist Gauntlets worked on his formidable strength to break imps like twigs under his relentless assault. And the way he moved…no movement was without a purpose, every motion was tightly controlled…the discipline of it was formidable.

"Look out, more of them coming through, and this time it's not just Imps!" Ballard warned suddenly, his sword striking a bloody arc through the swarms of Imps. Phaedra pulled her bow up, looking back toward the door. And she saw new creatures pushing through the doorway behind the slain imps, new horrors. The terrible Succubus demons she knew, and they were as deadly in their seductive reek as back in the cave, burning with infernal magic and deadly enchantments, but this time they were joined by others, other woman-like shapes, but not demons this time. Next to the blazing seductiveness of the Succubus, these new beings were cold and statuesque. It was hard to tell one from another, their beauty was so cold and uniform that they seemed like one flock, where the Succubus flaunted the chaotic profusion of their individual charms. Their flesh was pale and bloodless and their wings were not like those of a bat, but bird-like, vast feathery adornments that were black as pitch and as foul. They resembled pictures of angels from books…but terribly changed in some fundamental way, warping austerity into cool indifference and humility into towering contempt. The word came to her then, their name, Erinyes…fallen angels. Now counted amongst the Devils, like Mephasm back in that cave. Their foe had forced Demons and Devils, eternal sworn enemies, to fight alongside each other in the assault. His power and his will had to be incredible. But there was no time for that now.

"Sand, Elanee!" Phaedra directed quickly, before the dark charms of the two seductive beings could take effect. "We've got to stop these witches. Everyone else, guard our backs from the Imps!" She let her bow fall, stretched out her hand…and summoned her own power to bear. Immediately it roared forth like a torrent, and her fingers burst into hungry flame.

"Phaedra, be wary!" Sand leapt to her side. "Using your power now…with so much infernal energy in the air…"

"It's use it or die, Sand" Phaedra cried. Sand fell back in shock, but Elanee somehow stood fast by her, drawing nature's power into the air so that the pair of them were enveloped in a haze of power. The elf leant Phaedra her strength, and the patient timeless endurance of nature, a restraint upon the Hellfire against which it angrily revolted, but which, allied with Phaedra's will, kept it in check. Clenching her fingers she sent it out in a rush towards the demonic figures crouching in the background, their smiles and fingers spread in gleeful anticipation as they summoned dark skeins of enchantment that made the air seemed gelid, sticky with sophorific magic. She saw it begin to seep into the others, into Cormick for example, he faltered mid-strike, almost let his sword fall as he raised wondering eyes to a Succubus beckoning to him from across the room. Phaedra turned her gaze toward the creature, and saw for just a moment something that truly terrified her…the creature…its features were shifting, becoming…dear Lathander, a form that Phaedra suddenly knew. Unnaturally bright green eyes stared back, a fountain of gold hair alight with a sheen of russet dawn blazed suddenly in the air. Horrified Phaedra threw forward her hands and Hellfire rushed out of her in a tide. The same power that summoned and commanded these beasts blazed within the invocation that Phaedra brought to bear, though in her case it was raw and uncontrolled, it still had the power to banish them. After all the power had some substance of the Hells and the Abyss blazing within it, enough to send these creatures, whose presence in the world was fragile enough, back to where they came from. In an instant it enveloped her target, shrouding the evil shapeshifter in a blaze of fire. An unearthly, inhuman scream split the air, belying the creature's attempt to masquerade as human, and then she was gone…banished, back to the Hells where she belonged. Cormick stumbled back, aghast, but he quickly recovered himself and leapt back into the fight with the clinging Imps.

But in an instant the attention of every one of the foul creatures was on Phaedra. She felt the Erinyes attack first…their tactics were different to the Succubus, the magic they used a vicious wall of power to break down any resistance by sheer force, unlike the vicious coils of the Succubus that tried to seep into every crack. Phaedra clenched her fists, drawing new invocations in the air between herself and the tide of dark magic that now assailed her. Protection they were, yes, but only because the power that she sent forth would consume anything that drew near. Fire arched around her, burning, singing the very air until everything around Phaedra burned with a light that was too bright and too terrible to be of this world. Against it, the icy tide of darkness from the Erinyes was entirely futile. And then Khelgar burst through the chattering, screaming hordes of Imps and reached the rear guard, setting himself amidst the delicate willowy Erinyes and Succubus like a cat amidst pidgeons. He was so fast, so precise, that they barely had time to begin casting spells to slow him before he was pounding into them with fearsome punches that broke bones and shattered skulls. Phaedra fell back a little, unwilling to keep using Hellfire with Khelgar in the line of fire, but Elanee sent waves of nature's grace to aid the dwarf, shielding him from any afterglow of the demonic magic still blazing in the air.

Then a scream echoed through the hallway, a thin, reedy voice raised in sheer utter terror…and it came from upstairs. Lord Tavorick!

"Hells!" Ballard cursed, through the whistle of his blade as it cut a bloody path through the remaining imps. "That was Tavorick, thrice-cursed demons must have climbed the walls, or gotten around us somehow." He turned, his blade darted forward and skewered a hissing Erinyes who'd gotten too close.

"I'll get to him!" Phaedra cried, falling back towards the stairs. While Khelgar was disrupting the Erinyes and Succubus at the back, with Elanee's aid, her magic was of less use here than it might be to help save Tavorick. She scanned the melee frantically, trying to work out who would be best to accompany her. "Shandra, Bishop…" She settled on those two in a split second. "Come with me!" Immediately they followed, Bishop casually firing back behind him as he did and pinioning another Succubus. Karnwyr broke from the fight too, throwing the mangled corpse of an Imp from his jaws to the floor. Shandra leapt away from the Imps she was fighting, and Casavir quickly stepped into her place, covering her retreat with solicitous skill. Phaedra leapt up the stairs that Tavorick and the two soldiers had taken, praying she wouldn't be too late.

Upstairs the mansion was, if anything, more derelict. Ancient pieces of furniture, smeared with dust and shadows, faded portraits on the walls, tapestries that were falling to ribbons; it all raced by as Phaedra ran down the corridor with Bishop and Karnwyr at her side. Shandra was having a little more trouble in her full armour but Phaedra knew she was managing to stay just behind them. Finally they burst into a room afire with candlelight and the burning intensity of the Hells. Tavorick's bedroom was dominated by a vast four-poster bed whose shabby curtains and heavy silken covers had faded to a dull brown over the years. It was behind this which the elderly lord was cowering as, in the centre of the room, his guards Finn and Deorwin fought with yet another vicious swarm of Imps. They were surrounded, being beaten down by the sheer volume of tiny creatures. Quickly Phaedra and the others leapt into the conflict to help the two soldiers. Imps fell like flies before the combined assault of Phaedra's bursts of Hellfire, Shandra's blade, Bishop's arrows, and Karnwyr's savage jaws. Phaedra thought they might get out of this unscathed for a moment, she drew back her power with a rush of relief. But it was too soon. Finn, the younger archer, let down his guard at the same time she did, his chiselled features alight with the glow of battle fever. And then an Imp, one of the last few left in the room, leapt at him with one ferocious, last-ditched, spiteful impulse to kill.

"No" The old man, Deorwin, cried, swinging back his sword to defend his young comrade, but it was too late…so was Phaedra's desperate attempt to fire an arrow, the Imp caught Finn by the throat. He let out a ragged scream, the first sound Phaedra had seen him make, and fell back against the wall, clutching at the creature clawing at his throat viciously. Shandra screamed with him, and thrust her sword wildly out to pinion the Imp on the blade. Finn kept screaming, and as Shandra swung the Imp away from him, his scream gave way to a helpless gurgle. And then he fell, letting his hands drop, and Phaedra almost choked on bile to see his throat now completely torn open by the Imp's claws and pouring a crimson stream of blood upon the stone. He collapsed…and the all sound died in his throat, his eyes frantically blinked for barely a second or two longer…and then he fell still there against the wall. Deorwin rushed to him, kneeling down by the young man, but in a moment he stopped still, shaking his grey head with a terrible sadness. Dear Lathander's mercy…Finn was dead. She'd never spoken to Finn, only saw him for the briefest time, but Phaedra felt a lump rise in her throat. Shandra too looked stricken.

"Tyr…" Lord Tavorick stood. He looked even worse than Shandra did, weary, drooping like an ancient tree. "A bright…strapping young man like that giving his life for a withered old husk like me. For nothing." Phaedra swallowed…she couldn't argue. Finn's death did seem…so terrible, so pointless. Another life the shards had taken.

"Can't just stand around and do nothing, or we'll be next" Bishop observed callously. As Karnwyr returned to his side, Phaedra noticed that he was just as unaffected by Finn's death as the wolf was. They were two of a kind…and yet what Bishop said made bitter sense, as usual. "Or that lot downstairs will be"

"You're right" Tavorick staggered forward, seeming to regain his strength. "No one else is going to die." He looked to Phaedra instantly. "Listen, Squire, our only chance is the crypt, underground. I had the place warded, it should be safe from these foul creatures, and down there we'll be able to defend ourselves far better than getting picked off one by one up here."

"Alright" Phaedra breathed. It felt…so wrong to leave Finn just leaving here, but Deorwin was already closing the poor young soldier's eyes, and laying him down respectfully upon the stone. He would be taken from this place with honour later, once this was done, but they had to make sure no one else joined him.

Joined by the now silent Deorwin, and Tavorick, they quickly made their way back downstairs to find the rest of the group stationed silently around the stairs; there seemed to be a lull in the fighting. Elanee stood with Guff and Wetherly, murmuring some elven incantation to focus herself as she poured healing energy into their wounds. Ballard, Cormick, Casavir and Khelgar guarded the front and Sand stood to the back, he looked up at Phaedra inscrutably as she walked down the stairs and she wondered what he was thinking at her flagrant and continued use of Hellfire. He could say what he liked, but she couldn't help it. Not now, not when the lives of the people she cared about were at stake. No one else could go like Finn.

"Lord Tavorick" Ballard bowed fluidly to the aging lord as he tottered down the stairs. "Good to see you alive."

"It is not so good to be so, when others have paid the cost for it…" Tavorick muttered softly.

"Finn…?" Ballard looked to Deorwin, who shook his head sadly. The Captain sighed roughly. "Shit" He cursed "Curse them all back to the pits they came from." He turned to the rest of the fighters. "Well we better damn well make sure his death wasn't in vain."

"Captain, there's a crypt below" Phaedra spoke up immediately. No one could make decisions based on rash vengeance, that was a sure fire way to get them all killed, and she was sure Ballard knew that after his soldiering days. "We're going to make a break for it. It may be our only way of protecting Lord Tavorick and his shard"

"Of course" Ballard stepped down immediately, deferring to her with practiced professionalism. "The demons are keeping their distance for now, but there's no telling how they'll react when we move. And I caught sight of the big one, the one Guff spied at the door." He frowned ominously. "Seems to be hanging back, giving orders, but damned if I've ever seen anything that large and that dangerous-looking even when the Arcane Brotherhood was flinging horrors at us."

"He's the source of that stench too" Guff added as he and Wetherly stood and moved away from Elanee, ready to move on the order. "You can trust in that" There was indeed some sulphurous stench heavy on the air, settling in a reek over the whole room as more smoke poured under the door. It only made Phaedra more eager to escape the heavy, faded riches that now were swathed with the stink of the Hells and this all-cloying smoke. Deep in her blood and across her skin she felt dark things moving behind the walls, circling the doors with predatory eagerness. A new rise of Hellish energy streaked through the room, searing her senses.

"Let's go, then" She said, straining to keep control. "Quickly." Lord Tavorick went first deeper into the house, and the rest followed behind in loose formation. Phaedra was disconcerted to find Cormick was the one who took it upon himself to guard her left flank as she followed in the faltering noble's trembling footsteps, but she ignored the Marshal, despite the entreating glances he kept sending her way as they moved down another long, musty corridor. She could feel the demons and devils moving in the rooms behind them, pressing urgency into her back. Swiftly they passed into a side chapel, perhaps once dedicated to Tyr or Neverwinter's other patrons but now even longer abandoned as the rest of the house. The altar was covered by a decaying white sheet that gave it a ghostly presence in the light that flowed through shattered windows of stained glass. Tavorick didn't pause, though he was rasping heavily, but led them to another door, older and rustier than any that had come before, that gave an almighty screech as Ballard and Cormick manfully tugged it open. The stone walls below were damp and dusty, and stairs led down into darkness.

"Is this really a good idea?" Cormick muttered. "We'll be cornered down there, and I don't like running like rats."

"We've got no choice" Phaedra pressed a hand to her forehead. Infernal itches ran through her flesh, her head pulsed and ached with the crackling, simmering energy in the air that intensified as she felt…something move behind them, something big, something powerful. The others were still hesitating, so her voice rose and cracked with panic as she shouted out to them. "Go! Now!"

And thankfully they did. Everyone stumbled down the steps. Phaedra was feeling so panicked with her magic so out of kilter in the febrile infernal atmosphere that she simply could not summon her usual light spell as they stumbled into the darkness, but Sand quickly filled the gap with a shimmering sheath that surrounded them with a cool glow. Neglected the crypt might have been like the house above, but it scarcely seemed to matter in this silent, stone place. Stone caskets lined the corridor down which they fled. Grim statues loomed from the shadows, looking unfeelingly down from stone faces as they ran past. The shadows between them seethed under Phaedra's eyes, she couldn't tell if it was another reaction to the infernal energy seeping everywhere behind them now or if the darkness now spoke to her in ways she dared not probe. But as she ran she heard the chorus of demonic energy rise and surge behind her and knew that they were pursued.

"Here, in here" Tavorick gasped with a hacking cough. The lord guided them into another crypt to the side, a small side room that was clearly a recent addition to these tombs. Phaedra glanced momentarily at the name carved into the casket just over her head, as Guff and Wetherly saw to the door, and saw it said 'Lord Cyran Tavorick'. She had to suppress a superstitious shudder. This was the tomb of the man standing right next to her. "Yes" Tavorick murmured. "I saw to it that this place was warded as strong as I could make it. They won't be able to be summoned in here…can't abide wards, demons." Wards? Phaedra glanced around her, and saw the glistening white runes running through the stone glimmer for a moment against the shadows before retreating behind the darkness. Wards…were meant to stop harmful magic, infernal included, from entering a holy place like this crypt. Her own…magic, then, was included. She wouldn't be able to use it in here. She probed the fire within and found that strange disjunction that was all too familiar from Solace Glade and Lieutenant Varric all those months ago, both the other times she had found herself out of touch with her magic through artificial means. Curses…this made things more difficult. "Now they'll have to come at us through the…" Tavorick began with satisfaction, then the lord stopped mid-sentence. So did everyone else, because the door suddenly splintered, and a great crash sounded throughout the room. A crash that could only have come from something big, something terrifyingly big. And something seeped under the door in a misty ferment, an ungodly smoke, thick and cloying, that began to fill the narrow crypt with a vile sulphurous stench that stung Phaedra's eyes and her nostrils. "Oghma's eyes!" Tavorick exclaimed, spluttering. "What is that stench?"

"I can smell you little lordling" At once a booming voice sounded in the darkness. It was a vast, bellowing sound, with a grating edge that worked on the senses as if you could tell it was wrong, that it did not belong on this plane. "I can scent your craven soul amidst the dust of the ancestors" Tavorick shrank back.

"Address me, demon!" Phaedra snapped, placing herself before the door. She forced down the rush of fear, this was her duty, she had to protect Lord Tavorick from this monster, with her magic or not. And she had faced far worse things than anything that could come through this door. "What are you?"

"I am Qaggoth-yeg" The creature responded with a bellow. Phaedra was slightly amazed that it answered. Her will was surely not so strong as to compel this thing? Or perhaps… "Leader of hordes, cleaver of babau and bebilith, the hunter who does not tire. From the yawning and clamorous layer of Yagguul was I plucked, and now I hunt at the bidding of my Master."

"Who is your master?" Phaedrat tried, but it shifted behind the door, she heard wood and stone crack under its motions and somehow she knew that here no answer would be given. The demon was under compulsions stronger than anything she could muster not to answer that.

"Who are you, my delightfully sweet mortal?" The creature murmured instead, with a great heaving breath of delight. "You have a wonderful scent about you. Beneath your weariness and your sweat, you smell of lives shattered, and hopes trod underfoot. I wonder, how many of those hopes were your own, and how many of those lives were those you loved?" Phaedra shrank back instantly, all pretence to authority vanished under the blistering assault of those words, so dark and so painful after West Harbour. "Perhaps I could smell you better, my dear" The creature hissed, glee in its voice, and the door buckled again, the wards glistening for one brief, pathetic second before fading. "If I could only come a little closer…"

"The door!" Tavorick yelped. "Get away from the door!" And then it shattered, the whole door broke in two, metal snapping like twigs, and the stone above it buckled and fell away as something huge forced its way through in a torrent of smoke and dust. Instantly Khelgar and Cormick ran to meet it, the latter roaring out a battle cry. Casavir, Ballard and Shandra were more cautious, circling carefully. Bishop rose next to Phaedra, firing arrows into the smoke with ready abandon, but none slowed the creature in the slightest. It was a mound of grey flesh, furred, froggish, hunch-backed, with dark beady eyes, exactly like Zaxis, the Hezrou demon from the Githyanki base. But this one they had no choice but to fight. Phaedra fell back again, scrambling with her bow. One blow from this thing's massive arms and any one of them would be dead. Thankfully Khelgar was so fast, that the creature had no chance to hit him, but even with the Ironfist Gauntlets, the blows he got in did little to damage the vast lumbering demon. Cormick struggled far more to get out of the way of Qaggoth-Yeg's swinging blows, and Phaedra watched him with her heart in her mouth, useless arrows from her bow doing nothing to shield him. She saw the Hezrou's wickedly sharp claws flash as the Marshal beat back with his blade, desperately trying to hold back his deadly assault. Sand's magic was unencumbered by the wards in the room, and he suddenly sent furling ropes of energy whipping into that air. They streaked past Phaedra with a sparkling heat and caught Qaggoth-Yeg by one of his massive biceps. The demon roared as his flesh seared under the spell, but without pausing he seized the magical bonds with his claws and broke them. Shandra, crying out suddenly, tried to take advantage of the moment and darted in with her sword, slashing across the Hezrou's stomach, but the hard muscled flesh beneath his fur was just too hard to pierce. Her sword simply bounced off after a surface cut, and, looking afraid suddenly, she staggered back.

"Shandra!" Phaedra screamed, cursing her useless magic and the useless arrows, and everything useless in her panicked mind. The demon roared, raising his arm above the stumbling Shandra, and then Casavir leapt forward. His shield slammed across the air, and the blow hit him from there instead. The creature's strength was such that the paladin's arm beneath his shield bent down to an unnatural angle and snapped back. Phaedra both felt and saw Casavir's arm break, somehow though she was watching from across the room, open-mouthed, her bow useless in her hands, a scream rising in her throat. Casavir fell down to the floor on one knee, and he did not even let out a cry of pain, but his shield fell from the now dangling, useless left hand, leaving him entirely vulnerable to the demon's next strike.

"No!" Shandra screamed, throwing herself across Casavir, trying to shield him herself with her pathetic sword and her smaller shield. Phaedra's whole body lurched, but it was way too late, and even Ballard and Khelgar both attacking from the other side weren't enough to stop the creature striking out with a fierce sideways blow. Shandra was sent flying across the room. She hit the wall with a clang of armour and fell to the floor in a heap, winded, perhaps injured, but thankfully still alive. But Gods have mercy, Casavir…still…Phaedra, abandoning the bow, ran forward with a sudden, insane instinct to stop this demon before any one else got hurt. Qaggoth-Yeg rose to meet her with a gleeful snort, leaving Casavir desperately trying to raise himself with his broken arm dangling, with far more agony on his face now than when he had been injured. Ballard yelled something, Phaedra barely cared…she delved into her heart, spun great streams of infernal magic within her, and tried to unleash it, only to find herself flailing with nothing between her hands but air. Oh Sweet Lathander…the wards…she'd forgotten. And now she had nothing, and Qaggoth-Yeg was lumbering towards her with his claws extended and a feral grin on his squashed, alien features. The small crypt suddenly wheeled around her. And Elanee was crying out something in elvish, but the room was far too small, and the creature was there, looming above her, its rank smell drenching her nostrils so she felt sick and stunned so as to only stare up at it in horror, as it raised its claws to strike her.

Then Cormick leapt across her vision. The Marshal's sword flashed before her eyes, caught Qaggoth-Yeg's arm, and shreds of demonic flesh and a stream of noxious ichor sprayed out from the wound. It was enough, enough to stop the blow that Phaedra had tensed up to take but which would almost certainly have killed her nonetheless. The Hezrou let out a fierce bellow that filled the room with diabolical echos, and Phaedra fell back, staggering, from Qaggoth-Yeg's rage, but Cormick stood firm between her and the demon. She was astonished by the Marshal's bravery on her behalf, but there was nothing she could do, as Qaggoth-Yeg struck out again at the Marshal standing beneath him. Neeshka, Ballard and Khelgar all darted around the huge titanic demon, but their blades and blows did nothing to deter him from focusing on Cormick. Even Sand beginning to murmur another spell did not discourage the demon's anger, as he raised his huge fist and brought it down upon Cormick's blade again and again. Cormick held it up once, twice, but the weight bearing down upon him was impossible, and he began to buckle. Phaedra watched desperately, with no way to help him. It all happened so fast, not even Khelgar, Ballard and Neeshka, even as they drew blood and gave blows strong enough to shatter bone, not even Sand and Elanee, who had rushed to Casavir trailing healing energy between her arms, could do anything either. And then the creature leaned down, and its other hand swept across the ground at Cormick from the opposite side. Phaedra screamed out a warning, but there was no way Cormick, still holding the Hezrou's other hand with his sword above his head, could have moved fast enough to stop it, and even if he did, then the creature would still have crushed him. And the Hezrou swept him up in its claws, and Phaedra screamed out a ragged, agonising scream…as those wickedly sharp blades of claws pierced armour and flesh…and blood dripped like a fountain upon the stone. Cormick struggled in the creature's impossibly tough grip as Qaggoth-Yeg held him up with clear satisfaction in some ghastly display, and as he struggled he screamed too as the creature's grip tightened, but Phaedra couldn't seem to hear anything but her own cry of horror. Somehow, then, Ballard's sword answered her cry, sweeping back around in one fluid motion, the Captian drove it into Qaggoth-Yeg's back. A scream erupted from the Hezrou, a vast bellowing scream against which Phaedra's and Cormick's cries vanished in the rumbling echoes. And Qaggoth-Yeg threw Cormick's broken body away with a dismissive snarl, and rose again to meet his new tormentor.

Phaedra ignored the fight now going on, ignored Neeshka, Ballard and Khelgar and now Guff and Wetherly too, holding Qaggoth-Yeg down now all on their own, ignored the rush of Sand's magic sweeping past her, ignored Elanee's look of horror as she passed, and Bishop's glance. She ran to Cormick immediately. The Marshal was lying down on the stone, face-down, struggling to rise, his armour was pierced in three, no five gaping holes from the creature's claws, and each one spewed blood from the terrible wound beneath. Warm sticky blood splattered Phaedra's hands, her arms, her robes as she gathered him in her arms, let him rest over her knee. It did not…look…good. Cormick's face was twisted with agony, his breaths heavy and heaving…he didn't seem able to move anything…his ribs…broken…maybe even his back too. Some part of Phaedra knew already that he was dying, but she still looked desperately around for Elanee, and found the elf crouching by Casavir, her hands on the paladin's shoulders as Casavir only watched Phaedra and Cormick with pity from where he knelt cradelling his broken arm, but Elanee's face was a mask of pain and intense concentration. Healing energy burned in the air around them like a haze of light, more powerful than she had ever seen it. Elanee was pouring all her power into Casavir, into healing a broken arm…there was no way she could do anything for Cormick, not like this.

"Phaedra…" The Marshal coughed and instantly she looked down at him. He was lying back upon her knee now, breathing harshly, racked with agony…his forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, his eyes unfocused and blurred as they settled on her.

"Don't talk Cormick" Phaedra whispered tearfully. All was forgotten, all except he had come from West Harbour…and she had watched him once across the lovely fields of the village at dusk with Amie at her side and admired his swordplay. Even the fierce fight with Qaggoth-Yeg going on in front of her hardly seemed to matter, even though her friends were there and in trouble. What could she do there anyway? She couldn't save Cormick when it mattered. She couldn't save West Harbour…

"No, Phaedra" He stirred, and spluttered out the words. "I…need to…say this." Dying he stared up at her like only he had done in those days of his delirium of hopeless longing, like she was impossibly beautiful, impossibly good; everything she was not. She ached with grief and the intensity of his gaze. "Forgive me…" Cormick gasped. "Oh Phaedra forgive me" Phaedra's tears burned her face, the sorrow was scalding, she couldn't speak, could barely look at him. "I…did it all so wrong, Phaedra, and I hurt you so many times." Cormick breathed agonisingly. "But I never meant to…I never wanted to…"

"Cormick…" Phaedra gasped, trying to think of what to say, there were so many things…her own apologies, her own regrets…but then all that seemed to matter, all that he seemed to want was one thing. "I forgive you" She whispered, and leant down over him, slowly, gently, as his last breaths racked his chest, and his life's blood spilled over her hands. With infinite care, she kissed him on the forehead, as she had done with Bevil, the only way to impart her care, her friendship, her kind-of-love for him…and her regret, and last of all, sweetest of all, her forgiveness for everything. But once she had raised herself from his body, his eyes were empty, his body still and limp over her knees and she knew he was dead. Grief choked her for a second, a moment, a time she couldn't tell; tears were torn from her eyes hot and heavy as lead, sobs aching and painful as vices gripped her upon her shoulders and throat as she was racked with her own kind of agony, barely able to breathe. Cormick was gone…a friend, a constant in her life since she had first seen him there in Fort Locke vanished…all that feeling, all that pain and anger and grief and guilt all empty, all nothing. She choked again…everything swam and span, and then her eyes found Qaggoth-Yeg across the room.

Something rose within her in that moment, rose within the helpless storm of her heart in the aftermath like a single guiding lighthouse from a dark, troubled water…a single impulse, a single feeling piercing the dark tumult. She had to kill this beast. It wasn't her controlling her own arms as she gently laid Cormick down, or her fingers as they travelled over his eyes, closing those painful windows into nothing…or her legs as she stood slowly with impossible self-possession considering she was still sobbing agonisingly. It wasn't her doing anything, it was that impulse…that one thing that still spoke and guided in the mess that was her mind now. And that impulse delved into her soul, delved deep, and found the fire within. She stood back and wondered, as the flames rose, feeding on her emotions, her anger and the storm within her, and roared free of the will, her own, that had for so long restrained it. The wards in the room suddenly sparkled like a field of stars across the entire room, burning with an answering light, trying to curb her embryonic burst of Hellfire as they had done before. But they had not the slightest chance, not against this…her inner fire devouring the grief and anger she felt, devouring the horror, the pain, the agony…and rising resplendent and hungry for more. The wards blazed one last time, and then shattered, falling from the walls in flecks of light that glowed as they fell and then died like falling stars. And then her power roared into life, entirely unrestrained, fire blazed out from her, blazing in a great swirling pillar that coiled and curled in vicious ropes of flame around and above her, shooting upwards with a great whoosh to the very ceiling of the crypt as though it yearned to burst from the confines of the tomb. Waves of blistering heat and burning light washed over the crypt, and Tavorick screamed, cowering behind his sarcophagus.

"Phaedra!" Sand yelled "No!" But she was long past hearing him. She raised her hand, pointed at Qaggoth-Yeg and begun to walk slowly towards the demon, each step deliberate and careful even as she still shook with the inner frenzy of her grief and rage. The others fighting the demon fell back, unable to stand the heat blazing out from Phaedra in ravenous surges, and the Hezrou entirely ignored them, its beady black eyes fixed on Phaedra with sudden fear glinting within them. But there was nowhere he could run. Not from this…not from Phaedra…She threw back her head, her hair sweeping about her head with each strand alight with coils of fire around it, the tears spilling from her eyes evaporating the moment they left her eyes into sizzling coils of steam, but she was still crying, she couldn't stop it. Then Qaggoth-Yeg gave a last, mighty roar of defiance, all the cacophonous rage of the Abyss in his voice, and he ran at her, with his loping predatory step, raising his claws again to skewer her like he had done Cormick. But there was no way he could reach her; she pressed her hand forward, fingers clasped around to dig into her palm. And fire exploded outwards, a great wave, a wall of ravenous, burning flames, that swept across the floor towards the running demon, and caught him in a blaze of the Hells. The huge demon, staggering towards her, was suddenly caught in a bind of blazing fire, sweeping up to wreath him in scorching magic, magic of a substance, Hellfire, that was inimical to a creature of the Abyss such as him. The demon roared again, rearing back from here, but this time there was pain in his booming bellow, pain that was far more than anything the swords and blows of the others had given him. And then he fell away within the fire, closed in on himself, disappearing back into the Abyss in a new burst of flame that arched out from him, rings of fire scouring around the room with reckless abandon, as Phaedra stood inside the inferno and cried helplessly. Qaggoth-Yeg was gone, they were safe, but she couldn't stop the fire sweeping around her, anymore than she could stop crying. A part of her saw that her friends were now in danger, that the room was heating up alarmingly, and that the Hellfire was growing more and more voracious as it drove itself in great arcing rings outwards from her…but somehow that part of her had lost the power to do anything but cry helplessly within her.

"Phaedra!" The others were shouting her name, but she could only hear the burning song of the fire in her ears, as she fell back further and further within herself, and let the invocation grow and take on more life of its own. And then Sand was there, standing in front of her, his robes whipping about him in the dry wind sweeping through the room as waves of power pulsed outwards. She stared at him, struggling inside herself, but the power to do anything more was gone from her. He looked back, and there was some great horror in his eyes, and something else, something cold and yearning…she tried to look closer, tried to pin it down…but then Sand dived to the floor, and picked up Casavir's shield where the paladin had dropped it. She barely realised what he was about to do, and then he was doing it. He threw the heavy shield, wooden with thick metal bindings, at her as hard as he could, at point blank range. The fire roared upwards, flickering tongues of flame, spreading across the ceiling, but there was no way it could stop the shield before it reached her, before it hit her, hard, with a sharp edge of pain that she felt even in her state. And then she was falling back, seeing stars, and the flames pulled back around her in a rush of heat, and then she saw only darkness…darkness and a cold, white face stretched tight with longing as he stared at her, and then nothing.

oooo00000oooo

Phaedra fell to the floor with barely a sigh, collapsing in a flurry of silk and golden hair and Casavir's shield clattered down next to her, now warped and scorched by the heat that had swirled around her in that moment. Instantly the blazing pillar of fire that had almost filled the tiny crypt with the Hells swept back into her body with a rush of scorching wind and power, settling back again beneath her skin so that an unearthly glow lay behind her flesh for a brief, lingering second, then slowly dwindled to nothing once again, and it was only Phaedra lying there still upon the stone, like one dead, with a cut to her forehead that began to leak sticky blood upon her hair. The whole room was silent a moment, everyone was just staring at the girl they followed and counted a friend, the girl who had stood before them burning bright and terrible once again. Casavir moved first, remembering duty as always, and knelt by her to gather her up in his arms. His arm still ached, Elanee had done her best, but he too knew how difficult it was to heal broken bones even with the power they shared, but he ignored it as he stood, holding limp Phaedra upright across his body while the others watched. It was a strange feeling to hold her, but he ignored it, to focus on his duty as a paladin, a healer, and as her guardian. Her pulse was still there, weak, sluggish, but beating, and the cut on her head was not serious. A prayer to Tyr crossed his lips, and he felt a small sliver of divine power slip through his soul…a warmth that touched his aching arm and his heart for a brief, all too brief second. It was a tiny particle of Tyr's power, and yet it embodied all the aching austerity of his God, the towering remoteness of the divine, the fatherly compassion that demanded the growth and justice of humanity simply by virtue of being so far from them and yet condescending to be here like this, in this minor ecstasy that Casavir was fortunate to be privy to still. He touched his hand to Phaedra's wound, and the holy power crossed his fingers to her in a slow rush of light, knitting flesh together. In a moment the wound was gone.

"What did you do that for, elf?" Khelgar stormed at Sand, as slowly the attention of the party turned to the wizard's role in all of this. Casavir looked over Phaedra's limp head at the flustered elf in his pristine robes. He too wondered what explanation Sand would give. It was no coincidence that it was he who had taken such a drastic step as attacking Phaedra when surely there must have been another way yet.

"Wasn't it obvious?" Sand shook his head brusquely, as if he resented the accusation. Ever the expert, knowing better than the rest of them, Casavir trusted him no more for his expertise, especially considering where he had acquired it. "She would have killed us all"

"No, not Phaedra…" Shandra stared at him aghast. "She couldn't…"

"My dear, that was not Phaedra" Sand answered. Casavir paused. He understood what Sand was saying, but something about the wizard's quickness to resort to such measures concerned him. He had seen just as Sand had, their leader burning resplendent in Hellish splendour, but to him what had been there had been entirely Phaedra, Phaedra in pain, hurting, from the death of that man, the Marshal…and Phaedra, no matter how much pain she was in, could never have hurt them. Certainly that time in the trial, Casavir remembered, Sand had done nothing and yet the fire had died back then before it could harm Shandra. That Sand had attacked her so fast this time suggested more about him than it did her. Still…there was no more time for that. Phaedra was stirring in his arms. She murmured something indecipherable, something about 'Garius' or some other waking dream, but then her eyes opened, and they were wholly Phaedra's eyes once again, green and pure, not burning with a terrible light behind them as they had before. Casavir breathed a thankful prayer, and allowed her to stand unsteadily. She stepped forward, running her fingers over each other as if to remind herself she was still real, breathing sharply.

"Is everyone alright?" She gasped. "I didn't…" She glanced around her quickly, saw they were all there. But then her eyes clouded over again as she remembered who was not.

"The Marshal is dead" Captain Ballard stood slowly from the body of Cormick. He was looking at Phaedra with a keen, but veiled, scrutiny. What he thought of what had happened was impossible to say. His comrades, the rustic pair, were staring at Phaedra with superstitious horror, an understandable reaction. That fire was so clearly evil, if only it was so easy for everyone to see as Casavir did that the one who wielded it was a pure soul despite it. But Casavir forced himself to clear his thoughts, focus on the dead Marshal. He was the only one with priestly office here, and as such he had a duty to the dead. The requisite rituals rose in his mind, carefully memorized, everything proper, everything lawful, but after Phaedra's explosive grief they seemed to serve no purpose, dry words that would serve only to salve his own conscience. So he said nothing. Instead he summoned the Marshal in his mind, recalled what he knew of him. Phaedra had respected him, so he had some virtue worthy of that. A man devoted to his duty was what had sprung to Casavir's mind. Sometimes hot-headed or misguided, but always good-hearted and quick to serve what he saw as Neverwinter's good. And from West Harbour, Phaedra's home, a good place back in those days, and he must have played his part in that. No more fitting eulogy came to mind, and it troubled him that it was as always Phaedra who framed his prayer. But it would do, he held the words in his mind for a brief second, then let them go. He hoped the Marshal's virtues would speak for themselves, and the prayer would not be defined by the weakness of its officiator.

"Did you hear that thing?" Lord Tavorick emerged from behind his tomb, looking quite horrified, but, not it seemed, by Phaedra's display as the others were. Indeed he seemed almost to have forgotten the close brush with Hellfire, and was working himself up over something new. Casavir leaned in to listen. "It has a Master. You heard it, didn't you?" Phaedra, staring at him, nodded quickly. She was dry-eyed now, but her eyes were bloodshot against chalk-white skin. She looked deeply shaken. Casavir glanced at her, automatically thinking that there seemed to be more to her state than even the Marshal's death, a ridiculous and in fact insulting thought when he considered it further. She had been more distant for some time, since they'd arrived in the city, more distracted, more on edge, but he had put it down to what had happened at West Harbour. After all she'd had more than enough to test the strongest soul in the last few days. That she still stood, prepared to do her duty, was a testament to her strength. There was no need to add his groundless suspicion to Phaedra's worries, he could only be there for her about what had clearly happened. "I told Nasher this hoodwinking business wouldn't work" Tavorick went on blithely, and immediately Casavir's full attention was on the noble. "But does he listen to the eighty-four year old? Of course not!"

"I don't follow milord" Ballard had caught the same thing. And his voice had the edge of the same suspicion occurring to Casavir now.

"I haven't got the shard." The old man immediately confirmed it. Casavir found himself foundering a second, realising that Nasher had tricked them all. "Haven't had it since yesterday. Passed it to Melia, in fact, just before you got here. Whole business was a diversion, to get whoever's seeking the shard to reveal himself. Instead he sent that brute with the tongue-twisting name." If Nasher had deceived them, Casavir reminded himself, he had done so because he had believed it was for the best. And they had still been fighting to protect Lord Tavorick from murder, that was not nothing. And still it left a bitter taste that the Marshal and another soldier had died in a mere diversion.

"You passed it to Melia?" Ballard lacked Casavir's equanimity, he was looking at Tavorick with something dangerously close to outrage. "To some girl from the Moonstone Mask?"

"I do still have a few wits left, you know" Tavorick snorted. "Melia's one of the Nine." That was a shock, that girl from before was one of Nasher's bodyguards. But now Casavir understood. What better way to disguise the shard than send it with a harmless-looking courier? And yet Tavorick seemed to think things had gone wrong. "She's holed up at the Moonstone Mask with a half-dozen guards, posing as patrons" The old man continued, and immediately Casavir froze. The Moonstone Mask…the name ran through him like a bolt of ice…Ophala…by the Gods. She'd be in danger. He tried to tell himself to feel the same as he would for any other innocent life threatened, but he couldn't stop the fact that it was Ophala in danger sending another jolt of panic through his system. He'd foresworn that attachment, as commanded, had trained himself not to think of it for years now, but his heart, long asleep, still had some vestige of it left. Sin lingered long. "Only the demon's master must have seen through the ruse" Tavorick gabbled on, and Casavir fought to keep his head clear. Phaedra, he had a duty to Phaedra, that was his present. Ophala was his past. With Phaedra, now, she was nothing more than another person who was in danger, just another Lord Tavorick. She had to be that. "Those demons were sent here to occupy you, and to kill me no doubt. And the man himself is on his way to the Mask-I'd bet my heirs on it, if I had any"

"Squire" Ballard looked to Phaedra. Along with the rest of the party, she was looking shocked by this sudden turn of events. If only she knew the whole of it…"We'll escort Lord Tavorick to safety, but you've got to get to the Mask. Can you handle that?"

"Of course" Phaedra said quickly. "We'll go to the Moonstone Mask right away"

"Warn Melia, child" Tavorick nodded vigorously. "And protect that damned shard!"

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_RIP Cormick...one of our most fully realised NPCs... :(_


	64. Chapter 64

_Aaand, here we are again! We get a nice insight into Casavir in this chapter, and also, if you keep with it (I know it's loooong) something very significant with Bishop which I've been building up to for a long time. Yaaay! Garius' machinations bear fruit too...next chapter we'll finally learn what he's been up too this whole time, and also why! Also Sydney Natale makes her appearance. _

_Thank you to all my readers old and new! I seem to have picked up a few more, I'm glad! Leave a review if anything occurs to you! (You can tell me my chapters are getting too long by the way!)_

* * *

The Blacklake District, and then after passing through its gates the Merchant District as well, rushed by in a flurry as the party ran with great urgency for the so-called Moonstone Mask. Phaedra had no idea where the Moonstone Mask was, or even what it really was, but clearly she was the only one, and she followed Casavir and Neeshka's lead as ably as she could. That Neeshka knew the place was no surprise, but Casavir's earnest lead was more startling. And more so just how eager he seemed to be to get there as soon as he could. He almost left the rest of them behind as they sprinted through the cramped dark streets under the night with the houses and warehouses looming with their eerie candle-lit windows flashing by. And he was wearing full armour, and he had just broken his arm. But there he was, running at full-pelt so that Phaedra could barely keep up. That he would be concerned for those who might be even now under attack in the Mask, including Melia, wouldn't be shocking, but normally even when people were in danger Casavir remained measured and careful, always able to see clearly through to the best way to save them, and always willing to follow Phaedra's lead to that way. Not now, he seemed almost desperate. She almost wouldn't have thought him capable of this tearing flight. But she followed, and as she followed tried to shake off with her own burst of speed the crushing weight of what had happened in the Tavorick crypt. Cormick's face kept flashing before her eyes, his last words ran through her mind over and over again. And then her own outburst of grief and agony and Hellfire, before Sand had stopped her. She could have killed someone herself. She knew she needed time, time to cry, time to sort out her own feelings and regrets, her own guilt, and to think through the agonising outbreak. But there was none. The pounding of her heart, the sharp shallow breaths, as she sprinted onward, drove everything from her but the compulsion to keep running. To get to the Moonstone Mask, to stop anyone else dying.

"There…" Neeshka pointed out with a heaving breath as they ground to a halt in front of an expansive building, with its own little paved portico and a small, but beautiful garden, even in the cramped midst of the Merchant District. "There, the Mask" Phaedra paused a second. The Moonstone Mask more closely resembled a Blacklake Manor than any of the other warehouses or shops in the area, with its tasteful and elegant façade, fronted by a row of slender columns along the porch. Its wooden front was crafted to the most graceful line, its marble portico polished to gleam in the moonlight, and the whole thing was completely spotless. A small sign with a seductive woman's mask emblem announced its name. The scent of delicate night orchids poured into the midnight air, a strong, but strangely alluring perfume. As they paused a moment to catch their breath, Phaedra quickly noticed that the Mask had had one oddity; the windows were all very small and cramped as if to let in light without compromising the privacy of those within. And yet there was light in them, light that blazed out into the street, flickering and pulsing like flames dancing behind the windows, unnaturally clean and clear, and smokeless. And then Phaedra knew that light…and the aching sensation of infernal power rose deep inside her. By the Gods, they were too late. Tavorick had been right!

"He's here!" Phaedra cried, and ran for the door. Casavir was right by her, the others just behind. She considered briefly what it meant if the King of Shadows, that warlock, was really here. Could they even begin to fight him? But they had no choice. The shard and Melia were here. Phaedra reached the door first, and flung it open with one pull. What greeted her…was chaos.

There was a wide hallway, a kind of greeting area, with graceful columns lining the centre, and glistening tiles on the floor. Normally it would have been a luxuriously decadent place, but the long graceful tables, the elegant chairs and lounging couches, all of them had been cast aside and smashed into matchwood underfoot as if some occupying force had marched through. Some were signed and burnt, the delicate silver candelabras that must once have shed a seductive glow were warped and melted into the floor by a fierce heat. The only illumination with the Hellish afterglow that burned in the air, a haze of unnatural light. And there were bodies…there was a woman lying just across the threshold of the door, almost at Phaedra's feet…richly garbed in a way that reminded her of Melia, her beautiful face frozen in a look of horror, her throat ripped open. Phaedra felt a surge of bile, forced it down; this was not Melia. She might still be alive further in. But Phaedra's hope faded as she saw that there were other bodies too, men all dressed as nobles but displaying blades by the side of their corpses, and the marks of battle fresh in their silken robes and on their bodies. Guardsmen, disguised as noble patrons, just as Tavorick had said. But it had availed them nothing. Phaedra felt the word spin…they were too late…

"Help!" And then suddenly a woman appeared across the hallway. With a cry of shock she glided towards them, Phaedra was astonished to see the grace and poise with which she held herself even in the midst of her panic. "Oh Gods, help…he murdered Evlyn at the door! And he's still upstairs, this man…with tattoos on his face, and demons, an army of them. They killed everyone!" She reached them, and paused suddenly, shock breaking through on her pristine features as she found Casavir standing to Phaedra's left. "Casavir…" She gasped.

"Ophala" Casavir said the name softly, and though it was surprising enough that these two knew each other, what concerned Phaedra more was the note to his voice. Even in his habitual stillness, there were signs of a sort of strain, as though his chivalrous regard were tested as never before. "Are you alright?"

"Yes" Rather flustered, uncomfortable, the woman, Ophala, adjusted her gown. There was a mystery here. And Phaedra remembered what Torio had said, that a woman had been behind Casavir's defection. Was this she? Ophala looked to be about Casavir's age. Although carefully and subtly applied cosmetics masked it, her eyes spoke to the truth, large, beautiful dark eyes with thick long lashes but rather hardened, like black diamond. Her dress was that of a woman half her age, but it suited her, her flawless figure accentuated by the tight-fitting bodice and the sleek silken flow over her legs. "I did not expect you would be bold enough to show your face back in the city again, Casavir" Ophala said, with a rather icy edge in her voice. "Not after what happened."

"I did not come back for you, Ophala" Casavir answered, the regret in his voice was shockingly plain, considering his usual reticence. But she sensed it was not that he regretted not returning to Ophala, but something deeper, perhaps their whole acquaintance or was Phaedra imagining that? She couldn't deny that seeing Casavir so open for this woman disturbed her strangely. "My duties are my own, and Tyr's…" Phaedra suddenly realised that Ophala had to be the owner of this establishment, the Moonstone Mask. Even she wasn't naïve enough not to realise what kind of establishment it was considering Melia's disguise was that of a courtesan.

"Let's not forget people, man with demons upstairs!" Neeshka interrupted quickly and Phaedra cursed her distraction. Oh Gods, Melia…the man upstairs…the warlock, the King of Shadows. How could she have been side-tracked even for a second?

"Where did he go?" Phaedra quickly imposed herself between the two. Ophala coloured immediately.

"Upstairs…our private suites are up there" She said quickly. "That's where the Nine woman holed herself up, but he knew she was there; he headed straight for it."

"We don't have much time then" Phaedra said. "Come on."

"Stay here Ophala" Casavir commanded.

"Of course" Ophala stepped back, silk rustling in a swathe as if it were a shell closing around her. "Do your duty Casavir." The words were again said with an edge of something rather like mockery. It was spiteful and inexplicable, considering they were here to help Ophala and her establishment, but Phaedra could not understand what was between the two of them. And she dared not spend another moment wondering.

Leaving Ophala alone, they ran up the stairs she'd indicated. Beyond them, the Moonstone Mask grew even more sumptuous and even more devastated. The sheer silk curtains were frayed, some of them still burning, and the finely woven carpets blackened and ashen underfoot. There were doors leading off into separate suites, with brilliant, luxurious double beds and fabulous decoration, but it was all scorched as if the very presence of the warlock brought with it reams of fire that singed wherever he stood. And the bodies…there were more here, more of Melia's bodyguards, blasted and incinerated by the warlock's passage as if in afterthought. The clawing sense of the infernal mounted, running through Phaedra like shivers, she felt it…coming from a room just down the hallway.

"He's here!" She cried "He's still here!" The urgency of it all was almost enough to force down the terror that the idea that the King of Shadows was here brought with it. There was no time for hesitation, they had to get there before Melia…but the idea that she might face that terrible warlock…but then they were moving towards the room and it was already too late. Casavir threw open the door, and the sense of infernal power grew unbearably intense, it made her head swim, her teeth ache…but she pushed through it, stumbling into the room where the King of Shadows waited.

It was another long hall, and on the other side was a towering stone fireplace behind an ornate grate which roared with a fire that was far too large, towering and hungry, with a smokeless brilliance, to be natural. It tore from the grate, pouring into the room, sending waves of unbearable heat and light that burned hellishly bright sweeping along the hall. Even as they stood there in the doorway, the ornate decorations on the walls singed and sparked and burst into flame. And in front of the fire…there he was, framed by the flames in a grim splendid magnificence, a single shadowy figure with the blaze sweeping all around him. The warlock from the Githyanki caves…the King of Shadows. He was unchanged from then. He wore the same dunn-coloured robes, hung with fetishes and reagents including the unearthly gleaming crystals, with their armoured shoulder pads and large heavy belt buckled around the waist. And so too did he bear the same awful and authoritative features, grim in the power and force that burned behind them, and the same dreadful eyes, gleaming and glinting with harsh intent, and those same terrible spidery tattoos drawn across his bald head, except now, in the full force of his power made manifest, they blazed like a wildfire upon his skin. He turned, slowly, without the slightest hint of shock or fear and fixed the party in his implacable gaze. Phaedra almost fell back from the room in horror, the sheer raw, primal power beating out from him was like the force of a vast explosion contained in this hall. And there he was…this man, this warlock…this King of Shadows…the man responsible for Cormick's death, and for the deaths of Finn, and everyone else in the Moonstone Mask.

"Reinforcements, of course" He sneered, and that voice too was the same, a rough rasp. "This whole operation has been woefully predictable…Neverwinter has not changed. I am afraid you are too late to save the Nine woman…" Hellish light glinted on his teeth as he smiled. And there she was…Melia lying dead at his feet. She wore the blue surcoat of the Neverwinter Nine over chainmail, but it had helped her no more than the delicate courtesan's gown from before would have done. Her beautiful chestnut hair was spread out all around her head, but there was a great smoking wound in her chest, where the warlock had simply touched her with fire, and burnt her out from the inside. Smoke rose from her body, from her eyes, from her lips…the world reeled around Phaedra. Melia was dead, they were too late. "She put up a brave fight, but she was as misguided as you are." The warlock continued.

"You filthy murderer!" Phaedra cried, thinking of Cormick, dead for nothing and now Melia…

"You, I might have known it would be you" The King of Shadows said roughly. Phaedra paused, realising that he recognised her, from the caves. Their eyes met, and she saw his were a kind of light hazel…a strange thing…considering the unearthly power of the face they were set within. The warlock held her gaze, and his eyes narrowed slowly. "You seem determined to trouble me. What is your purpose in continuing to hound me, girl, with this pathetic group of fools behind you?" He asked coldly. "Are you all so eager for annihilation, or is it in the mind of some amongst you to summon up some old regret that the Hells have burned from me? You are wasting your time." He stepped back towards the fire, and it rushed up into the vaulted gables of the room, a towering inferno that burned around him. In a second he could obliterate them all, Phaedra knew, and she could barely concentrate on the strangeness of his words as it swept through the room and alighted on her…his power…it was utterly unimaginable, a searing, blazing mass of pure, raw energy. "Is it the shard you want, then?" The King of Shadows addressed her coldly once again. "Well, you are too late for that as well. It is mine. And now it seems all you have left is your life" He stepped back, and the fire roared like a huge, vicious creature crouched at his back. Phaedra breathed…her heart pounding, as she raised her shaking hands to try to counter anything he threw at her. How long would it take? A minute, a second…before he broke through any defences she had? No raw power could save her now, as it had against Ajah and that gnome Oyo, or against Qaggoth-Yeg, any power she had was just a spark next to his.

"Why does my hand hesitate?" The warlock suddenly murmured, with a sort of absent thoughtfulness. "Again it seems…something intrudes upon me." He raised his head again, his eyes glinting amidst their burning tattoos. "There is something about you, girl, or one of these that follows you. Something that inclines me to mercy…" He shook his head. "It is no matter; I have what I came for" And he raised his hands, and the fire drew in around him, a blazing embrace. "But as you have come so far, you can test your power against the best the Hells offer" He said, shaping the fire like a craftsman, so that it seeped forward in two large waves on either side of him, rising, cresting, and then forming into a recognisable shape, and then there was a vast standing hound on either side of him. The creatures became flesh under the eye, shedding the fire of their making from their hulking bodies. Vast dog-like creatures they became, taller at the shoulder than even the man they now stood behind, with rank dark fur, evil blazing eyes, terrible claws and teeth, and a burning sense of the unearthly dripping from them. Phaedra felt the power coursing through them, that same power that had summoned them, that kept them on this plane. She felt it like a rash running over her skin, like acid rising in her throat. But something occurred to her then, as her own fire stirred in response, whispering its own unearthly song; if she could feel the power that had controlled these terrible creatures, couldn't she use it herself? Command it? Command them? "If you survive do not seek me out again." The warlock warned, as his power rose again like a great wing descending over him as it had done in the caves before. "Next time there will be no mercy." And then he was gone, in a blistering pulse of power. And it was only the party, facing the two vast beasts he had left behind.

The two creatures leapt at them, snapping open huge slathering jaws. Immediately Phaedra felt and heard the stir behind her as the others marshalled weapons, wills were brought to bear and magic summoned, blades rang as they were pulled from scabbards. Phaedra did neither though, instead she closed her eyes a second, diving into the roaring stream of power pulsing inside her. When she opened them, a harsh, lambent red gleam shone over her hands, and a dry, arid wind stirred her hair and her dress around her. Bishop's arrow flew past her with a rush, struck one of the beasts in the shoulder and sprayed forth a spattering of foul black blood, but it didn't stop the hound's fevered advance, and nor did it stop Phaedra's first, tentative step towards the beasts running for her. It was mad, insane, walking towards beasts that would rip her to shreds the moment they reached her, without even her bow to protect her or any weapon but for the whispered assurance that she could somehow stop them by her own will. Her fear was pushed low, so that she could rise above all her doubts on the flaming wings that beat in surges of heat and light within her. And then they were there, rearing up in front of her, terrible, horrific with the searing intensity of hellish power blazing around them. But Phaedra pushed her hand forwards towards them, driving her will into the surging storm of power that seared around them, like a hammer beating down upon a half-forged blade, moulding and shaping the molten metal. Instantly they ground to a halt in front of her, and there was a stunning surge of light from within her, cold, red light blazed through the whole room. She felt them resist, choking at the bit, straining against the ropes of magic and power that she now grasped with her own will, but her will soared above them, and held them there. She stared into their hypnotically glowing eyes, saw the Hells within those burning red orbs, and yet stood before them with no fear.

"By the Gods…" Shandra breathed, holding her sword and shield up still as though she expected them to still attack, indeed Phaedra knew that none of the rest of the party had lowered their weapons or magic either. She knew though that she held the beasts fast. "Are you holding them back Phaedra?"

"These are Nessian Warhounds" Sand murmured softly and Phaedra almost jumped, hearing his whisper. He must be standing just behind her, uncomfortably close. "Some of the foulest, darkest creatures in the Hells. But of course, as a warlock you'd have this ability, to command them" Phaedra wondered what purpose his words served, but there was a strange note to his voice…a harsh, hoarse note. But she couldn't concentrate enough to pin it down. Most of her mind was engaged in the glistening streams of magic between her and the Warhounds, she had seized the same bonds originally placed on them by the King of Shadows, and turned those bonds to her own purpose. Now the creatures, in their own way, a whispering growl within her mind that somehow communicated this, were demanding some new order, they demanded the same order that he had given them; to hunt, to kill, at her bidding. She knew she could give that command, she had the power. But she was no King of Shadows, sending hell and fire to kill the innocent like poor Melia lying there just across the fire, like Cormick. At the thought of Cormick, a disturbance rippled across her mind, enough to strain the bonds between her and the Warhounds, but she grasped them with the very tip of her will and held on for dear life. This connection was more fragile than the power suggested…she had to let them go before they were free. And let them go she would, back to the Hells where they belonged.

"Go back" She unclasped her hand, unsure of what exactly to do, but hoping her will would be enough. Sparks glinted over her fingers, pinpricks and flashes of cold light dancing through the folds of her dress and in the strands of her hair. The Warhounds resisted again, but…it was enough. The Hells called them, it was wrong for them to be here at all. She seized that call in her mind, and fed it through the glinting strands of magic that glistened, half-visible, in the lambent air. "Go back to the Hells" She repeated softly, but with force. They fell back a little, forced by her will, and the air seemed to part behind them, dimensions splitting. And then for a second an impossibly hot fire rushed through the room, surging, searing past Phaedra, surrounding the two Nessian Warhounds in a blazing corona of hot, acrid flames. Then they were gone, and the room was empty, empty of all the burning sense of the Hells. There was only Melia, lying dead there…in the blue and white of the Neverwinter Nine…it was over. The shard was gone, Melia was dead…all of it had been for nothing. Phaedra stumbled, suddenly unsupported by the strength of her power, reeling in the sudden hopelessness and in the sudden realisation of how strong the compulsion of her warlock abilities had become, so that they could have overpowered her fear and guided her to command those foul beasts summoned by her dark shadow-twin in the warlock arts, the King of Shadows. It felt like commanding devils was the next level, a dark initiation into another evil mystery, and after she had almost killed everyone back in the Tavorick Estate. Was she so helpless, was it so strong? She fell then and Casavir caught her. And in his arms she couldn't help but think of Ophala's sneering beautiful face…

oooo000000ooooooo

The Flagon was cheery as usual, how could anyone here know that one of the Neverwinter Nine had died today, that a warlock had invaded their city, that the Moonstone Mask had been laid to waste, and that they had lost one of their best City Watchman in Lieutenant Cormick? But Phaedra knew. She sat desolately at one of the tables near the fireplace, alone in the bleak silence around her despite Shandra and Elanee and Duncan all hovering nearby as though afraid to leave her alone, despite that the Flagon was actually filled with laughter and light. She hadn't bothered to change, her Battle Robe was still spattered with Cormick's blood, ripped and stained from the battle…or lay down her bow and arrows; what was the point when she carried a weapon so much more terrible and dangerous within her blood and heart and soul? Her hair was a ragged mess. But what did it really matter, it felt silly to even think about it. Cormick was dead. And it was his love for her that had killed him. He had given his life for her, to save her because of the same love she had despised and fought tooth and nail to the end. After all the arguments, the fights, the wasted feelings…she would never speak to him again, never see him again. And worse, he had died for nothing. She had failed to save the shard despite the extravagance of the hellfire she had conjured in the wake of his death, dangerously. She had failed him, failed his sacrifice. He had begged her to forgive him, and she had, but it would never be so easy to forgive herself for her part in his death, for being so foolish to throw herself into the path of Qaggoth-Yeg so that he had taken the blow that should have been her own, for not being strong enough to save him, and, now in the febrile swirl of regret, for everything she had done to lead his feelings on in their troubled relationship. Love had led him to his death, but it had destroyed the noble man West Harbour remembered long before that.

And she felt like she hadn't even began to cry, but, though her eyes were sore and red, no more tears would come, like she'd already been wrung dry. Lowering her head behind the curtain of her hair, she stared down at the table, at the whorls in the wood, the stains and marks, the dents and bumps from the many patrons who had left their marks on the Flagon…there were even a few names carved into the wood. What remained of the men who'd made these? Bitter memories and regrets? Wasted loves? She traced a name with a gentle sweep of her fingers… "Daelan Red-Tiger". And then all thought was blasted aside as she felt another agonising jolt of anguish, what had Cormick left behind? Who would mourn him but her, since West Harbour was drowning in the madness of the Mere? She clasped her hands around herself, trying to sob again but drawing nothing from the arid depths of her blasted spirit. And then, in the moment when she felt most alone and cold, suddenly something touched her feet under the table, something heavy and furry and warm with the sudden, shocking warmth of life. With a start she looked down under the table and met the lambent, amber eyes of Karnwyr. The huge wolf had padded over with his characteristic silence so that she hadn't even known he was there and had claimed a place there across her feet. She didn't know why; it was impossible that he could sense her grief. Or that he would have responded if he could. But somehow it felt like he had. And the wolf looking up at her seemed to have some wild, savage understanding in his impossibly deep eyes. Under his stare, a tremble began deep within her, a shiver that travelled through her body, shaking her from the dead arid numbness of guilt, and allowing true, healing grief to rise once again. Overcome, she staggered from her seat, fell to her knees next to Karnwyr and threw her arms around the wolf. Elanee moved immediately, but Shandra touched the elf's arm, shaking her head to stop her from running closer, giving Phaedra the space she needed.

"Karnwyr…" She sobbed helplessly into the rough fur around the wolf's neck. "He's dead, my friend…Cormick" Of course Karnwyr was nonplussed by her grief, but he didn't pull away or snap at her, and it was enough to be close to someone, someone who was silent, who didn't offer any sympathy or advice but just the warmth of his fur, which was really all she needed right now. Silence and closeness was better than any words. She sat there on the Flagon's dirty floor, clinging to Karnwyr like he was an anchor, for a moment, maybe two…she didn't really know, but then the door to the Flagon was opened, she heard it, and heard the steady deliberate tread she knew immediately to be Casavir's. She lifted her head from Karnwyr slowly, knowing that Casavir had gone to see to Cormick's body. But before she could find the paladin, Karnwyr leaned his snout forward to touch her face, and his long, rough, scratchy tongue suddenly shot out and licked the tears from her cheeks. It was so startling, so sudden, and it felt so strange, that Phaedra, caught completely unguarded, let out a little laugh from behind the sheen of tears. She stopped herself immediately, but after a moment of shock she realised that…still…it had been right to laugh, it had…to know that there would be something to smile about once her feelings were sorted out again, once she had mourned Cormick properly. Karnwyr looked back at her with nonchalance, but it was too late, she was onto him now. She knew he was really a big softie.

"My lady" Casavir…Phaedra let Karnwyr go, and stood to let the wolf turn away, giving Casavir a dismissive snort as he went. Casavir didn't look at him. His eyes were on Phaedra, with the austere pity that reminded her of a statue of a suffering God like Ilmater behind them. "The Guard have taken Cormick from the Tavorick Estate, he will be interred with all honour in the grounds of the Temple of Tyr"

"Thank you Casavir" She said softly. Cormick wouldn't even be buried in West Harbour, even Lorne had got that.

"And Sand has gone to the palace to inform Lord Nasher of these events" Casavir added. Phaedra nodded. Sand had seemed eager to bear the message to Nevalle and Nasher, so she'd let him go. Frankly she didn't know she could face the lord of Neverwinter right now knowing he'd openly deceived her, Cormick and the others, and his deception had got the Marshal killed, along with poor Finn. "Phaedra" Casavir said her name, and she looked back at him, with exhausted sorrow. "Do not do this to yourself"

"It was my fault, Casavir" Phaedra sat back down at the table and looked down at her hands in her lap.

"No" Casavir moved over, but he did not sit down next to her. She understood, he could not give her the simple closeness Karnwyr had. Wherever they both stood, Phaedra understood now why Casavir had been so hesitant, so cautious, with the silly feelings she carried for him. When love could so easily destroy friendships, drive someone into the ground…maybe there was no place for it in this vicious drama she had lived since the shard had been handed to her. "No, Phaedra, it was not your fault." He continued "Cormick understood the risks and he did his duty gladly to the end. He died a hero, that's all that should matter now."

"But what if it isn't?" Phaedra looked up at him helplessly. "He loved me. He really did, and all I gave him for it was spite. If I'd been a little bit more understanding, maybe…" She paused, thinking again of all of Cormick's pleading. In truth she could never have given him any more than she did. But regret still flowed through her. "And now…"

"Many will say, thoughtlessly, that love is all that matters in this world" Casavir nodded with the solemnity of a sermon. "But we both know that is not true; we all have duties that stand first, and sometimes we have to give up those we love, or those who love us for the sake of what is more important. If we do not, if we are selfish, if we put our own pleasure first, how can we even be worthy of that love?" He leaned forward. "Cormick understood that, he understood that he was wrong to put you in the position he did. And you gave your forgiveness in his last moment, you eased his passing as no one else could have done, few have such a chance."

"I know…" Phaedra glanced away sadly. "It's just hard…"

"That his love led him to a final act of selflessness, of true heroism, is something you will come to rejoice in one day, when you can look back at his life with celebration rather than mourning." Casavir said quietly. "For now, remember you are not alone. I understand what you are going through." He turned away slowly, suddenly seeming quiet, almost ashamed. "Few of us act as nobly for love as Cormick did"

"What do you mean Casavir?" Phaedra looked back at him, shocked a little, but then she remembered Ophala again. Was this Casavir wanting to explain his strange troubling dialogue with that hard, beautiful woman in the Moonstone Mask?

"I was not…wholly honest about the reason I left Neverwinter" Casavir looked away, up to the roof of the Flagon, as if praying an oft-repeated plea for absolution. "Meeting Ophala last night…it brought it all back, I had almost convinced myself to forget, convinced myself that all was forgiven." He sighed deeply. "But in concealing the truth from you, even after what Torio said at the trial…I have compounded this sin. You deserved better, you deserved to know the truth and I am sorry."

"Casavir…" Phaedra stood suddenly, shocked by the graveness of his tone, the stern, sober ascetic words.

"I killed a man, Phaedra" He said bleakly. "Not in battle, or on the field, but in a duel of honour where no one was supposed to die, and I did it for love. For Ophala, of course." His gaze strayed to the window, where a bleak, chill morning had descended grey and stern upon the streets of the Docks. Phaedra stared up at him, shocked into silence. "We were involved once when I was young, a short affair, a small scandal in the aimless world of Neverwinter's nobility. Suffice to say, it did not end well. She was part of the reason I joined the Greycloaks and became an officer. Simply to get away from the city, away from her, and the purposeless mire of my life as the last member and heir of a minor noble family." Phaedra was stunned enough to hear about details of Casavir's life that he had never spoken about, his membership of the Greycloaks, his noble lineage; all things she had guessed, but which she had never thought to hear confirmed. Likewise she found it difficult to imagine the young man he described, restless and frustrated. "But I found little purpose amongst the Greycloaks, serving the same petty politics and ambitions that I had always encountered in the Blacklake. That is, until Tyr called me."

"Neverwinter is all too happy to use those in service to the Gods when it has need of them" Casavir explained curtly, glossing over the true details of his calling. But Phaedra was in no position to ask more. "Even when its purposes are not aligned with justice and so my commanding officer, and a good friend, Callum of the Neverwinter Nine, allowed me to leave my post to return to the city and train with the Church of Tyr as a paladin, though my service was and remains technically still due to the Greycloaks. My training was long and even once it was done my service of Neverwinter continued; years passed…it became a decade since I had last seen Ophala. When I was not with the Church, I returned to the Greycloaks, serving where I was led, my faith and my duty a resource for the city to exploit when it required. Slowly I grew weary of compromise, what I learned of the justice to which I had to hold myself no longer allowed me to follow the wishes and edicts of a city so careless of the need of so many, so much more concerned with the privileges of those born with them. My gradual disconnection from the service that should have filled my life led me to wonder if perhaps the reason was some sin unconfessed on my own conscience. I thought of Ophala, of the bitterness of our parting, of the abuse of chivalry and honour that it represented, of the sin against myself and against her our relationship had been."

He laid his hands on the table. Phaedra was suddenly aware that both Elanee and Shandra were still nearby and listening to the story with open emotion equal to her own. Even normally inscrutable Elanee looked stunned and saddened. But Phaedra was too engrossed herself to ponder the strange symmetry that brought all three women to Casavir's feet. "I went to her, to apologise maybe, or simply to speak to her, or perhaps I believed I could save her from the emptiness of her life that I had once shared, I truly know not why." He continued. "She remembered me, despite the years that had passed. But she would hear nothing I said. And quickly it became clear to me that her personal services were being engaged by someone with influence and wealth: I could see it in the beautiful, rich gifts she bore, in her defensiveness, in her well-hidden desperation to get me gone before I compromised her in the eyes of her new paramour. And then I glimpsed the bruises, the marks of his rough handling; and I realised more of the mystery, that her lover had been beating her. In shock I immediately demanded his name. She gave it, only reluctantly; Lord Piervall, a well-known man of taste and influence in those days. Deaf to Ophala's pleas that I did nothing, I challenged the Lord to a duel to answer for his dishonourable behaviour. Perhaps I even thought that in saving Ophala I might find the sense of purpose, of significance, that I had lacked in all the preceding years in service of Neverwinter alone. But it was an ugly thing in the end. And I killed Lord Piervall. I had not meant to, but he left me no choice. There was no chance of prosecution, as it had taken place in a duel, but I was nevertheless disgraced. Ophala despised what I had done; Lord Piervall had afforded her power, wealth, and access at last to the world she had always envied. For her, I suppose it was a fair exchange. But I had ended it, so she refused to see me again. Likewise Judge Oleff and the Church of Tyr cut me off in horror and shame at my actions, conducted for a well known courtesan as they were, and serving the Greycloaks any more, even if they allowed it, even though I was still sworn to the service of Neverwinter, was no longer something I could bear. And so I left the city, sickened by what I had done and exhausted by my years of compromise, my attempts at redemption a failure. I came to Old Owl Well, whose struggles I had come to hear of during my time with the Greycloaks, and I sought some kind of absolution against the orcs." Casavir had not looked at Phaedra the whole time he had told the story, now he did. "You know the rest." He said softly. But she did not. Did he still love Ophala? And how exactly had it happened that he had no choice but to kill Lord Piervall? And, worst of all, had Casavir truly found the purpose he'd wanted fighting the orcs in Old Owl Well, had she been the thing that had torn him unwillingly away from that, thrown him back into the chaos and compromises of serving Neverwinter? She wanted to ask. But then the door of the Flagon was opened again, everyone looked up immediately and the moment passed like the delicate morning sunlight streaming into the inn faded into the shadows. And then the light parted as Sand glided into the inn, trailing his flowing robes. Immediately his keen gaze found Phaedra.

"Phaedra, my dear" He walked over quickly, and Casavir moved from his path, retreating back into his usual pose of diligent guardian at Phaedra's shoulder, but there was a certain tension she could sense from him even as he took his place there. Was it telling his story at last, that so set him on edge, or was it in fact the presence of Sand? Phaedra had to admit to a certain edge of unease herself as Sand came to her. She wondered if it was just because he was coming back from Nasher and she was pretty certain that the Lord of Neverwinter had words for her. Or was it something else? She felt like Sand was hiding something from her. "Lord Nasher wishes to see you, I'm afraid." The wizard said, softly, apologetically. Of course he did, Phaedra opened her mouth to protest but something in Sand's gaze stopped her. "My dear" Sand added quickly "It is dreadfully important."

Ooooo0000000ooooo

Power always had a price. Whether that price was paid in servitude, in blood, in dark rituals that siphoned away the soul and the freedom of the mind as it was in the Hostower, or in the sacrifice of reagents and ingredients in formulas as ritualised and prescribed as any sacramental offering, Sand's preferred instruments, there was always a consequence to drawing on the magics that filled the half-invisible world which only the Gifted could see. But Phaedra refused to see that. She drew on terrible forces, powers that Sand had only read about and wondered at even in the halls of the Hostower where dark power was a plaything, and she did it so effortlessly! Those Nessian Warhounds, for example…stopped by her hand and the mere mustering of her will. Thank the Gods she did not realise how extraordinary that was. It might encourage her to be even lazier, even more careless, and then where were they all she next time she had a tantrum? He told himself that Phaedra was still young, but it only seemed even more inexplicable that there she should stand, so very young and so out of control, and yet still able to command such awesome power. And from no learning, no work on her own part…no centuries spent in study, no careful experiments over years, decades…simply a pretty, foolish teenager with the power enough to overpower any wizard who actually worked and paid for his power as it should be. No, he reminded himself that it was not for himself he was doing this, it was for the best for all of them, including Phaedra. So he had gone to Nasher, and had told him that Phaedra was dangerous, a loose cannon waiting to explode next time her emotions got away from her, and if he was not there when it happened with some disgustingly blunt instrument like a shield at hand, it could be a disaster. He had recommended that the Lord of Neverwinter stop asking anything of Phaedra, at least not for a while until she started to take Sand's warnings seriously. But what force was forward-thinking and care, the wisdom of an expert such as himself, beside the petty necessity of politics? To his indignity Lord Nasher had ignored him entirely and instead told him to summon Phaedra right away to the palace for some other errand, something more important than ever. And so they were on their way through the Blacklake once again. How farcical…

"Sand…" And here Phaedra was, appearing to his left as they walked up the great collonaded hill towards Castle Never. Sand shot her another glance. If he didn't know better he would say Phaedra's spirit was somehow out of balance. She was dulled, like a knife that had not been polished in too long. White and sickly, her normally glorious hair a ragged, clumpy mess, with her green eyes turned forever inwards as if listening to something else inside her, she only seemed half-there at all. At least she had changed out of that Battle Robe and Sand had resolved to give that a good wash, but the pale grey and white she normally wore now seemed to leech all colour from her. Of course, she had lost her bumbling sidekick in that foolish Marshal, and there was that terrible business of her village…but his instincts told him that the diagnosis was more serious than grief and pain warranted. Was this the price Sand had been waiting to see exacted for her wanton use of magic? He hoped not. If so, it might already be too late. Maddeningly some teasing instinct told him he already knew the answer, some reference he'd forgotten, some treatise from the past, but nothing he could call to mind easily while so many other things occupied his attention. Damnation, why couldn't Nasher leave her alone, give a professional enough time to work? But Phaedra was speaking, Sand listened again. "I think we need to talk" She said quietly.

"As do I, my dear" He leaned in, the concerned teacher to her errant student. But not before checking that those who had accompanied them to the Blacklake, Elanee and Shandra were a safe distance behind them. What he had to say, it was best perhaps that they did not hear. "Phaedra, you have changed a great deal from the girl who I met in the Flagon all those months ago…" She winced visibly, as if not appreciating the reminder, but Sand pressed on. She needed to hear this. "You have the power to affect the world around you, and you do so dramatically. But…this power you have, it is so dangerous."

"I know" Phaedra shook her head, looking away out over the busy villas as morning went on in the Blacklake. "I saw what nearly happened in the Tavorick crypt…"

"You may know" Sand quickly added. "But do you understand why?" She was silent, that was encouraging. At least she still admitted her ignorance. "Phaedra, magic is as much a matter of artifice as brute force" He explained "One must sharpen the mind to wield it. When power comes too easily, too soon, the soul begins to suffer from it, and if you do not learn discipline, that power will come to consume your judgement. Phaedra what I would advise is that you listen to those who sometimes tell you what you do not want to hear." Sand said. "And I am telling you to be careful."

"I…will think about it" Phaedra still didn't look at him, but clearly his advice had sunk in. For now that was enough. And they were coming to the palace, no more time to ask anything more of her. But as soon as they had a spare moment, he was going to study Phaedra far more closely and make sure that not only she understood what was going on but that he did.

Within moments of Sand giving their names to the guards at the gate, they were ushered from the waiting room and into the great audience chamber in the centre of the palace, Nasher's pearl in the midst of his impregnable oyster of a castle; blue and white and gaudy, a trifle overdone for Sand's taste. Sand remembered how when he'd first come to the palace on his little errands keeping watch over the filthy Docks for a Lord of Neverwinter that could not even control his own city without the help of a blackmailed wizard, and the perpetually delightful Lord Nevalle now standing at Nasher's left had made him wait for hours, smug in the knowledge that a former Hostower mage with everything to lose wouldn't leave. Now Phaedra had instant access to the highest court in the city, a priviledge of very few for which very many would do almost anything. No doubt that had the nobility buzzing. Lord Nasher sat upon his throne as though he rose above the mire of politics, but it was all image, smoke and mirrors, and what really interested Sand was that he and Lord Nevalle weren't the only ones in the room. There were a small group of about half a dozen elves and humans standing to the other side of the throne, all of whom had that air of haughty disdain and mystic arrogance that hung around them thick and cloying as perfume that Sand rather knew all too well to be the hallmark of the members of Neverwinter's august Cloaktower, even before he recognised the splendid immaculate white and powder blue robes. Really, when he a faithful and actually useful servant of Neverwinter had to provide for his own tailoring, these swanning and superior charlatans had the finest robes provided by royal purse. How vexing. At the head of the cabal of artfully self-important mages was a man Sand actually knew, if only in passing, Vale, a senior battle-mage of the Cloaktower, one of Neverwinter's foremost commandos in missions which were secretive, dangerous and obviously magical in nature. He was a Sun Elf, part of that most insufferable sub-set of Sand's own elven people, but Sand grudgingly admitted that Vale cut a striking figure, with his smooth, sculpted features, icily pale skin, and shoulder-length hair of a pale blond. If Phaedra's mother had been a Sun elf herself, he appreciated suddenly where she had got some of her most arresting features. But, Sand focused himself, Vale's presence here meant something serious was going on. None of the Cloaktower acknowledged their entrance except with the merest glances, they simply observed silently. No doubt Nasher would inform them of the purpose of this meeting posthaste.

"Welcome back Squire" The Lord of Neverwinter leaned forward. "It is reassuring to see you are alright" Sand supposed Nasher was being diplomatic, because Phaedra most certainly did not look alright. She smiled thinly back at him. But there was ice in those green eyes. Sand sensed that when Phaedra got going she was certainly not going to follow his lead in that diplomacy. This audience ought to be interesting. "We mourn Melia, of course." He went on. "Without her, the Nine are weakened tremendously and she will be missed…" He sighed exhaustedly. "And the killer escaped. It appears justice has been denied this day. But you are to be congratulated on keeping Lord Tavorick alive."

"Why did you hide the truth about Melia from me?" Phaedra raised her head, and through the ragged strands of hair, and the pale, sunken features, she shone with a cold purpose that again reminded Sand of the thin blade of a knife. Her eyes were like a pair of needles. Nevalle roused himself from a courtier's cool disdain to shoot Phaedra a warning glare. A ripple ran through even the unflappable Cloaktower mages at her direct insolence. Sand himself was surprised; he'd never seen Phaedra quite like this.

"Keeping her identity a secret was not meant to harm you or her" Nasher answered, sitting back in his throne, almost defensively. "But there were too many uncertainties in these deaths as it stood to risk revealing it. I am sorry if you find that difficult to understand but it was my decision to make, not yours."

"But it was not you who paid for it." Phaedra answered, almost at a whisper, but one that carried through the hall like there was some great and cold strength behind it. "It was Melia, and Marshal Cormick, and Finn of the Greycloaks. Did you even know they died?"

"They will all be remembered and mourned" Nasher said stubbornly. But Sand could see he'd been ruffled. "I only meant to save lives. Unfortunately the killer outmanoeuvred me, and clearly you as well." Phaedra stepped back, Sand could have sworn that something cold and vengeful flashed across her face, but then in the next instant she was china-doll inexpressive and he was sure he had imagined it. "But we cannot dwell on the past." Nasher quickly went on, dismissing the deaths as only a ruler could. "Not when Neverwinter remains under threat. Another matter has been brought to our attention, it seems the threat is greater than we thought…"

"I hope we are not intruding" Instantly Sand tensed…he knew that voice, no, not this voice in particular but…many like it, every one with that same cruel, cold tenor of contempt, for life, for everything that did not add to the power of its owner. It breathed danger, and it came from behind them, but filled the room much as Phaedra's whisper had before. And it was a woman's voice…the prim nasal voice of a school mistress, but somehow infinitely more dangerous for its grotesque familiarity, as if the speaker actively cultivated the tone in order to lull her opponents into a false sense of security. Even before he turned, Sand knew that he would face a Hostower mage. There was the magic too, a slow, steady burn like a cold fire at his back. "It seems Neverwinter is quite active of late" The woman remarked, stepping into the court room with that Hostower air of believing oneself quite capable of owning everything one surveyed if and when one chose to act. Sand was instantly put on edge. Everything about her spoke of someone totally confident in her power. So much so that the normal cultivation of appearances in these courts were entirely absent from her person. Her dress was a hideous thing, brown, rough, almost leathery and entirely shapeless, hanging on a frame that was uncomfortably broad and heavy-set for a woman. Her hair was ragged, it looked like it had been cut short with garden shears, and grey as iron, and beneath it her features were heavy and masculine, and yet entirely unwrinkled. And there was that cruel glint of intensity in her hazel eyes, gleaming with the lust for power, and over one eyes a tattoo in terrible taste, black ink, like that of a harlequin, a clown. The whole picture should have been laughable, but it was far more unnerving than any of Torio's preening could ever have been. This woman had no need for cosmetics or pretty words to speak of her power, she would have respect, and fear, without them. Or the foolish would soon learn them, if they failed to see it right away.

"I said I would send for you later" Nasher frowned at her. "After I am done here." And she had the run of the palace, not even Torio had charged into this room uninvited with nothing but the briefest censure. This was a very dangerous woman.

"My apologies my lord Nasher" She gave the barest nod of respect. Hang on, hadn't Nasher barred the Hostower from the city? So what was she doing here? "But our conversation before was so brief and I did not think it would be best for either of our cities if we lingered any longer, forgive my impatience." Her gaze found Phaedra, and a predatory smile slipped over her full lips. "Ah, is this the Harborman... the Squire, indeed the warlock, I have heard so much about?" She said gleefully. Phaedra looked back, and gave nothing away. There was a strange hollow intensity to her gaze, and nothing shifted in her features even as the woman mocked her.

"Careful, hostower mage" Sand murmured in her ear, his lips barely moving. "And a powerful one at that."

"She is Sydney Natale" Phaedra breathed. Sand was sure he was the only one who heard it, he was about to stare at her with shock, before what Nasher said next sent his mind reeling.

"This is Sydney Natale, our new ambassador from Luskan" Nasher remarked obliviously. "She arrived earlier and I had hoped to speak to you privately before the three of us met. Her associate is Khralver, I believe…" Sand suddenly noticed a man behind Sydney, skulking in her shadows. In everything he was entirely unremarkable, mousy and pathetic. Sand wondered what possible purpose he could serve. Only for a brief moment, though…

"Well met my Lady Squire" The unremarkable man bowed to Phaedra. Sand doubted anyone cared, he himself was too busy trying to puzzle out how exactly Phaedra had known Sydney's name before Nasher had said anything. "It is my…"

"Khralver is of no consequence." Sydney breezily dismissed her associate. "He is here to assist me, and silently…" Then she leaned forward and her eyes hardened. Sand was forced to dismiss the puzzle of Phaedra's words as he realised that she was coming to the real reason she was here. He'd need all his wits to pierce through Hostower lies. "The news I bring concerns you as well as Lord Nasher, I suppose, so it is fitting you have arrived Squire" She said.

"Are you planning to put me on trial again?" Phaedra said softly. "With another false accusation?" By the Gods, Phaedra…he understood she was upset, but this was a tricky situation. Some subtlety might be a good thing.

"No, in fact, far from it" Sydney smiled condescendingly as if she'd expected just such a reaction. "There has been a miscommunication, so I have travelled from Luskan to straighten certain matters out. If they were left to rumour, gossip, or surface appearances, they might be... misconstrued. You have recently had trouble with those you believe to be affiliated with Luskan, when in fact they are not connected to or supported by us at all." Ah…Sand raised any eyebrow, she was damage control. Rather unsophisticated of Luskan, but necessary in the circumstances.

"Indeed?" Phaedra whispered sceptically. "Please, go on"

"There are four towers in Luskan, each ruled by a skilled mage" Once again Sydney seemed unruffled. "And the four work tirelessly to aid Luskan and its people. But there is a self-styled "Master of the Fifth Tower," who, as his title suggests, has... overstepped his bounds." Elanee stirred uneasily, and Sand remembered that she and Phaedra had briefly encountered this 'Master of the Fifth Tower' as a Sending back in Highcliff. It seemed he had been busy. "This mage is a man by the name of Garius , "Black" Garius, I believe is yet another title he uses - silly, really, but he really does believe he casts a longer shadow than he does" Here Sand perked up with interest. He remembered too that Phaedra had asked him about Black Garius once, a name he had only been vaguely familiar with during his time in the Hostower. That Black Garius was one and the same as the Master of the Fifth Tower made sense, but what didn't was that Phaedra had even known his name back then. Was it possible that her infernal abilities granted her some…preternatural awareness? No record of a warlock mentioned such a thing as far as Sand knew. And why hadn't she come forward for advice about it if so? He glanced at Phaedra, suddenly concerned but he saw nothing in her face but a deathly stillness. Was something else going on? Was his concern with her warlock powers really just a red herring? "Nevertheless he has been quite industrious of late" But Sydney was going on, and Sand had no time to consider it further. "Almost as industrious as you, Squire. But I must stress once again he is not affiliated with Luskan or our interests, unlike you and your longstanding ties to Neverwinter."

"Clearly" Phaedra said dryly.

"Ambassador Natale informed me earlier that she believes Black Garius began the war with their island neighbour, Ruathym." Nasher added, seeming eager to get things moving before Phaedra said something they would both regret.

"Yes" Sydney nodded. "And that war has served as a convenient means to distract Luskan from its real priorities. But Ruathym was an aggressor for quite some time, so action needed to be taken regardless..." Now this was interesting. They'd all heard about the spat between Luskan and the island nation of Ruathym. Sand had assumed that it was just Luskan flexing its muscle as usual, but if Black Garius was behind this as well…his scheme was breathtakingly complex. But what was his goal?

"I believe the Lords' Alliance would have taken exception to that" Nasher warned. "As do I"

"I am certain they would have, milord." Sydney sniped, making the title seem like a petty insult. "But since Ruathym attacked us first, it is our responsibility to deal with their aggression and quickly... you can expect little else from island barbarians, really. You see, Ruathym believed that Luskan had stolen a precious artifact from them - a book called the Tome of Iltkazar."

"The Tome of Iltkazar?" Sand gasped. All thought of Phaedra flew from his head as he considered the numerous teasing references to that priceless artefact that had come from so many avenues of study, so many dead ends in his research. It was a legendary grimoire containing some of the direst secrets of magic, including some ancient Illefarn rituals that were completely lost to the present age. It was the trail of rumours surrounding the Tome that had led him to the Hostower, only to find it was in Ruathym, and out of his reach. But he had studied every mention of it he could find, and discovered tantalising hints of its power. The thought that it was involved in this conflict, that…he might in fact be closer to it than before, sent his fingers, and his acquisitive nature, itching.

"A powerful artefact" Sydney said softly, with a quick glance at Sand. He suppressed a shudder, as he wondered if this woman knew he was a refugee from her organisation. No doubt she knew it all. "And not only can its sudden disappearance lead two nations to war, but in the wrong hands it can be used to channel tremendous power. But that is not all that concerns us; we believe that Black Garius has made an alliance with something known as 'the King of Shadows', a man or creature of whom we know very little." Well they knew that already. But Nasher would not be keen to reveal that the same 'man or creature' was on a rampage amongst his nobility. That would show weakness that would draw the Hostower like a shark to blood. "Garius was no doubt able to steal the Tome of Iltkazar with help from this ally and use it to bolster his armies with golems awakened with its power." Sydney surmised. Yes, one of the Tome's most well-documented powers was its ability to animate golems, fierce warriors of iron, untiring and merciless. Sand could well understand Garius' single-minded pursuit of it.

"Is this not a Luskan matter?" Nevalle leaned forward.

"No, unfortunately his ambitions do not end there" Sydney continued. "We had acquired information that he intends to perform a powerful ritual within the lands of Neverwinter, with knowledge he has stolen from the very King of Shadows he serves." She looked to Phaedra again. "I have heard of the loss of your local sage, Aldanon. I suspect he was kidnapped to provide the last of the missing pieces to the ritual, a ritual that will steal power from the "King of Shadows", and grant it to Garius." It made sense that Garius had been behind the kidnapping of Aldanon too, since he seemed more inclined to use human servants than this King of Shadows, who worked alone. "The exact powers the ritual gives are not known to me or to my fellow mages which is further cause for concern" Sydney said. "But unfortunately his subterfuge under cover of the war means we have not been able to find out anything more specific"

"So what exactly does Luskan expect of us?" Vale suddenly spoke for the first time, and despite the vicious rivalry between the Hostower and Cloaktower, there was nothing but solicitous diplomacy in his melodious voice. This man was a diplomat. Sand approved.

"We felt it was not only our duty to clear up any ties you might believe exist between Luskan and this criminal" Sydney answered with just a little less care. "But we can also inform you of his whereabouts; he and his forces are in a ruined castle, Crossroad Keep, within Neverwinter lands." Crossroad Keep…Sand had never heard of it. But where better for Garius to lurk? How exactly Luskan had come across this information when apparently not involved in the slightest with Garius was a better question. "Normally, Luskan would not hesitate to take action against such a criminal" Sydney shrugged "But with the confusion that has already occurred, we felt it was best to advise Lord Nasher, and the Squire, of the situation and allow you to do what you feel is best."

"Crossroad Keep…" Nasher nodded. "I know of it. It was sacked in the last war…if he truly channels our enemy from those times, it seems fitting that he should do so from there."

"So you are telling me that Black Garius had no help from Luskan?" Phaedra suddenly said, scornfully. No, Phaedra not now…but the scorn in her words had been brewing in Phaedra's heart since she had seen Ember laid to waste. She had yearned for someone to say this to, to demand retribution and apology for the dead, after Torio had fled, and Lorne lay dead at her feet, both beyond her reach. She would not get it here though, Sand thought with pity. "All he has done, without the support or knowledge of the Hostower?"

"I am ashamed to admit it" Sydney raised her eyebrow. She had expected that this discussion was over. But how could she understand Phaedra's agony? "But that is the truth of the matter."

"Uh, pardon me…" Her assistant, Khralver, put himself forward hesitantly. "But officially I have been asked to reinforce, I mean to reassure you, of that fact. Logically it would be foolish of Luskan to spark a war on two fronts, and not only that but…"

"Enough Khralver" Sydney snapped dismissively. Khralver's fumblings were only making things worse for her. Why had she brought him? "What happened at Ember was unfortunate, but Luskan would never condone such an action"

"You're lying" And then Shandra stepped up from behind them, clear-voiced and clear-eyed in a way Phaedra was not at the moment. Her voice rang with righteous anger.

"My dear girl" Sydney's annoyance was clear, even through her patronising tone. "I would be careful with your words, in case you offend me. I have come in good faith, and you are in danger of throwing it back in my face."

"And what if I believe you are lying too?" Phaedra added coldly.

"The matter of Ember is for me to decide." Lord Nasher interjected. "But surely you of all people appreciate the threat this Black Garius poses? If Luskan is to help us, asking nothing for the information they have provided us, it is for the good of Neverwinter we cooperate with them."

"I see the Squire and her lackey are as stubborn as I have heard." Sydney sniffed. "I did not expect you to understand the subtleties of state and the delicate touch that politics requires, especially in these equally-delicate times."

"Why should we?" Shandra cried. "This isn't about politics, it's about the people of Ember, you had to have known what was going to happen, and to let it just be conveniently forgotten like this... it's... it's..."

"Shandra Jerro, listen to me" Nasher leaned forward, and Shandra fell silent immediately, shocked that the lord of Neverwinter knew her name. He knew more than that. Sand had told him all of it of course. As he was required to do…the price for his freedom and protection from people like Sydney Natale. "What happened at Ember was a terrible tragedy, but Lorne Starling is dead, he has paid for his part in it. Now only Garius remains of those who were proved responsible, and all of us here are agreed how dangerous he is. Luskan has come and has offered us this information freely. It is in the interest of Neverwinter that we seek cooperation in this."

"Lord Nasher" Shandra pleaded. "I had a friend, Alaine…from Ember. She barely escaped…but so many others…"

"I know, and I am deeply sorry for their loss." Lord Nasher said paternally "But unless this Garius is stopped, I fear that we will face another tragedy, much greater than what occurred at Ember. If any others truly were involved in the massacre, we must leave justice to the hands of the Gods. And I need you to accept it. We all have burdens to bear, and if they must be carried so that the people of Neverwinter may be safe, that is what must be done." How charming, he almost made it sound noble.

"Lord Nasher…" Khralver coughed nervously. "Ambassador Natale…Crossroad Keep, I fear that…"

"Silence Khralver" Sydney rebuked him. "Do not make me ask again." She turned back to the court, and her hefty body bent in an inelegant bow. Sand wondered again if her presence was a calculated insult or a threat; sending so powerful a Hostower mage and one so ill-suited to the court, Luskan was clearly making some kind of statement. "Lord Nasher, forgive me" She said "But Black Garius may already have begun the ritual, quick action is needed. I have done what I could to inform you of what we know, but our hands are tied. The rest is up to the able servants of Neverwinter" And she looked at Phaedra. "And Squire, as further proof of my good faith and the good faith of Luskan, rest assured I will keep looking for information on this King of Shadows... and any proof I can bring that Luskan had no involvement in the tragedy at Ember."

"I imagine such proof will come in time" Phaedra said, her voice rippling with cold disdain.

"Yes, girl, in fact, I know it will" Sydney promised. She was a nasty piece of work. He almost preferred Torio. At least you could be sure that Torio's arrogance over-reached her capabilities, with Ambassador Natale there was a chance she was actually as powerful as her careless demeanour suggested. "Thank you for hearing me, Lord Nasher. I realise these are difficult times for Neverwinter, but we could not stand by while our neighbour faced such a terrible threat." That was rubbish. Luskan was only telling them this because it had its own bone to pick with Garius, and would rather Neverwinter took the risk on its behalf to take him down. But if what she was saying was true, Sand appreciated that Nasher had little choice, as Sydney no doubt knew too. "Farewell, my lord, and you, Squire…may fortune be with you" She swept around, that hideous dress rustling across the floor as she left the throne room, without so much as an official dismissal.

"I am sure you appreciate why I brought you here, Squire" Nasher said to Phaedra, who was standing like a statue carved in ivory in the centre of the room. And it was not for Ember, was the unspoken phrase. Nasher couldn't be pleased about Phaedra and Shandra's bluntness during the interview, but he had bigger things on his mind. "I am sending a contingent of the Many Starred Cloaks under Vale here to Crossroad Keep, and I would like you to accompany them with your party. Garius must be stopped."

"It will be an honour to march with you, my lady" Vale executed a sweeping bow. His compatriots stayed still and erect, silent. The gazes they were sending Phaedra's way were not encouraging. They looked like they politely thought she was mad. Well at least one of them was civil. "We hope to rescue Aldanon, and do everything in our power to stop the ritual Garius intends to perform."

"Thank you" Phaedra nodded to the courteous wizard, but she barely seemed to be seeing Vale at all. "I…will do it. I will go to Garius." By the Gods, Sand couldn't stop himself staring at her just as the Cloaktower mages had, shocked by the strange tone in her voice as she whispered his name, soft and low. Maybe he considered shockingly, Phaedra really was unbalanced. In her state, maybe it was wrong to ask of her what Nasher was asking, maybe he should protest again, make a scene, force Nasher to relent from using her so crudely. But then he thought of the Tome of Ilkazar, how if it was in Crossroad Keep with Garius he might have a chance to take it, study it…and of course Garius' ritual was of course too dangerous to leave it to anyone else. In an instant he decided; speaking to Nasher any more was not a good idea. He would observe, he resolved, keep a close eye on Phaedra, at least until Garius was dealt with and the Tome safely secured, which would not take too long at all with luck. Then he would get to the bottom of her erratic behaviour and the strange insights she'd had, yes that was the best thing to do. Being too direct, confronting her, at such a delicate juncture would not be a good idea, especially with the power she had. For now she'd be quite safe so long as he kept an eye on her. And he had already given her some good advice, no doubt she'd take it to heart. She was already looking a little better, with a little more colour in her cheeks as she turned away from Nasher and looked down the audience chamber. Maybe he really was just letting the stress get to him too, just chasing shadows. What was important, right now was the Tome, and Garius of course. And Phaedra would no doubt agree with that.

Oooooo000000000000000oooooo

Adding a gaggle of Cloaktower mages to the party was just what Bishop did not need. Phaedra was losing it. And not just because she completely laid back and let that cocky Sun Elf wizard tell her where and when to go without so much as a bat of those eyelashes, or that they were following Nasher's orders like good lackeys into another suicidal mission again after he'd thrown them all to the dogs on the last one. No, it was more than that, and he was surprised that no one else had bothered to even notice it. To him it was obvious in everything she did. Those small, secret smiles that crossed her face sometimes for no reason, then were quickly followed by glassy emptiness, or inexplicable sadness…he'd swear that he'd seen her wiping away tears once on her way back from a walk outside the camp. Even in the way she walked their long path south and west towards this Crossroad Keep place, somewhere near Highcliff if Bishop's sense of it was right, but away from the coast, closer to the Neverwinter Wood. She walked like…this was a ceremonial procession, like every step was somehow wholly necessary, ritualistic. She'd stand in front of Vale, or the paladin, or whoever else had some stupid advice for her, and she'd nod her head vaguely, but there would be no real sense that she was listening, or even heard what they were saying. Often, she'd ask questions suddenly, for no reason, even if she'd already heard the answer moments before. And yet no one, not one of these supposed friends of hers, ever confronted her, asked her what in the Hells she was doing walking into the den of the man who'd haunted her for so long. The truth was that for all their protests of love and devotion to her, none of them could ever get off their asses without Phaedra directing their every move. Alone, not speaking, without her to hold them all together, they were as useless as he'd always known they were. Now Phaedra needed some sense slapped into her, and none of them had the balls to do it except him. She'd been avoiding him since that time in the Mere of the Dead Men, but they both knew she wasn't going to be able to keep it up. When he wanted her, he'd find her, they both knew that. And he wanted to speak to her now.

He waited until night fell, their third day travelling. As usual the rest of the party, including the half-dozen Cloaktower mages that Nasher had saddled them with, set up and hit their bedrolls early. Not one of them had the stamina for an expedition in the wilds. But Bishop, who sat up in pretence of keeping watch, with Karnwyr, knew that Phaedra was not going to go to sleep, not right away at least. Ever since the Mere she'd spent a few hours walking aimlessly around the camp every night, whether sleep-walking or simply absent from herself, he wasn't sure. But tonight he aimed to find out everything. He scratched Karnwyr's head absently as he waited and the wolf padded the floor impatiently.

"That stupid girl's going to get herself killed without us, boy" He said softly. "And where would the fun be in that?" Karnwyr rumbled his agreement. There…the moment the rest of the party was dead to the world, and darkness had fallen completely over the little hollow in which they slept…Phaedra stirred. Slowly she sat up, but she did it strangely, as though she were drawn by a string through her a chest, as if she were a puppet. Her sheets fell from her shoulders…she was wearing only that thin white nightgown underneath it. As she stood her gown slipped down a little, and her pale ivory flesh glistened under the moonlight. Silver light streamed through the dress, and shadows played underneath it, a glimpse of the promise she always withheld. Bishop felt his mouth go dry as he watched her run slender fingers slowly down her arm, pressing the silk close to her skin. He'd never seen her…so uninhibited. But the picture was spoiled by the way she moved. It was like…she wasn't the one directing her muscles, like everything she was doing was just a choreographed dance made by someone else who hovered over her, like her shadow, a shade haunting her…Black Garius…

She began to walk…forward, placing one foot in front of another as if she scarcely remembered how. The light breeze stirred her nightgown, but if she felt the chill she didn't show it. Bishop stirred to follow her…this time it seemed a little different, this time she looked like she had somewhere to go. He was curious where exactly that was. So as Phaedra passed through the trees, and left the rest of the party sleeping behind he and Karnwyr went with her, each as silent as the other, his wolf padded in the posture of the stalking hunter. She was like a ghost passing through the silent dark forest in front of him. Bishop's focus was so much upon her that he didn't actually notice when Karnwyr slipped away from him. At least not until the wolf had streaked past him, a darker shadow across the dark ground, and ran up to Phaedra.

"Karnwyr" She stopped, whispering his name, and in the silent stillness of the forest he heard it too. "What are you doing out here?" Bishop hung back a little, he wasn't sure what the wolf was doing running up to her, what Karnwyr's intentions had been, but something about Phaedra's tone troubled him. She was more aware then he'd seen her in days, but…what right did she have to speak to his wolf like that, like they were friends? "Lathander…" Her God's useless name brushed her lips. "What am I doing out here?" She slowly, exhaustedly fell to her knees by Karnwyr, and placed her arms loosely around his shoulders. He looked back at her intently. "I don't know what's going on Karnwyr" She gasped out, laying her head down against him and clasping him closer, so that strands of her hair ran amongst his fur. Bishop kept expecting the wolf to snap at her, or at least to extricate himself from her uncomfortable, cloying hold, but he didn't. He stayed there, obedient as ever he'd been with Bishop. "Suddenly everything's going wrong, and they want me to fight…him." She shuddered involuntarily "I don't want to see him, I'm scared…Karnwyr, terrified. He's waiting for me. He knows I'm coming."

"And how exactly do you know that?" Bishop abruptly stepped out of the trees. Time to face the music, princess. The truth was she was too scared to even acknowledge what was happening to her. She hid behind denials, refusals, burying the truth if she didn't like it, exactly like she had when he'd confronted her in the Mere. Undead or no, he should have shaken some sense into her right back then. But he was going to do it now. And nothing she said would stop him.

"Bishop!" She started, rising from her reverie, and looking suddenly defensive, suddenly frightened. Like a little girl caught in the wrong. But Bishop didn't give it a moment's thought, he came to her in two long strides, and while she was still in shock grabbed her arm, pulled her up to him. She was not going to slip out of this one.

"Is he here?" Bishop brought his face close to hers, making sure she wasn't about to look away. "Black Garius, is he with you now?" He felt the rising of her chest as her breaths heaved in her throat, trembling. She was afraid. But not nearly enough.

"Stop it, Bishop" She gasped, in a weak, trembling whisper. "Let me go" She'd never looked less attractive than now, or felt less so in his arms. With those feeble tears in her eyes, she looked like just another pitiful wench, too weak to face the truth, to fight to survive. She looked like one of the women in his home village, who'd spread their legs for man after man because their spirits were too cowed to imagine fighting back. Even if they'd died fighting, they should have fought. Death was better than giving up like that, living like that. Clinging to their own weakness, issuing denials from their very lips, to the very end. He should just leave her to Garius. But he was going to put an arrow through that arrogant bastard of a wizard's head, and if she was still dancing to his tune when they came to his fortress, their chances of ever getting out of there alive weren't good. Plus it would be satisfying to know he could get the truth from her when she hadn't dared to confess it to the paladin, or Duncan, a secret way of getting back at Casavir after their confrontation.

"Answer me" He said. His grip tightened around her arm.

"You're hurting me" She whined. He glared at her. "Please, just stop…"

"You asked me to do this, remember?" He growled. "Watch you if anything was going on, in case Garius was really in your head. Well, he is, and you've acted like a weepy bitch about it." She flinched at the profanity, oh get over it, princess. "Pretending like nothing was going on, like he wasn't there from the very beginning and you knew it."

"I could obliterate you with a word, Bishop, now let me go." She struggled harder, her panic growing. By the Gods she was desperate to dodge this. So much effort going into avoiding the truth. How long did she think she could keep it up? Until they got to Garius himself? What did she think she was going to do then?

"Don't make threats unless you're prepared to back them up" He snorted. "What is it going to be, you going to admit to me what we both know, or are we going to have to do this all night?" He didn't mind, her struggles to tear her arm away were barely an effort to hold back. She was getting frantic, almost hysterical, panic dancing behind her glassy green eyes, trembling from head to toe. He held still, held her there, even as tears leaked from her eyes, glistened on her cheeks. She tore at his grip over her wrist with her fingers, dug her nails into his hand, but he didn't flinch. This was for her own good. "Come on princess, you've got to do better than that." He challenged. "Didn't you fight that Githyanki, and Lorne, didn't you face Torio and Zeeaire? Is Garius really that much…?" And then she fell still, he was about to lean in towards her, finish his sentence, but then she leapt at him. He tensed, almost expecting her to strike him, but to his shock she was suddenly in his arms, and her lips were on his. She was kissing him.

She did it like it was a way to escape, a desperate last finger-hold on the side of the abyss. She pressed up against him, pushing her lips against his, her eyes screwed shut, her arms crushed up against his chest between their bodies. It was also very clear she'd never done it before; it was a clumsy, desperate kind of thing. Yet at the first touch of their lips Bishop felt a rush of excitement running through his body that was like nothing he'd felt since his first heady encounter with sex. And after the second's shock, he found his body was responding instinctively. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, his lips parted hers, and he felt the full press of her against him. Her body was a dream, was his only conscious thought, but he noticed that she was shaking like a startled rabbit, like she was about to fall to her knees. In response he held her tighter, pressed closer, until he was almost holding her up. And then, thrillingly, she relaxed into the kiss: bending back slightly, as he lent in, moving with him. Her arms, pinned between the two of them loosened and relaxed, and her hands spread upon his chest. He touched her hair, her cheeks, her back…and then his hands were travelling lower, skirting the hem of her gown. Against the roughness of his palm, her skin was so soft, delicate enough to crush with a single grasp of his fist.

At once, so fast he would have been hard-pressed to react even had his reflexes not been blurred by the haze of her closeness, her eyes snapped open. He saw the fevered light within them, the sudden horror. She'd realised what she was doing. Phaedra tensed, her shoulders clenched, and her neck pulled back away from him, then her arms were between them and trying desperately to pry herself loose. He held her back for perhaps an instant more before he managed to get through to himself, managed to draw back from her. The moment she broke free, or he let her go, she staggered back, unsteady, trembling, one step then the other, her eyes were fixed on him, and they were burning with shame, wide and unblinking. He stared right back. It had been as much a shock to him as it had been, evidently to her. But no way in the Hells was she ever going to know that. He understood, of course, she'd been so panicked, so desperate to escape his questions, the truth he'd forced her to face, that she'd flung herself head-first into a reckless move that had seemed like the only way to stop him. Perhaps she hadn't even been thinking at all. Now she looked back at him like she'd just done murder…well, too bad, she wasn't going to get to take this back. But something about the kiss…unsettled him too, it had been all too easy. He hadn't calculated it, made it happen, but it had happened, and he had enjoyed it…a lot, more than he was supposed to do. He was supposed to be the one managing this.

He saw her tense again, but she moved faster than he'd thought she was capable of, drawing her hand back, then swinging with the full force of her arm forward. She slapped him, hard enough to remind him that she did train with a longbow, even if she preferred magic. But still it was an inexpert blow, and, though it stung, he shrugged it off easily, raising his head again to glance down at her, impassively, no sign of pain on his features. She could pretend it was his fault like that all she wanted, but she'd kissed him, and Garius or no Garius, halfway through that she'd gotten pretty involved in it too. She clutched at her shoulder, wincing, and staggered back again.

"Leave me alone Bishop" She warned.

"Hang on princess, we're not finished here" He stepped forward after her, but then, shockingly, Karnwyr was between them, and he snapped at Bishop, one quick, sharp, warning snap, nothing serious but Bishop stopped and shot the wolf a glare. Normally he wouldn't have cared, they were partners and Karnwyr had his own mind, but for Phaedra…? She wasn't worth it. Maybe, being a wolf, he was thinking in terms of pack hierarchy, and Phaedra being their leader deserved respect, or maybe he liked her, somehow. Either way it was her fault; he glared at her across the glade. But she had already turned her back and, light and fearful in her steps as a deer, she fled into the trees, a white spot against the darkness. Karnwyr stood there between her and him, as if to stop him pursuing her. He didn't even try. Never mind that he still hadn't gotten her to admit that Black Garius had a hold on her, but that didn't seem so important now. Something was disconcerting him. He told himself it wasn't the kiss, but he couldn't deny that he felt…a buzz, an itch to have more, to want more. Hells, he turned away, and despite his irritation he let Karnwyr follow him as he walked from the glade. Let Phaedra have her strop because she was too ashamed to admit she'd kissed him. She'd come back. Neeshka would do just as well for that as Phaedra could have right now. Probably better.

Ooooo000000oooo

Phaedra's escape ground to a halt some five or six metres away from the glade behind her, when her legs suddenly gave up, or her mind stopped even bothering to ask the flight of them…it didn't seem like enough. But she knew, somehow, that Bishop wasn't following her. His kiss still burned her lips but everywhere else she felt cold…so cold. Oh Gods, why had she done that? She'd…been in such a panic, her thoughts hadn't been clear…they hadn't been clear for days now. And Bishop had been so cruel, forcing her to look…to think…saying those awful things. Lathander, what was she doing? The moment that Nasher and that awful woman, that Luskan Ambassador, had spoken of Black Garius, a chill had seized her heart, so cold that all her thoughts had been frozen over, like it was all a dream. She hadn't truly been awake or in control of herself since then. It was no longer enough not to sleep, darkness pursued her every waking moment now, she heard the whispers on the daytime wind, felt eyes watching her at all times, the warmth of the day even at noon could not touch her. And every step closer to Crossroad Keep…it grew worse and worse. Oh Gods, save her. But even now she couldn't get the kiss from her mind. How had she let it happen? After so long resisting…denying to herself that she found him…attractive, in a moment of her most extreme weakness she had flung herself at him like…some loose woman. Though she had done it to stop him asking those terrible things of her, mostly, she knew she had also done it to be close to him, for a moment to silence these terrible imaginings, to drown the darkness in a moment's warmth and closeness. And it had worked. It had been…invasive, and thrilling. She had felt things…she barely knew. But then he had started to push, she had felt his desire like a living thing coiling under his skin, his heart pounding against her chest, or was that her own, and the thrilling roughness of his stubble. The coarseness had set her skin tingling with the unfamiliar and yet somehow exhilarating sensation as it brushed over the smoothness of her chin and cheeks. It had been too much, far too much. But she had done it, and after all his heavy implications and her coyness it had been her who'd kissed him. She'd never be able to forget that. Hells, he'd never let her forget that. She doubted she could ever look at him again. Slowly she lowered her head; she barely recognised herself anymore.

"Phaedra…" And then she heard it, her name, on the wind, pulsing out from the darkness all around her. That voice…cradling her name like a caress in its rough rasp. Oh Gods, it was so dark, and so cold. She raised her head, she seemed to be taking the darkness into herself with every breath, until…its cold chill seemed to be all there was inside her. It obliterated every impulse, every thought, except to follow the dread call of that voice. She stood slowly. "Phaedra, come…" The voice whispered. She couldn't shut it out, couldn't stop it burying itself within her like some loathsome parasite. Steadily, she began to walk…following its call, its terrible compulsion. There was nothing else really to do. What choice did she have? The dark, looming threatening trees passed her by as she walked, blurring together into a great pressing darkness all around her. There were tears on her cheeks, but she couldn't feel the terror that pounded in her heart anymore. She was entirely numb, entirely empty. "Phaedra, yes…under dawn's light and in the shadows of twilight, ever your footsteps are bent toward me" It recited the words, a poem she vaguely knew, like they were a prayer. "Just like I said they would be."

How long she walked she couldn't say…but she came eventually to a little hollow, where there was a campsite just like theirs, with a little fire blazing in the middle. There were a group of huge looming horses tied up and harnessed to the trees around, so there must be a formidable party of warriors here. Yet she still wasn't surprised to find it there, not at all in fact. Not even when she heard a rough voice start garbling out oaths, and from all around a group of soldiers emerged, looking at her like she was a ghost. They were large men, rough, barbaric-looking, with their spiked armour and huge weapons. In the shadows she couldn't see their faces, but they reminded her of the men who'd accompanied Ajah that night she'd fought the Luskan wizard on the Neverwinter Docks. They were Luskan soldiers.

"Well, fuck me" One of them said. "He was right…she is here, and gentle as a lamb"

"Don't you know by now that Master Garius is always right?" One of the others snapped. "Now truss her up, he said to get her back to the Keep double-quick."

"Seems a waste really." The first man said. She looked at him placidly, even as his gaze travelled up and down her body lasciviously. "She's so quiet now…and such a pretty little thing. Old Garius wouldn't know if we took just a little longer…" Suddenly the second soldier, their officer it seemed, struck him across the face with a kind of baton, so hard that the crack pierced even Phaedra's sophorific mindlessness. She started, wincing back a second. Oh Gods, Garius had brought her here, into a trap. This was what a geas was, that slow, seeping control over her mind and body that had culminated in this, making her walk into a camp full of his soldiers!

"Of course he'd know, damn you!" The officer snarled. "Now get that bag over her head before she burns us all to the Hells." One of them seized her, and before she could do anything about it, he shoved a canvas bag over her head, so she could see only darkness, and feel nothing but its rough surface scraping her cheeks, and the hands of the Luskans on her as they handled her like a trussed-up sheep, passing her one to the other, and binding her hands with jagged rope. It hurt, the cord dug into her wrists, but there was nothing she could do. Her body still didn't seem to be under her control, and the icy touch of Garius' control made summoning her own magic impossible. She seemed to be separated by a impassable gulf of darkness from the placid self that allowed itself to be lifted up onto an impossibly tall horse and placed in front of one of the Luskans on the saddle. Oh Lathander, if they went on horseback, at full gallop, they'd be at the Keep a day, or more, before the others got there. A whole day…she'd be at Garius' mercy before they came. If the others even knew where she'd gone, if they could even succeed at assaulting the keep. How had she been so stupid as to let this happen? Pretending nothing was going on all this time, lying to herself and to the others. Bishop had been right all along, she wished she'd listened to him…but now it was too late. Garius had summoned her now. And she would come.


	65. Chapter 65

_Ooh, here we are. One of my darkest chapters yet. Garius' motivations are revealed, and another secret comes to the fore._

_Thank you to pacificuser for the reviews (If you get this far!) and to oxigen16 for putting me on alerts. And of course to Gaspode for tirelessly keeping me writing! _

_WARNING: this chapter contains a (brief, not graphic) scene of attempted rape. Be aware before reading._

* * *

Phaedra was gone. Shandra looked around at the desolate campsite, utterly bleak without Phaedra's presence: the presence of her best friend, the one who she'd promised herself she would try to protect as Phaedra had protected her so long. And now she was gone. Those words kept coming back to haunt her; Phaedra was gone. It only kept getting worse with every scattered clue they found. Her bedroll was abandoned as if she'd just risen from it, none of her clothes, her supplies, or anything she'd carried, including those precious, all-important silver shards, had been taken with her, and worse there was no sign of a struggle. It was as if Phaedra had just risen from her bed and walked off into the forest. And she hadn't come back, though it was an hour since Elanee had woken up, first among them, at dawn, and began screaming hysterically, sending everyone else into a panic. Shandra glanced across the glade at the elven druidess, with pity…Elanee was quiet now, but she looked absolutely crushed, shrunken and devastated. She blamed herself, they all did. They'd tried calling Phaedra for the whole hour, tried looking out into the forest for her, Khelgar was still out there…but there was no reply.

"I'm…getting nothing." Vale, the Cloaktower mage, rose from his magical communion, where he had knelt with closed eyes and the hum of power about him for the last quarter of an hour, assisted by his fellows and an eager Sand who had provided reagents for whatever strange purpose they intended. "Something's interfering with my scrying…as if she's passed into some…vast, terrible darkness" He shuddered.

"Garius must have her!" Casavir thundered. In Phaedra's absence, he'd guided most of them out of their panic, supervised the search. But her absence was taking its toll on him too. His shoulders were bowed and tightly tense, and the strength of his presence was strained as she'd never seen it. Shandra felt a strong urge to reach for him, hold him, but she resisted it.

"By the Gods…" She breathed. She'd prepared herself for encountering nearly anything on this journey, and after demons and a massacre in a brothel, she'd thought she'd be prepared for it. But Phaedra…disappearing into the ether like this…Gods alone knew what Garius had done. And she felt her keening ache of fear for Phaedra grow too, who knew what he had intended, snatching her up? And what could they do now?

"What in the Hells is going on back here?" Well there was another thing she wasn't prepared for, Bishop's voice suddenly sounding in her ear out of nowhere. She glanced back, and saw the ranger had appeared out of the forest to her left. He looked…untidy, more so than usual. Hang on where had he been all night? And was that Neeshka with him, almost hiding behind him, looking slightly uncomfortable as if she was ashamed of something? Shandra felt a prickle of suspicion, but Bishop and Neeshka being behind Phaedra's disappearance made no sense. More than likely they'd just been sleeping together. Shandra had noticed Neeshka's attraction to Bishop for some time, but she knew Neeshka wouldn't take kindly to comment, and Bishop wasn't giving anything away. More than likely, the tiefling knew what was getting into with Bishop and could look after herself. After all, someone so urban, who'd lived a life of crime, had to be able to deal with just another man with a bad attitude. Frankly she doubted any emotions were involved for either of them. But what would Phaedra think if she knew?

"Phaedra's gone" She said quietly. "She disappeared during the night" And so it happened that she was the only one who saw Bishop's very first, split-second reaction to the idea. To say it was shocking was an understatement. It was a flash of something the relentlessly nonchalant Bishop had never shown to her before; thwarted purpose, resentment, frustration, she couldn't really tell which it was exactly, but it unnerved her. She'd always assumed that Bishop was as careless of Phaedra as he was of everything else, simply toying with her for quick, cheap amusement. But was she wrong?

"You!" Then Casavir was storming towards them, his icy blue eyes fixed on Bishop. His stern, bleak anger was very different to Bishop's but no less forceful. But his anger was easy to understand, he had his feelings for Phaedra…clearly…and perhaps it was born of more his own failure to protect her than real blame for Bishop. Did Bishop, then too? Have feelings for Phaedra? Shandra stepped back from the men's confrontation and wondered. "You were supposed to be on watch, you let this happen!"

"I was supposed to be on watch all night, was I?" Bishop sneered. Whatever Shandra had seen for a second, it was gone now. Bishop didn't even seem to have noticed it. He was the same frustrating, Casavir-baiting Bishop as usual, sarcastic, cruel and uncaring. "Don't be a fool, paladin, and don't blame me that you were all too damned stupid to stop her when she was walking into Garius' hands this whole time" Casavir scowled, but he was silenced. It was true, none of them had stopped her taking on this mission, though they'd known how dangerous it would be. But she'd seemed so…determined to do it, in her own quiet way. "I'll find her" Bishop muttered darkly. He shot a glare over the campsite, and instantly they were all forgotten. Shandra wondered if this single-minded determination was just how he always tracked, or if there really was there an added edge to it now. As ever with Bishop it was impossible to tell. But neither she nor Casavir could complain if he helped them track down what exactly had happened.

Without another word Bishop darted off into the forest, and Shandra, after an instant's brief hesitation, followed. Casavir was coming too, she noticed, she'd be safe. And she wanted to keep an eye on Bishop. As they came to a small hollow, the ranger stopped suddenly, and swept his boot casually across the loose soil, stirring it up underfoot. It was such a quick, casual motion that Shandra almost didn't notice it, but because she was watching Bishop so closely for any sign that this pursuit actually meant something to him, she spotted it. Was he erasing some feature of the trail, just in case they spotted it? Whatever for? She shot him another suspicious glare, what was Bishop up to? "Well she came here, and stopped for a little while" He said as Shandra and Casavir joined him. It didn't seem to matter to him who it was who had come with him, the pursuit was all that was in his mind. "But she went on very quickly. Up west…" He moved on again, and they stayed with him.

Karnwyr joined them very suddenly a couple of minutes later, streaking out of the forest to Bishop's side, barking out a sharp staccato beat to alert his master of something. Shandra almost jumped out of her skin at his sudden appearance, but it quickly became clear that the wolf was helping them, or helping Bishop, and had found something. Not that the ranger bothered to tell them what it was. He simply changed direction and followed Karnwyr off on a new tangent. Puffing and panting, Shandra went with him. She was supposed to be getting fitter doing this whole adventuring thing, but she still was no match for a man like Bishop. And then suddenly he and Karnwyr stopped again, and Shandra almost powered into his back at full speed. Thankfully she got out of the way just in time, and ground to a halt, heart pounding, when she saw at what Bishop was looking. There was an abandoned campsite, obvious enough even to her. The fire had barely carelessly left to burn itself out in the middle, and there were hoof marks deep in the mud everywhere around it. Even a few tent pegs had been left buried in the ground. It had been abandoned, and very quickly.

"My Gods…." Shandra whispered. "So she came here…?" She looked at Bishop.

"It's a Luskan camp" The ranger said, he looked…restless, like a wolf pacing inside a cage. He was thirsting to go after Phaedra, follow the trail onwards. Maybe kill the Luskans, maybe save Phaedra…she couldn't tell which impulse held sway over him. "So that's it then, they've captured her"

"There's no sign of a struggle" Casavir crouched down, touching the ground for one brief moment, as if almost in benediction, or perhaps in an effort to touch where Phaedra had last stepped. "It's as if she simply allowed herself to be taken. But why? What made her come here?"

"A geas, that's what" Bishop muttered. Shandra blinked, the nonsense word made no sense to her.

"What's a geas?" She said.

"Mind-control" Sand's oily voice came suddenly from just behind them. Shandra spun around. The wizard was making his way gingerly through the trees behind them. He must have followed. But he looked terribly grim, and the way he said those words…dear Chauntea, what had happened to Phaedra. "Or more exactly, it would be more accurate to say control of the spirit…of the True Name."

"Like with that devil, Mephasm?" Casavir shook his head, almost in disbelief. "So Garius has her True Name?"

"Yes" Sand nodded soberly. "I'm afraid so."

"But how?" Shandra gasped. "He's never even met her, never spoken to her…how in Toril did he find it out?"

"I wouldn't be so sure that Garius never communicated with her, my dear" Sand sighed. "Her…behaviour of late had become startlingly erratic. I am sure we all saw it." Shandra looked down guiltily, yes, of course she had. But she had put it down to grief; Cormick's death coming so close after West Harbour. That would give anyone a hard time keeping together. And Phaedra…Phaedra was more brittle than most. Shandra had considered trying to talk to her, but bringing up those tragedies seemed like it would cause more pain than good, and seemed strikingly insensitive after Shandra had once been so mad with Phaedra for letting her barn get burnt down of all things. So she'd tried to distract Phaedra when she could, but she'd never quite managed to get through to her. Now Sand was telling her that Phaedra's behaviour was the result of some mind-control magic? How could they all have failed to see that? And how terrible for Phaedra! What had she been going through all this time? And why had she stayed so silent? "I suspected that there was some foreign influence intruding upon her mind for some time." Sand went on. "It is possible Garius has been subtly influencing her since…our trip to West Harbour, maybe even before that, though how he got a foothold is impossible to say."

"You knew this was going on?" Casavir turned on him, grim-faced and severe. "And you didn't tell any of us!"

"I told you I suspected it" Sand sniffed. "There was no way of knowing for sure. And Phaedra was…too fragile. I thought it best not to alarm her, as did we all clearly. Foolishly as it turned out." Shandra frowned, Casavir looked away painfully. They all had reason to be guilty; they'd all neglected Phaedra when she'd needed them, failed to see what was happening to her.

"But why capture her like this?" Shandra asked. "It makes no sense."

"Garius must have realised that she is truly his most dangerous enemy" Sand surmised. "With her warlock power…which somehow he was aware of before the trial, let us not forget, she represented the greatest threat to his enterprise."

"Could…he turn her against us?" Casavir asked; the soldier making tactical considerations even as the man felt his heart ripped to shreds by what he was hearing. "Make her fight us instead of him?"

"I'm afraid I don't know" Sand sighed. "It's an inexact magic, using geases…all black magic and necromancy. But I believe that if the command violates the subject's core instincts, she or he should be able to resist it." He looked frustrated, as if he longed for more information that was out of his reach. "Geases…tend to be focused around one simple command, or phrase…which would most likely in this case be forcing Phaedra to walk into this trap. I don't think Garius would bother expending the energy to place another geas on her now he has her in his hands, especially since her mind would likely start revolting if too much pressure was exerted."

"But he wanted her alive, clearly" Shandra said, looking around the grove, and thinking of Phaedra coming here without even the ability to control her own mind or body, forced into a trap. "That means there's still hope. If we go to Crossroad Keep, we can still rescue her."

"Indeed" Casavir stood up next to her, desolate and lost no longer without Phaedra, but courageous, firm and commanding all of a sudden, inspired by her words. Shandra's disobedient heart thrilled. "Our objective remains unchanged, but our urgency is all the greater. We should get the others packed up, and leave for the Keep immediately."

"Oh, of course we should" Sand said and, though Shandra felt a glimmer of hope in Casavirs' resolution, Sand's gloomy expression dampened her enthusiasm. "But I warn you we are dealing with a man without remorse or pity, a man driven mad by his lust for power. We don't know why he wanted her alive, and that concerns me." Shandra shuddered, giving the innocuous grove another quick glance. Here, in the dawn light there was no hint of dark magic, no lingering stain of this geas on the breeze. Geas…then she remembered something, something that should have struck her from the moment she heard it…Sand had not been the first to mention the word geas. Bishop had actually said it first. Bishop, by Chauntea, Bishop, she glanced around the grove again…Bishop was gone. And so was Karnwyr. Apart from the three of them, it was empty.

"Oh Gods" She gasped and the two other men looked at her immediately. "Bishop's gone after her, alone!"

Ooooo0000000000000ooooooooooo

Phaedra woke lying in darkness, her head pounding, and every muscle in her body aching. For a moment she was struck by a rush of instinctive animal panic, discovering her hands were bound with heavy chains she didn't recognise and couldn't see, and finding herself lying on a cold stone floor, which was damp to the touch. She tried to stand, stumbled and fell, and collapsed in a quivering huddle. She still wore only her thin nightgown. The same nightgown she'd been wearing last night when…she had kissed Bishop…and…slowly she sat, wrapping her arms around herself, yes she remembered. She must have fainted during that terrible ride on the Luskan's horse. They had ridden far faster than she had ever done on Misletoe, tearing onwards on the back of a massive horse whose shoulders bumped beneath her, sending her jumping up and down, hour after hour after hour in nothing but that canvas sack around her head. Sometime far along in the ride she had just lost consciousness. And they had arrived, and placed her down here. This must be Crossroad Keep. She was a prisoner, Garius' prisoner.

Carefully, forcing herself to be calm, she examined herself for injuries. That was the first thing to do. Her wrists were cut from the rope, but she definitely wasn't bound with such crude measures any more. Now heavy metal dangled from her arms, two large, bracelet-like things, clamped to her wrists, smooth to the touch, and connected by a chain in between them. Otherwise she'd had a heavy battering from the ride, she was bruised and her muscles were tensed and aching. But, all in all, things could be worse. Second order of business was to find out where she was. She stood, blinking, and found her eyes had adjusted a little to the darkness. She was in a cell. That was elementary. It was rather small and uncomfortable, there were no easy hand-holds on the walls, and there was only one tiny window through the door on the other side of the room, the only opening out into the world outside. It was completely dark outside, and only a small glimmer of light slipped into the room. In other words, escape was going to be rather difficult. She closed her eyes again, tried to summon a spark of hellfire…but she wasn't surprised when a deafening silence answered her call. It made sense that they'd taken precautions. Raising her hands, she realised it was the armlets themselves, her handcuffs, that were blocking her, they were somehow imbued with dispelling magic. Perhaps Garius had them made especially for her. Well, no hope there either. That was it. She was out of ideas. And yet it was impossible that Garius had gone to so much trouble just to throw her into a dungeon. Surely if she waited long enough, someone would come. Maybe it was still the geas, but after everything that she had gone through she almost wanted to see Garius in the flesh; she wanted to confront him at last, demand him of the reason why he had done this to her. And finally see his mystery unlocked. Maybe if she survived long enough the others would still come, yes, of course, they would…Casavir would not rest until she was saved. Nor would Elanee, Shandra…any of them. She summoned their faces in her mind, tried to take some comfort in the darkness. And Bishop, she thought with an inexplicable twinge of feeling even here…would he come too?

Then abruptly footsteps sounded in the darkness, echoing through the cell. Phaedra sprang to her feet, fear suddenly pounding in her chest, her breaths short and sharp. Was this her jailor? A key was pushed through the lock in the door, turned slowly, once, twice…as Phaedra waited, trying to control the sudden surge of panic. And then, with a screech of joints that had not been oiled for a long time the door was pushed open. Standing there, framed by the darkness, except for the glow of a simple light spell that shone over her shoulder, was Torio Claven. Phaedra didn't know who she'd been expecting but the former ambassador was not it. Torio did not look good, was Phaedra's second, rather irrelevant thought. Her formally immaculate make-up was smeared and slap-dash, her dress was frayed and smeared at the hem and her hair was in shambles. But worse than that was how thinly stretched the ambassador seemed to be, as if she had spent the last weeks since the trial in a constant state of panic. The bones of her face stuck out in sharp relief, and her eyes were haunted shadows of their former sharpness. And strangest of all, she carried, draped across her stick-thin arms, some kind of evening gown. The light spell played across shimmering watery silver silk, glinted on metal clasps and the scattering of tiny diamonds in the dress' surface.

"He wants to see you" The ambassador said curtly. "And get out of that disgusting dress" She sneered. Phaedra blinked, clearly Torio had not changed that much. She did not particularly want to get undressed in front of the woman, but she knew she had little choice, and so peeled off the sweaty, muddy gown with trembling fingers, standing before Torio in little more than undergarments. Torio moved over, with jerky, sharp, nervous movements, and motioned for Phaedra to stand, ready, in front of her. Phaedra submitted, gracelessly, wondering what in Lathander's name was going on. Torio threw the dress out, unfolding a dream-like gown in sheen silver, blazing even in the dingy cell, its material so soft and shimmering that it was like liquid silver. It clasped at the back, and, to Phaedra's shock, it had no sleeves, going in fact under her arms, and baring her shoulders entirely, so Torio could slip it over her without even having to undo the handcuffs. Torio fussed and primped over it a few moments, smoothing out crinkles, pulling the bust a little lower, as if she were dressing a mannequin and not her worst enemy, but it fitted almost perfectly. And it was really rather shocking. It plunged halfway down her back, exposing rather more skin than she was used to. The bust was a firm, corset-like creation, gorgeously crafted and scattered with a river of shining diamonds that swept around in a spiralling pattern, but it showed rather more cleavage than Phaedra was used to. Below it, it swept down her legs in a stream of silver, swan-like in its elegance, clinging tight to her waist and thighs. It was the dress of a woman, confident in her power and sex appeal, not a girl from West Harbour. Torio looked at her up and down, with a little frown in her eyebrows, but seemed satisfied with the result. Next she tugged a comb through Phaedra's hair, a gruelling routine considering she hadn't brushed it in days, but Torio persevered, even rather cruelly when the knots would have defeated a less firm and exacting hand. As Phaedra stood there, and winced, she wondered what threats exactly Garius had made to turn proud Torio to the role of a common maidservant. She didn't really want to know. Clearly, though, the former ambassador's will to revolt had been entirely broken. Finally, when her hair was serviceable, clean and straight, though still hardly worthy of the magnificent gown, Torio added the finishing touches, a delicate neck-piece of shining silver, also studded with diamonds, and velvet slippers, likewise silver. Despite the circumstances, Phaedra couldn't but take a little bit of pleasure in her transformation, even though there was no mirror close at hand.

"Come on" Torio snarled, interrupting the reverie, and Phaedra realised that Garius had almost certainly chosen the gown for her. That sucked all the pleasure out of wearing it, now it felt like yet more chains around her, and made her even more wary of what exactly Garius would expect her to do once they met. Could he make her give into his demands? She vowed to be wary, not to be defeated again. From now on, her mind remained her own, no matter what they did with her body. Slowly, with her head held high, she walked from the cell behind Torio. The ambassador led her from the cells, through a dingy, damp and dirty corridor, and up a small flight of stairs. They emerged into another corridor, whose roof looked just about ready to collapse, the supporting beams of wood across the ceiling were eaten up by pests and water damage. The walls were stone, but pieces of it were broken up. Phaedra remembered that this place had been sacked during the war, but she didn't have much time to think that through, because Torio was insistently gesturing her forward. They passed down the empty corridor, through another door and into a great hallway. It was oppressively gloomy, and she realised it was night…she must have been knocked out for a whole day or more. Automatically she scanned the place for any weaknesses, but once again she came up with nothing. There were leaks in the roof, pools of dampness covered the floor which looked like it had been ploughed up by the passage of time, tiles thrown in all directions. Ancient, fraying carpets and thread-bare tapestries clearly from around the time of the war were the only evidence that this had once been a richly decorated audience chamber for whoever had been lord of this keep when Neverwinter had still owned it. Two precarious, rusted chandeliers hung at frankly alarming angles from above them. If Phaedra had needed any more proof that she was dealing with a mad man, the fact that he'd set up operations in such a morbid, ghastly place was all she needed.

"Hurry along, Squire" Torio snapped impatiently. Phaedra shot her a glare; she hadn't forgotten everything Torio had done. But this ravaged and wasted woman, who constantly touched her arms, her cheeks, her hair, as if possessed by a nervous tic, had clearly suffered a great deal since then. Torio led her onwards, silently. The rest of the Keep that walked through was much the same, ruined, desolate corridors, laid to waste and simply left to the ravages of time for all the years that had passed since the sack of the keep. It reminded her a little of Tavorick's mansion, but whereas there the decay of the once splendid place had been sad and poignant, but sterile, here it breathed an all too real, a living, malevolence. As if some dark force that should have been laid to rest here long ago still lay within its stones, refusing to die. It was an oppressive presence, dark and heavy on the mind, just like it had been in the Mere. But strangely it did not resemble the terrible ache of infernal power she'd felt from that warlock back in the Moonstone Mask, that had been hot and vital, this was cold, infinitely cold, like ice seeping into the cracks, it seemed almost dead. No wonder Torio had waned so much, stuck here since the trial. Originally she had thought they were alone in the keep, but they passed an antechamber off to the right she saw shadowy figures, cowled and cloaked in thick black, moving with slow ritualistic motions as if they were carrying out some kind of ceremony. She only caught a glimpse, but it was enough for her to know that they were priests of the King of Shadows, just like the necromancers she had encountered. So this was there they had hidden. But what were they up to?

And then Torio took her arm, rather roughly, and pulled her through another room off to the side, through another door. It was another splendid hall, with the proportions that only the nobility demanded, a vast towering ceiling and enough space to hold a host of people, walls that stretched away for metres. But this one finally presented a glimpse of what the Keep used to be like, when it was filled with light and life. It had been cleared, cleaned meticulously, every inch washed and brushed clear of dust. New tapestries from Gods alone knew where had been hung from wall to wall, tasteful designs in neutral blues and greens, threaded with gold and silver that sparkled in the light. And there was even a portrait above the fireplace, some woman in black, it seemed. There were still a few signs of neglect, a few missing stones from the walls, broken tiles on the floor. But the firelight that filled it, blazing out from a huge fire burning in a monstrous fireplace and grate on the other side of the room, did much to fill it with a warm glow that brushed over and blurred these defects as well as giving the warmth of a place lived-in. There was a large, elongated table in the very centre, smooth wood, polished and sanded so it gleamed in the light, with curved sides and extravagantly crafted legs that resembled a baroque symphony of life-like, organic shapes. It had two chairs set underneath it, one at either end, and was absolutely stacked from corner to corner with an unbelievable banquet, rich, cultured, decadent food, from a huge pheasant whose head and tail feathers had been re-attached to its plucked and cooked body and now drooped mournfully to a vat of sherbet and ice, two, no three, whole fish prepared to the finest cut, warm fresh bread that had been sculpted like a work of art, a full cauldron of warm, hale soup and a stack of exotic vegetables, all piping hot, sliced and ready to eat. It was the largest meal Phaedra had ever seen, utterly excessive in every way, and every piece sat upon a beautiful silver platter. Phaedra stopped for a second, and stared at it, trying desperately to take it all in. Finding it here, it was utterly surreal. Like a dream…

"You're impressed, good" And then he appeared. And all the warmth, all the life seeped from the room, from Phaedra as she faced Garius who stood at the other side of the table, and the amazement dropped from her features, replaced by a wary caution that disguised the thump of fear in her thoughts. So all this was for her benefit…that made it more like a nightmare. Garius wore robes of comparable fineness to her gown, black silk as usual, but fine and elegant, sleekly sweeping around his thin figure, and giving him a strange, subtle, air of power and menace despite his aged appearance. His collar was decorated with white filigree that was striking against the black silk. "As am I" He noted, with a thin smile "You, Phaedra…look ravishing" He commented, raising a thin fluted glass of dark red wine, in toast to her. She tried not to scowl with disgust. "I knew that gown would suit you. It always set off my wife's hair like it does yours." Unconsciously, she raised a hand to touch her hair, but stopped herself halfway. She was not going to react in any way to his poisoned words.

"Why have you brought me here?" She snapped. "Kidnapped me, tricked me, used some foul magic to control me…all of that, for what?"

"All, in good time, Phaedra" Garius nodded slowly, his unnaturally keen grey eyes fixed upon her face, as if unlocking a puzzle. "For now, shall we not have a pleasant, civilised dinner? Please, sit…" He gave a sweeping gesture towards the chair on her side of the room. Torio had pulled it out ready for her to sit, the ambassador no longer looked sullen or anxious, she looked…completely blank. Phaedra considered it a moment, but decided she had nothing to lose, and made her way. With a murmured almost automatic thanks to Torio, she sat. Garius did the same on the other side of the table, and though the food was packed from where she was to where he was, there was a clear line of sight between them, so that he had never to take his eyes from her. How deeply disturbing. "Try the soup, I had it made today." Garius said, motioned again to Torio, who hurried over and ladled out some of the steaming soup into a silver bowl, and carried it back to Phaedra. Garius was still humiliating her, punishing her, by making her wait on them like a common servant. How that must smart in the proud woman, but Phaedra could feel no triumph. "Some of my staff from the Hostower travelled with me. I rarely eat so richly, but I wished to welcome you fittingly." She had resolved not to eat anything but she was starving, and the soup was so warm and smelt so good that she couldn't resist it. Choosing a spoon from one of the dizzying range of cutlery to the side of her plate, she picked it up, and with difficulty due to the chains around her arms, managed to sample a little. It was perfect. "How do you find it?" She glanced up and saw that Garius was watching her intently as if her every smallest action was infinitely fascinating. That spoiled her appetite right away.

"It's rather difficult to eat like this" She raised her hands demonstratively, and the chains clanked on the table.

"A necessary precaution" Garius remarked. "Your magic is not under your control. I don't want you harming yourself."

"Or escaping, of course" Phaedra muttered matter-of-factly.

"Escape?" Garius looked genuinely surprised that the thought might occur to her. "Why would you want to escape? I'm certain you see that everything that has happened between us has been part of the movements of fate." He leaned forward on the table. He didn't seem to be eating anything, but surely he couldn't expect her to eat all of this? What was the point of this banquet? "For example, you coming here today, of all days; the day before I carry out the ritual that will see our names engraved in history, Phaedra…your name and mine together for all time."

"The reason I'm here is because you've captured me" Phaedra said snappishly, as ever his talk of destiny unnerved her completely. "You used magic to draw me into a trap, then you threw me into a dungeon…that's it."

"Yes I drew you towards me, but your path was your own, your own fate" Garius answered. Phaedra raised an eyebrow sceptically. "It was not I who ordained that you should be chosen by Neverwinter to hunt me down, or that you should be sent on the very eve of my greatest triumph" Garius smiled again, almost with amusement. "As for the unfortunate circumstances after your arrival, I confess I was otherwise occupied and could not welcome you properly. In my absence, some saw fit to interpret my orders rather loosely. I assure you, Phaedra…they felt my displeasure once I discovered what had happened." His eyes flicked, chillingly, to Torio who flinched involuntarily from his gaze. For all his charm that was his true face. Phaedra vowed to remember that. This was the man who had killed Ember. "Believe me, Phaedra" His stare bored into her skull, she couldn't look away but it was profoundly unnerving. "Your comfort and security are my chief concern"

"Really?" She remarked, innocently gulping another mouthful. "First I almost die in Solace Glade, then Lorne almost kills me during the Trial…then I end up thrown into your dungeon. You're not doing a very good job" But he wasn't provoked. He just kept smiling that serpent smile at her.

"All the more reason to believe that the reason we sit here, enjoying this meal, is due to fate." He said. "All those obstacles, almost insurmountable, yet you overcame them all." Now that was just annoying. She'd overcome those obstacles by her own skill and determination, and the help of her friends. Not some nebulous cosmic narrative where she ended up paired to an ageing megalomaniac. It was time she got some answers. The real reason why there were sitting here, definitely not enjoying this meal although the soup was rather good.

"Why did you choose me?" Going right to the heart of it, Phaedra laid her spoon back on the table, and lifted her head, to try to out-stare him. It wasn't easy. "Of all the women in the world, why me? What made you select me for this…obsession, this fixation?" For the first time she saw something flicker in his face aside from that plain, expressionless admiration. Was that a flash of impatience in his steely eyes? What did he want her to realise?

"I did not choose you" He said, and he leaned back, seemingly suddenly more cold, more dangerous, plunged into shadow. "On that night when you slew my apprentice, Ajah, I was watching. And then you appeared before me; burning with power, an angel, a ghost. From that moment I knew, that one day we would come together, and remake this world in the image of our love."

"But why?" Phaedra cried, her voice echoing through the hall. "What was it about me that made you so sure?"

"I never told you about my wife, did I?" Garius said, and shocked by the sudden change of subject, she shook her head mutely. "She was really quite beautiful, and brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Everywhere she went there was light, she shone, she made this dark world beautiful." Phaedra didn't want to feel anything but she couldn't but be shocked by the undertone of agony and longing in his voice. He missed her, he missed her desperately. Maybe, just maybe, it was…the darkness of a world without her that had driven him into this madness. "We met while I was an apprentice in the Hostower, and she a sorceress who had come to us in search of guidance and power" He continued "And together we rose through the ranks, my political acumen allied to her quite extraordinary power. But our superiors, blinkered, blind fools with their mindless prejudices against sorcerers, and against elves as well, they resented her desperately and they hated me for marrying her. Blood traitor they called me, race traitor for matching myself with an elf, and she was deemed an upstart for her sorcery by jealous wizards whose book-learning never matched her artistry. We were both denied advancement, promotion, the recognition her astonishing talents deserved. When we pushed the boundaries they did everything they could do to pull us back. It frustrated her, it frustrated us both. But while I turned to experimentation, hoping to harness more power and topple them all from their thrones if we had to…she began to hope she could change their minds by distinguishing herself in service to the army, in the war that was coming. There was such chaos in the Hostower that I could not keep her as close as I should have done, and when the rumour of great things reached her, she was inflamed by the idea; 'Luskan's Great Crusade'." His voice became a low rasp of bitterness. "Or so they called that mindless advance led by that madwoman Aribeth de Tyrlmerande, and that unfeeling zealot Maugrim Korothir. She was naïve, but she was single-minded. And she was too pure, too powerful, the Hostower had constrained her for too long. So she marched with the great army they summoned. I did not. For me the war was an irrelevance to our personal power. It meant nothing. And so she was alone when the army was routed, and when Neverwinter seized her, a bounty of war to be displayed and put on some obscene mockery of a trial so that the mob could tear her to pieces."

He stared into the dark, red depths of his wine glass, as if to summon up a vision of the past. "I still remember the day I received word that she was in the enemy's hands. No matter that the streets of Luskan were in chaos, no matter that the Hostower was ripping itself apart with faction fighting in the aftermath, I ran to the highest point of the tower and threw myself at the feet of the newly freed Archmage Arcane, Arklem Greeth. I begged him to do something to save here, negotiate, pay a ransom, even if we had to march to Neverwinter again to do it. But he laughed in my face. They all laughed." His eyes narrowed, a cold light of pure hatred glinted in their depths. "It wasn't that they dared not approach Neverwinter, it was that they did not see the value in the life of an elf, and a woman. An elf and a woman who had already outstripped every single one of them in the purity of her power, who was my wife." He looked back across the table, and his normal air of self-possession descended over him once again as he met Phaedra's eyes. "And so Neverwinter killed her, in secret, in the dark, in one of the dungeons beneath their fair city." He said quietly. "And I lost the centre of my life, my lodestone, my heart, and any loyalty I had left to the Hostower. The last twenty years I have spent plunging the depths of the darkest magics, looking for a way to gain myself enough power to punish them, the Hostower and all of Luskan for leaving her to die, and Neverwinter for the blood she left on Nasher's hands." Phaedra was silenced. Now, no matter how much she might not wish to, she understood Black Garius. His wife had been everything to him. Driven mad by her loss, he had spent himself in the pursuit of revenge, until revenge had become the centre of his life instead of her love, until anything that might have made her love him in the first place had been lost to that ravenous hollow hunger for revenge. It was almost...pitiable. She could also see how he could have turned to the King of Shadows, fascinated by the power that had almost destroyed Neverwinter sixteen years before, and set a plan in motion to take on the power of the dread entity in this ritual, turning himself into the embodiment of the vengeance he sought, punishing all of Neverwinter and all of Luskan for his wife's death. But she still didn't understand…what had brought him to her.

"But now you've changed your mind?" Phaedra had to swallow before she spoke, her throat was dry from the tension and emotion of Garius' tale. She couldn't understand what she should be feeling for this terrible, broken, cruel, lonely man.

"Neverwinter and Luskan will still die" He said implacably, but he seemed almost excited by the idea. This was no dread call to avenge his wife, not simply that. He had something else in mind. "But not simply for my vengeance as I thought all these lonely twenty years…no they must be cauterised, cleansed, by the power of shadow so that you and I can build a new world on the ashes of the old. We shall re-build it all in the image that you share with her, with my Esmerelle." Phaedra's heart literally stopped in her chest. She froze in her seat, her thoughts a helpless blur as her mind struggled to compute what Garius had just said. Impossible…impossible…it was impossible.

"What did you say?" She managed to gasp out.

"We are going to build a new world, my love" Garius leaned towards her, as if to take her in his arms even across the impossibly large table. "And tonight, in this ritual of shadow, I shall become a king worthy of it, worthy of you."

"No" She spluttered, his words were sickening to her, the fruit of his poisoned devotion, that he had just called her his love sent her stomach churning with revulsion. But she could barely begin to comprehend the venomous sting of his words when that name he had whispered still thundered in her mind. "Your…wife's name!"

"You know it?" He seemed surprised. But then he relaxed, and a smile of pure, mad joy touched his fevered lips. "Of course, your spirit recognises it, even across all these years." He stood suddenly, and threw out his arm, gesturing up above the fireplace. "She was my Esmerelle, my Esmerelle the Black." Phaedra staggered in the seat, clutching at the table to stop herself from retching with shock, and disgust. Esmerelle…it couldn't be the same…it couldn't be…And then she saw where Garius was pointing, her eyes travelled slowly, inexorably up the wall above the fireplace and settled on the large, hanging portrait she had so quickly, casually dismissed before. It was, like she had thought then, a woman dressed all in black, painted with uncommon skill. But, and here Phaedra felt a wave of nausea so intense she thought she was going to faint again, the face staring out from the portrait, half in shadow, half in the firelight, with an enigma of a smile upon painted lips, the face was her own.

Ooooo00000oooooooooooooo

Luskans were sneaky, slimy, murderous bastards, but one thing you could always count on, they were consistent to the point of stupidity. Once the army realised there was one way of doing things, they never did it any differently. That had served Bishop well before, and it would do so again now. So he knew that the guard at the gates of Crossroad Keep would change every hour, on the hour, unless someone in that castle wanted the skin ripped off their back by the whip. And there'd be a small window of time in which no one would be watching the walls. A window he'd have to exploit if he was getting into the place; difficult, but not impossible. For now, though, he and Karnwyr were going to have to lay back and enjoy the view for a little while longer. It was night, and Crossroad Keep loomed in the darkness, a monolithic shadow just ahead. They were waiting in the fields outside the Keep, crouching amidst some fool of a farmer's harvest trampled into the dirt around them, his farmhouse just in front of the keep was a burnt out husk. The Luskans hadn't wanted any witnesses, and they'd left the corpses out to rot in the faint moonlight. The Keep was a dump. A very good defensive position, but a dump. The keep squatted at the top of a hill, with a sheer cliff to one side rendering its east flank entirely invulnerable to attack. The front was defended by a large, but crumbling wall, its squat watchtowers on either corner were slowly collapsing in on themselves, and the walls were riddled with scars, large stones had collapsed from the whole and lay broken on the ground beneath them. Unfortunately, though, the gate seemed to be largely intact, a looming, easily defensible position. But, better news was that the Luskans hadn't bothered to man the walls, or had thought the crumbling stone too dangerous…their only guards were the men on either side of the gate, a bored-looking pair of sentries who weren't exactly sharp or concentrating. Within the walls there was a huge courtyard where, by the streams of smoke trailing into the darkness, the Luskan grunts had set up. Black Garius didn't want mere soldiers tramping around in his keep, it seemed. There were a couple of buildings inside, substantially less intact than the walls, that rose from this courtyard, empty skeletons against the night sky, with their roofs collapsed, and the beams sticking out into the still air. From the first courtyard, a cobbled path led up to a second smaller courtyard higher up the hill, with another vast wall, the castle's second line of defence. Behind those second walls was the Keep itself, a vast blocky structure all in stone, built first and foremost for defence, with huge towering walls, crenelated with impossibly large, perfectly cut stones. It was still largely intact, but the tiled roof was a pock-marked mess, and some of the towers loomed precariously on very little support. The windows were tiny slits, but a few burned with torchlight behind them…someone was in there. Garius, his cohorts…and Phaedra…

Phaedra…why was she bothering him so much again? He'd come here, hadn't he? So he was going to get her out of this Keep, he never just left anything half-done, and he wasn't about to slink back to the rest of the party without her. It would be a stab in the eye for Luskan if he pulled this off, and a stab in the eye for Casavir too, if he got her out of the Keep without the paladin's help, it would show Phaedra she only really needed one of them, him, which was as good a way to get onto her bedroll as anything. It wasn't really any different from going to get Karnwyr that time so she forgot about what Malin had told her, or offering to be her champion against Lorne…it was all means to an end. And that end was what it had always been, revenge on Duncan, and a notch on the bedpost. But he was aware he'd never actually risked his life for Phaedra before like this, when his own life wasn't already on the line anyway. There was a whisper, some instinct for self-preservation maybe, a part of him that always told him when things were going too far, when he was in too deep, and it asked him if he would be doing this if Phaedra hadn't kissed him. He swore softly. The kiss had been an added bonus and all, but it shouldn't still be in his mind, or a factor in any decision he made. He'd gone to Neeshka to get rid of any remaining frustration, and she'd given up a whole lot more than Phaedra had with her desperate and yet still chaste kiss. And yet he could shake Neeshka from his mind as easily as he could dust from his boots, but Phaedra's kiss…stayed. But he wasn't here for her, or because she'd done that so unexpectedly, he was here because Garius was an arrogant shit, and if Phaedra was anyone's, she was Bishop's. Only until he was done with her of course, though. Then Casavir or anyone else who wanted her could pick up the scraps.

Then the great gates creaked, whining and squealing with age, and the two Luskan guards who'd kept sentry for the last hour began to move, chatting with relief now their shift was ended, cocky bastards. They'd never expect him.

"Karnwyr, wait here…" He stood quickly, giving the wolf a cool glance. Karnwyr hadn't acted any differently about defending Phaedra before, but Bishop didn't expect him to; whatever reason the wolf had done it, they both owned their actions and didn't apologise to anyone. "And warn me when the rest of our sorry party arrives" The wolf gave a short, sharp whine of disapproval, if there were Luskans to be slaughtered Karnwyr always wanted in on it, but nonetheless he turned away quickly and slinked into the darkness. There wasn't any place for him on this one, slaughtering Luskans, as enjoyable as it might have been, wasn't their goal here. At least, not until Phaedra was back. With a bunch of her hellfire, they might be able to clear this place on their own. Now, he scanned the walls, for the hard part. While the gates creaked open slowly, and the two guards waited impatiently, he moved, low to the ground, amidst the trampled field, keeping the ruined farmhouse between him and them, a shadow moving amidst the darkness. And as the huge gates creaked fully abreast, chains and mechanisms rattling and clanking within the large gatehouse, the Luskan guards turned their backs on the field and began to walk, jostling amiably as they went, into the courtyard behind. Bishop took his chance in that moment, breaking free of the field, and sprinting across the bare, open ground between the fields and the fortress. He had seconds before the guards in the courtyard saw him, but adrenaline pumped through him, and the darkness raced by, his strides as silent as he could make them. He reached the walls in just enough time, and leapt, with all the momentum of his run behind him…he hit them…hard, and his fingers caught the rough edge of stone where one large block had fallen from the walls leaving an indentation enough to hold him up. Hanging there for a second, he caught the rough, coarse banter of the next shift's guards coming through the gatehouse, only metres away.

"Yeah, she's a fine little thing" One of them laughed crudely. "Maybe too fine for the likes of us"

"Who knew Old Garius had it in him?" The other one snickered. "Maybe once he's done he'll leave her to us." Ignoring them, and the urge to silence them both, Bishop pushed down on the stone he was holding onto with all his might, slowly forcing the weight of his body upwards. His muscles strained, but he managed it, and swinging his leg up, caught his foot in the indentation, enough to give his hands freedom to find another hold. Reaching out he caught a stone that jutted out from the wall, and levered himself up again, grunting with the effort. It almost fell under his weight, but he quickly swung himself up, finding a more secure place to catch his foot. The guards had emerged but they were still talking, loudly, no one had bothered to scan the walls…yet…but it was only a matter of time. He climbed, quickly, expertly, it wasn't the first time he'd infiltrated a Luskan garrison, but this was far easier than that one fateful time in the Duskwood. And after a few fevered seconds, he caught the crenulations at the top of the wall, and hoisted himself up over the top of the wall, immediately making himself low and small, crouching on the other side. This was more difficult, he was in full view from the courtyard if anyone just bothered to look up, and there were a few Luskans still awake, gambling with knucklebones, drinking…around the group of tents and campfires. He counted about two dozen soldiers, asleep and awake.

"I thought I saw something move…on the top of the wall" One of the guards said suddenly. Instantly Bishop froze. The shadows were thick here, just thick enough to hide him.

"Nah…was nothing" The other guard answered. "Who'd be out here in the middle of nowhere?" Bishop breathed out…now to start moving. And to find a way into this damned Keep.

ooooo00000ooo

After a second of complete disorientation, Phaedra began to find herself again, and slowly began to realise that the face in the portrait was not actually her; amazingly like her to be sure, but different. This woman was a full elf, a sun elf to be exact, with long pointed ears, and features that were more angular, sharper, than Phaedra's, with highly pronounced cheekbones and a narrow chin. They gave her a brittle, crystalline, almost sculpted beauty, and her eyes, a purer, deeper, green, were slightly slanted which imparted some exotic tinge to her features. Her hair was golden, pure and shining, it lacked the streams of red that ran through Phaedra's own. And Phaedra had never smiled like that, with a cruel slant to the lips and yet sensually, an enigmatic promise glimmered in those burning eyes. She was more beautiful than Phaedra. And she was more cruel. And she was undeniably, terribly Esmerelle, her mother. Of all the things in the world she would find in Garius' keeping, all the secrets he had kept, she had never expected this. She remembered his anguished longing murmuring about his wife, linking Phaedra to her all this time…but it had never made sense to Phaedra until now. Of course she had seemed like Esmerelle's double to him when he had seen her, they had always been said to be extraordinarily alike, and now she saw the final, absolute proof. And to find her mother…here…and to hear Garius had loved her…but faced with this portrait she couldn't deny anything the wizard said. Even when he had said that Esmerelle had died twenty years ago. She blinked…looking back at Garius with new confusion. Garius clearly believed it, but Phaedra's very existence disproved that idea. Had Esmerelle somehow escaped Neverwinter….but had not returned to Garius, instead becoming a wandering adventure and eventually finding her way to West Harbour? Why? Why had she done that? And Garius, she realised with a staggering rush of relief without even knowing she had even considered that horrific possibility, could not be her father, he had last seen Esmerelle at least four years before she was born…so had Esmerelle found another lover in that time, while her husband festered in the memory of her death? And to think her mother was once…a Hostower mage, serving Luskan's cruelty, how appalling…and the consort of this evil man…she felt another dizzying wave of dismay. It was worse than anything Daeghun had told her could have hinted at…and ignorance, not knowing, though it had tormented her her whole life suddenly seemed preferable, but that image of her mother on the wall, burning with sensuality and cruelty, she couldn't get out of her head. The similarity between her features and the portrait damned and accused.

"Now you understand" Garius moved towards her, almost eagerly, almost like a love-struck boy in some dark and twisted play, as Phaedra sank back in her seat in horror. "You are the reason for which I have fought and struggled all these years, all these years without her, without Esmerelle, until you came and I saw her again in your face." He came to her side, laid his wasted hand on the arm-rest of her chair, it took all her will not to shrink from his presence. "In the darkness, we will make our own light, Phaedra." He murmured, and brought his lips closer to her ear. She swam in disgust and revulsion, her skin crawled at his closeness. "I will kill Torio for you, if it will please you." He said softly. She looked up at him with sudden horror, and Torio gave a squeal, quickly silenced from where she was standing by the table. Garius hadn't even bothered to hide from her the offer. And this was Garius' love…destroying villages, killing people, communicating in the only way his dark and twisted heart could understand. How had Esmerelle loved this man? How had she married him, or had it all been ambition on her mother's part, had they shared terrible plans, dark magic, vile rituals and shadowy alliances? But how could she know anymore, her mother seemed even more remote than ever now. Mutely she shook her head, and Garius seemed a little disappointed, but he stood tall again with cold self-possession. "Will you come with me Phaedra?" He said. "I have one last thing to show you." What choice did she have? She rose from the chair, leaving the splendid meal and Torio there, both ignored as if they were not there at all. Garius took her arm in his, the feeling of him, even through heavy velvet and silk sleeves, almost sent her reeling. His touch was like ice.

He led her back through the fortress, the silent halls and empty corridors, as she considered desperately what she could do next. She considered telling the truth to Garius, but who could tell how he'd react? Esmerelle, and her in his eyes fateful resemblance to his wife, was the centre of his life, his revenge. He might kill her if he realised that his wife had betrayed him. He might go even madder. And somehow at the same time no matter how foolish it seemed she almost didn't want to speak the truth, as if it would validate what she didn't want to fully admit to herself. At least he was quiescent now, negligent, maybe she'd have a chance, now they were alone, to stop him. If only she could only somehow get rid of the handcuffs…she doubted she could overcome him without her magic, despite his physical advantages; he was trained at the Hostower, magics to disarm, bind and hold would be an elementary exercise for one so practiced and powerful. She had to lull him into a false sense of security first, no matter how awful the act would have to be. But, by the Gods, she hoped that somehow the others were coming soon. As she was thinking this, Garius slowly, ceremonially, leaving her feeling like she was being taken to sacrifice, led her up to a flight of spiral stairs, narrow and crumbling.

"Garius…" She swallowed, his name was like a locust in her mouth, some vile, crawling thing on her tongue. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see, Phaedra, and you will understand" He said, his voice suddenly low and rasping. "You'll understand why you've come here tonight of all nights, on the eve of this final ritual, that will be my abandonment of flesh and all its weakness and folly. One last night…to put the seal on our love." Phaedra shot him a horrified glance, but his hold was too tight to escape. What did he mean? Abandonment of the flesh? Did this…ritual he was planning to perform have some dire effect they hadn't suspected, would it change Garius as well as empower him? Was that then the purpose of the rich and succulent meal they'd left on the table, a sample of his last experience…of the flesh before he somehow transcended it? And did he mean to experience her in the same way, was that the goal of all this mad muttering? Her heart froze at the thought. By the Gods, panic snapped into sudden clarity and sharpness, after all her resolution and equilibrium so far. But Garius' grip was vice-like, and they reached a door at the crown of the spiral staircase, he opened, and pushed her inside, not roughly exactly, but as if he couldn't see there being any resistance on her part, and if there was any, as there was, it was simply ignored. He glided in after her, and before she could even think of diving for the door behind him, he pulled it closed behind him. She tried to control her panic…there might still be a chance to catch him off guard, going out of her head with fear would only make things worse…she needed to be clever, calm, cunning. Oh Gods she wished someone was here, even Torio…she wished she wasn't alone with him, in all his menace and malice, looking down at her with cold, glinting desire in his eyes. She was still so vulnerable without her magic, her only hope was…somehow…he would let down his guard. But, she made a solemn promise, if he tried to touch her, no matter what, she would claw out his eyes.

She glanced around, and felt another flutter of panic as she saw the massive four-poster bed, looming against the wall, a vast and terrible reminder…that Garius saw their relationship as somehow in some twisted way, conjugal. It was a marriage bed, its sheets and curtains a decadent crimson she remembered. She realised they were in the tower room, where she had first encountered him, in that dream that was far more than a dream, while she had burned in the fever of the poison…that poison he had said was crafted by his wife, by her mother. The tiny, castle window poured moonlight, unwelcomingly soft and sensuous in its silver shimmering through the room, the room that was likewise soft and luxurious, but to Phaedra standing there in the midst of it, it breathed a dark and refined threat. Menace seeped from the rich and luxurious trappings, slithering possessively over her skin.

"At last…alone" Garius breathed hoarsely. His eyes were fixed on her, glittering at their core with something dark and horrid. "This was her room. Esmerelle's room…I had it moved here from the Hostower intact. I could not lose…anything more." But Phaedra's misplaced pity for his loss was entirely gone. Rising from some deep instinct was the knowledge that this man was suddenly more of a threat than anything she had faced in her journey so far, in his madness, his twisted love. She could almost sense the haze of desire rising in the room, as Garius simply stared at her for a second, then another, his eyes slowly devouring her…and she slowly backed away from him, ending up finding herself with her back against the wall. Dear Gods, please don't let this happen…she almost whispered out the prayer, but her lips were still, and silent…fear pounded in her heart, a primal, animal fear. And then he came towards her, his own steps slow, measured, dignified, but she could see through it, see into the dark, festering flame within him, the devouring lust rising in his eyes. She flattened herself against her wall, her fingers raking the stone, almost out of her control. When he was close, he looked down at her with something almost like tenderness, but then he reached forward. Phaedra tensed, ready to strike him, but unexpectedly his hand alighted on the handcuffs around her wrists. "You will not need those any more." He said quietly. There was a glow of magic, a slight warmth over Phaedra's hands, and then the handcuffs suddenly unclasped, almost of their own accord, and fell from her wrists, clattering down to the floor with a sudden, shockingly loud sound.

It took a second for Phaedra's mind to even realise that he had released her from the bonds, but her magic and her will, and the instinctive fear of his closeness that had so oppressed on her since they'd entered the room, wasted not an instant. Hellfire exploded out from her immediately, a blazing surge of flame that cannoned into him with hurricane force. All of her power was behind it, a sudden detonation of everything she had, everything the past hours of tension, of agonising fear had raised within her. And behind it was all her hatred, all her fear, of the man standing before her. But still it did not overcome him. Even though the fire was all around him, a roaring, searing blaze tearing past and over him like a wave breaking against a rock, he held, for in the same instant she had attacked, driven by fear and instinct, he had reacted, and his hands were crossed before him, a shadowy shield had come to life between them, a half-spherical shell of roaring darkness which he held before him so that the fire broke against it and around it, avoiding his body. "Did I not tell you, Phaedra?" He said, and despite the hungry whoosh of the fire sweeping out from her in an unsustainable torrent, and the ravenous roar of the dark magic he was using, she heard the hoarse whisper as clear as if his lips were against her ear, and it seemed as much a violation. "This magic of yours…it will destroy you if you let it. Fight me without this vulgarity." She was shocked and appalled that he was so conversational, not even surprised that she had attacked him, what game was he really playing, and the burst of anger empowered her to finally lift herself from the wall, and thrust her hands forward, pumping more power through her until she blazed with hellish light, and rippling waves of fire swept out from her, all converging on the figure before her. Instantly the tapestry above her, the map of Faerun, went up in smoke, and so did the curtains, but even though they were mementoes of his wife Garius did not seem to care. She saw through the fire, and the shadowy curtain between them, and saw Garius was smiling his thin-lipped smile, but there was delirium behind his eyes, delirious excitement.

"Did you really think that such brute force can overcome an archmage of the Hostower?" He breathed. "You disappoint me, Phaedra." Suddenly he threw out his own arm, the silken black robes sweeping about in the hurricane of alternate powers sweeping around them. Phaedra gasped, sensing the searing movement of shadowy power within him, and strands of liquid darkness erupted from his clenched fist. She suddenly knew he was right, this was no foe she could simply overpower…his magic was an endlessly subtle maze of shadows, deadly and delicate. But it was too late to do otherwise than she had, the only thing holding him back was the vast blaze she was expending between them, feeding all of herself into the inferno. And then she saw that even that wasn't truly holding him back. "Some subtlety, Phaedra!" He demanded suddenly, and his magic powered forwards, a huge claw of shadows appeared in his hand, and throwing his hand out, he struck her hard with it, with the full power of the deadly magic. The force was far more than physical. Dizzy, reeling, she was sent flying to the floor, but as he swept around, rising above her, she managed to throw her arms up and throw more hellfire into the fray, as fruitless as it was, her only thought was to hold him back. A firestorm enveloped the tiny room, so that strands of fire were thrown into every corner: the window exploded outward in a shower of glass, the bed's covers and curtains burst into flame. "You're expending too much power, you're bleeding magic needlessly, wasting it!" Garius advised, grotesquely. "Esmerelle would never make that mistake." She screamed her ragged wail of defiance, and whether in spite or simply because she wasn't able to do otherwise, she sent more raw power out, until the room was blazing with unbearable heat, light and hellfire dancing through the whole tiny space. But Garius held it back with almost careless ease, his defences though deceptively fragile, glyphs of shadow floating in the air around him, were just too strong.

"Come on Phaedra!" And now he was encouraging her, and for the first time the madness she had known was always there under the surface was all there, his features were twisted with it, it glowed behind his eyes, focused with an unbearable intensity upon her. "Fight me truly, fight me worthily…fight me as Esmerelle did that night upon the Pinnacle of the Hostower, as foes and lovers both!" Phaedra gasped…they had fought, he said, her mother and him…so had he meant to provoke her just like Esmerelle? Make him fight her to make their likeness that much closer? This was all insane!

"But you loved her!" She screamed.

"I fought her because I loved her!" Garius roared. "She grew squeamish, my experiments became too much, so she wished to leave, to fight in the war, but I could not allow it! I needed her power, her expertise, for my research. If she had listened…" He paused and his gaze seemed to pass through her, to see something behind her form cowering there against the bed. "But she was glorious that night, magnificent." He breathed, his voice quavering with pride. Even as he had fought her, tried to deny her the chance to make her own fate, his insane love and his delight in Esmerelle's power had not been diminished. No wonder she had fled… "Her artistry as she wielded her craft that night, I have never seen anything more beautiful. And of course…she vanquished me eventually, after we had duelled for hour after hour in the pouring rain before the pitiless eyes of the Arklem Greeth and the other archmages. By the Gods, I was so proud of her…that night." Heavens, he was absolutely insane! Phaedra tried to rise, throwing her arms and another loop of fire at him, but again he cast it aside like it was nothing. But the action brought his attention back to her. He thrust his clawed hands down, and the shadows beneath the bed congealed under Phaedra's crouched body, into something physical, something with force enough to fling her up and backwards onto the bed. She landed hard on the mattress. The bed burst into flame again, ashes, blackened soot thrown up all around her. She gasped, winded, but she had not a moment before Garius threw himself at her, like a mad dog now…there was nothing behind his eyes but insanity. Screaming she threw out her arms, but there was little enough power left within her, and almost nothing would have been enough to hold him back. Suddenly his body was upon her, heavy and demanding, his hand grasping her leg, cold and rough, the grip unyielding. She kicked, and clawed and scratched with everything she had, buckling underneath him, but he seemed impervious to pain in his madness, even when her nails drew blood. The dress ripped suddenly, one side of it, hallway up to the waist, and Phaedra howled with absolute panic. Garius was panting like an animal, his strength was impossible. She had to stop him! She had to stop him! Help her please, Gods, anyone!

"Esmerelle was my mother!" She screamed suddenly, almost not knowing what she was saying, and Garius was still in an instant, heavy upon her, and lifeless as if he were a cold corpse gripping her. Slowly she turned her head, looked into his face, and saw the shock, and the sudden desolation, there. Oh Gods, he believed her. Perhaps he'd already half-suspected it, whatever part of him was still rational. "Esmerelle was my mother" She repeated, gasping out great, heaving breaths.

"Impossible" Garius rasped. Suddenly, with the fit and the heady rush of battle gone, he seemed aware of every injury she had done to him, the raw scratch across his forehead, the bruises and aches from her blows, and shocked by them. "Impossible…she died…"

"Twenty years ago?" Phaedra whispered. "She did not. I don't know how, or why…but she was an adventurer, with my foster-father Daeghun…and she came to West Harbour, and I was born there. That's all I ever knew of her, she died…but that woman in the painting, your wife, was my mother…" Slowly Garius pulled back, detaching himself from her, and slipping back from the bed, rearranged his robes with cool, impenetrable dignity. Suddenly, too, he seemed aware of all the damage her fires had done to the room, every priceless memento was in ashes now.

"Esmerelle…betrayed me?" He whispered coolly, almost without emotion. "And you…the bastard result…" At that moment Phaedra was absolutely certain he would kill her. She almost didn't care. She'd just experienced that there were things that were worse than death. But Garius didn't say another word, he stepped back, his movements steady, though she saw suddenly that his fingers were shaking. The concealed storm of emotion she glimpsed within him was dark, and terrible. She had thought for a second that he might stop all his plans with the revelation, he might despair…but now she understood that he would never stop. This ritual, the power he sought, instead of being a way to build the world he had envisioned, would become another blunt tool of revenge, now against all the world and Esmerelle's memory as well as those who had killed her. Without another word he turned his back, and stepped through the door, slamming it shut behind him. And then He was gone…

Phaedra fell back on the bed, trembling now uncontrollably in every fibre of her body. Tears were wet on her cheeks, her body was bruised and raw. She was silent a moment, shell-shocked, her mind a quivering wreck. His intent, his touch, everything about the last few hours now seemed to have tainted, polluted her…she felt as if he had shattered her into a million pieces. And then she began to weep, and the storm grew within her chest, grew into a ragged scream, half-sobbed. The door was locked, she was trapped. Trapped in this scorched and seared room where she had almost been raped by the man who had terrorised her in her mind for weeks, tainting her thoughts, and now her body with his reek. Oh Gods…oh Gods, she curled up on the blackened, ashen blankets and, shivering, wept into the ripped and scratched pillow.

oooooo000000000oooooooooooo

Casavir looked up at the fortress, Crossroad Keep. In the darkness, it seemed the very den of evil there in the fading night, shrouded with the absolute gloom. And Phaedra was somewhere in there. He prayed she was safe. After all that had happened…surely the Gods would not take her from them, from everyone who needed her so, from him? He admonished himself for the thought, silently uttering a prayer of contrition. Whatever the Gods did, their purposes were higher than he could imagine, it was not his place to question their will. Sombrely he looked out over the farm that had been laid to waste in front of the keep, the gutted shell of the farmhouse, and the bodies…a hard-working decent family trying to build a life for themselves slain for no reason and left out in the dirt as if they were worth nothing, the wife, children…they must have died so alone, so afraid. He just wished there could have been something, someone there, to offer them some comfort, a little faith…so many died bereft. But their souls had no doubt gone to peace. All that remained for those of us left behind on this fallen world was to avenge them.

"What's the plan anyway?" Neeshka said sharply, as usual the tiefling showed a shocking lack of regard for the sanctity of the moment. "Don't tell me we're going to just charge the fortress ourselves"

"We can't waste a moment more" Vale answered quickly. "Garius is in there, and what we've heard about this ritual…it isn't good." Despite his slender frame and somewhat nervous demeanour, the elf had the staying power of a seasoned warrior. There were far worse comrades to have at one's side than the Cloaktower mages. But Casavir knew their first priority was their stated objective, stop Garius by any means necessary. Phaedra was secondary, if her safety featured at all. For one serving Neverwinter it could not be any different. But for him, Phaedra would always come first. "I recommend we strike fast, we can take them by surprise, before they have any more time to prepare whatever ghastly rituals they think they're going to get away with on Neverwinter's land."

"And Phaedra…we have to save Phaedra" Elanee whispered earnestly. Casavir glanced at her, saw the ravaged sorrow in her features…in truth it was Elanee in the party he was most concerned for, but she had insisted she was fine, and would fight to save their leader like everyone else.

"And track down Bishop too" Neeshka said, with odd defensiveness. There was a moment of awkward silence. Casavir wasn't the only one who had suspicions about Bishop's sudden disappearance.

"What do you think we're up against?" Khelgar shrugged, adjusting the gauntlets on his wrists.

"Judging by the state of the castle, there can't be more than two dozen Luskan soldiers garrisoned in that ruin" Vale answered. "Garius has no doubt brought a number of his cohorts with him, there'll be more of a challenge, but I would put my trust in a wizard of Neverwinter over a Hostower mage any day." He glanced back at the imposing castle, his eyes narrowed cautiously. "Our best bet is to rush the gate when they open them to change the guard, which should be any minute now." He said. They were currently standing out in the open, wasted field in front of the Keep, but the mounds of ploughed earth and straw as well as the unusually dark starless night hid them from the sentries. There was no light, the clouds were thick, black and ominous, from horizon to horizon. "Its time" Vale said suddenly. "They're opening the door." Creaks and squeaks of ancient machinery shattered the cool silence of the night. Instantly, like one well-oiled machine, the Cloaktower mages moved forward, slipping into formation behind their leader, Vale. Casavir followed, and so did the others. At full speed, they sprinted for the gatehouse, and by the time the Luskans spotted them through the miasmic darkness, they were already clear of the field, and coming straight for them. Even before the two guards could raise the alarm, Vale raised his hands, a chant escaping his lips, and the rest of the Cloaktower squad behind him working in concert. Waves of light spread forth, sending streams of energy up that lighted the silent, black night with a sudden burning blaze, shadows dancing and fleeing across the walls. In an instant the two guards fell dead, enveloped in a searing surge of magic that left them not enough time to even cry out. The cry went out from behind the walls to get the gates closed, but the ancient mechanism wheezed and protested, and finally gave up entirely. Quickly, with the gates now standing open and chaos in the courtyard behind as the Luskans tried to rally though most were only rising from sleep or drinking, Casavir and Khelgar sprang through the gap at the forefront of the party. They were followed by a volley of magic and battle cries.

Bursting into the courtyard beneath the looming Keep, they found chaos reigning over the Luskans encamped there. Some were barely bursting out of the tents where they had been sleeping, scrabbling for weapons and armour, others had already roused themselves and, with some small semblance of their usual fierce discipline, were already moving to counter the invaders. It was these for whom Casavir headed, Luskan or no he would not kill an unarmed man. Others did not have the same compunctions, a stream of fire raced over the courtyard singeing the grass and cobbles underfoot, and enveloping one of the tents. A chorus of horrific screams rose in the silent darkness, men stumbled from the tent, burning, howling like animals. But Casavir was a paladin, a warrior for justice first, and a priest only second, and so he forced himself to ignore their agony, with the well honed disconnection of battle, and rose to meet the evil men who were holding Phaedra captive.

"The doors!" Casavir heard Vale yell above the din, as another volley of spell-fire shot over him and through the Luskans, shockingly defenceless against the magic blazing over the battlefield. "Get to the doors!" But they were blocked by still more guards. He swung his hammer at the first Luskan warrior to reach him, but the man's shield swung up instantly, catching the blow and the man snarled at him savagely, already thrusting forward for a parry that Casavir threw up his own shield to counter. He was well-trained this one, and agile, but Casavir saw the weakness to his left flank…over-confidence. His next move was clear, he thrust his hammer forward in a feint to the left, his opponent instantly moved to capitalise on his supposedly open right, but at the last moment Casavir threw up his shoulder, catching the blade on the plate of his pauldron. It jarred his shoulder, but the blow bounced off the metal harmlessly, sending his opponent reeling and opening his left flank up again. Casavir slammed his hammer and caught the man's ribs in a bone-crunching blow. The Luskan fell screaming, and Casavir dispatched him quickly. Shandra was already engaging another soldier with her usual unembellished practicality, and so was Khelgar, now quicksilver in his athleticism, darting from opponent to opponent, and felling them all with a punishing flurry of blows. And the Cloaktower magic lit up the battlefield with streaking streams of brilliance and blazing bolts of magic, lighting the courtyard with a conflagration of wizardry, and cutting down Luskan after Luskan with an artistry of death.

"We're under attack!" A hoarse, commanding voice rose over the din. "Get back and seal the doors!" By Tyr, not that…! Casavir looked up the pathway ahead, where from the courtyard the roughly cobbled, broken-up road through the fortress led up an incline to a second, steeper plateau, defended by yet another set of walls, which fortunately did not have a gate. But the Keep that loomed behind them, now a shadowed behemoth of a structure against the black night, did have gates…and if they were sealed, the chances of getting inside were dimmer. Casavir made a break for them, but then three more Luskan guards appeared in the gap between the second set of walls and one of them was a tall, broad figure, armoured in demonic protrusion of spikes, between his gauntleted hands a vast broadsword held pointed towards the sky. A Luskan commander. "Rally to me!" He roared. "Let's push these dogs back!"

Neeshka darted past Casavir, and her sword and dagger flashed in the moonlight as she engaged one of the reinforcements…the Luskan guard never stood a chance, raising his sword and shield in a classic block only opened his lower body to a slick, needle-quick strike into his thigh from the tiefling's dagger, a dirty move he had no defence against. A ragged scream rang in the dark courtyard, but Casavir's attention was immediately taken by the commander who ran to intercept him, his huge blade with its dull sheen swinging threateningly, his eyes glinting with bloodlust behind his intimidating helmet. Casavir raised his shield, and caught the man's first vicious strike, the force of it almost staggered him, but the paladin held firm. Quickly he responded with another swing, but his opponent wielded his huge sword so skilfully that he managed to block the blow even without a shield of his own. Though the commander was accomplished, and brutal, they both knew this fight was not going to last long. The Cloaktower had dispatched the rest of the Luskans, and as the disciplined platoon of advanced with a menacing symmetry in their movements, he fought increasingly viciously, and Casavir responded with answering implacability. But he didn't give up, no Luskan would ever surrender. And when his mistake came, an overreached thrust of desperation that Casavir just managed to sidestep, Casavir struck back with all the force he could muster. It was over, breathing a little heavily, he brushed the sweat from his brow, and looked back to Vale and the rest of the party who walked quickly up to meet him.

"Well done" Vale noted quickly, then his gaze travelled past Casavir and moved up to the keep, a shadowy, crouching monolithic darkness against the starlight. Closer now, Casavir felt something dark and cold seeping from the still and silent stones. It oozed with evil…there was something deeply wrong within this fortress. "Damn it" Vale swore softly, and glided up the plateau to the Keep, and to the doors which had been closed and bolted shut, barricaded too no doubt. Casavir felt a twinge of unease, he doubted they could get through the doorway as easily as they had the outer gates, now that the Luskans knew they were here. And every instinct he had told him that they had to get inside this fortress and stop whatever was going on within it, now, as soon as possible. For Phaedra's sake, as well as for everyone else in Neverwinter. "Nathe, Sevann…I want these doors open" The leader of the Cloaktower mages ordered briskly. "Now." Two of his disciples moved past him silently, white robes rustling over the ground. They moved with confidence, almost arrogance; mages in general had that air. But while they summoned magic, fire, and light, with ease, it did not seem able to touch the door, spell after spell dissipated harmlessly in a flashing gleam as it was flung into the barricaded door. Their arrogance and air of invulnerability faded as quickly as their efforts did.

"Vale" One of them gasped. "We're being counter-spelled from the other side, Hostower magic" Magic, more magic…

"Gods, so the Brotherhood are here" Vale whispered, with horror. "He has mages on his side, we should have expected this." The Brotherhood of the Arcane…after all their protestations of innocence, Garius had more to do with them than they had claimed. Or were these more renegades from Luskan who'd joined with Garius? From what he'd heard the Luskan ambassador had said nothing about any more defections, so either way she had lied.

"Let me through" Khelgar pushed forward belligerently. "I'll punch those doors into matchwood."

"Not advisable, I'm afraid" Vale shook his head, raising his hands, and summoning a stream of magic that poured into the gate, floating in the air like vapour trying to pour through the cracks, wreathing the gates in a cool glow. "The wards they've put up will vaporise you the moment you touch it. Our only hope is someone undoing these things…" He closed his eyes, an air of intense concentration closed over his serene features. Casavir looked up the foreboding walls of the keep, no lights shone in any of the windows, it was empty and desolate, but somewhere, afraid, alone, Phaedra was inside. He knew she wasn't dead, somehow he knew it. But Gods why test him like this, forcing him to wait helplessly while she was so close, but in danger? He closed his eyes, his concentration no less than Vale's, and in his head rang the rituals, the liturgies of supplication. Tyr, let him save her.

Oooooo00000000000oooooooo

Afterwards, Phaedra could never say how long she lay alone on the shredded charred mattress in the desolate tower room. Smoke filled the tiny chamber, the shreds of the smouldering blankets and curtains of the bed lay around her, ravaged empty luxuries, mementoes of the terrible mystery of her mother's life. She was in shock. Even after all the dangers she'd faced, nothing had threatened her, shaken her quite so much, as Garius, mad with desire, astride her, trying to rip the dress from her body. She almost wanted to tear the gown away herself…it was his gift, another token of his sick obsession, tainted with the dead of Ember, heavy with his vile touch. She wanted to scrub herself clean for days, scald her flesh to rid it of even the memory of his hands on her body. And he had been inside her mind too, touching her thoughts, her memories, she wished she could rip him from her skull. But she couldn't, any more than she could rid herself of the knowledge who her mother had really been, who Esmerelle had loved and where she had learned her magic. That was deeper than the skin, deeper than the flesh. Suddenly Daeghun's story all made sense…her extraordinary talent for sorcery, but her inability to allow herself to use it; she'd been scared of it, after seeing what Garius had done. And Phaedra knew she was her mother's image, that fateful likeness had already brought her here, made her prey to Garius' lust…She lay back on the bed again, curled up her legs and arms around her helpless, bruised body. Even though she knew Garius' ritual would become an instrument of his dark, pitiless revenge against the world, a revenge that had become so much bitterer because of what he had found out about her, she dared not move even to find some way out of this room.

And then suddenly she heard the sound of a key being slipped into a lock. Her heart stopped at the noise, she threw herself up on the bed, clutching her arms closer around herself. Her magic was all but burnt out, not that it mattered anyway. Garius had thrown aside her most potent advantage, her font of pure raw power that she'd always relied on to get her through, like it had been nothing to him. She was defenceless. Panic stabbed into her like a cold blade, freezing her thoughts into an impotent knot. She couldn't think, she couldn't fight…and then the door swung open. Phaedra shrank back instantly, knowing that it had to be Garius, coming back for her…and then Bishop strode into the room. Phaedra literally couldn't comprehend that it was him for a second, her mind, still struggling with panic, sluggishly began to grasp that the others must have come for her, to rescue her, just like she'd hoped but had given up hope would really happen.

"Bishop…" She gasped, raising her body from the bed and staring at him with utter astonishment. He looked…a little ragged, a little dirty, as if he'd spent the whole last day on the move, but he was undoubtedly here, fully solid and real, and striking as ever. Of everyone in the party, it should have been most complicated for her to find him striding in like a knight in shining armour to rescue her…after he'd confronted her that night with a warning she'd found out she should have listened to all along…and after she had kissed him…but all she felt was a sudden tide of staggering relief, like he really was a simple, uncomplicated knight in shining armour. He was here, the nightmare was over. "You found me?"

"Easily" Bishop remarked, rather warily. "I just followed the smell of smoke, knew you'd be where the burning was." His gaze travelled quickly, perfunctorily over the ruined, blasted remnants of the rich trappings that were strewn across the tiny room. Eventually they settled on Phaedra, specifically on the rip in her splendid silver gown, a ragged tear that ran up from ankle to her lower thigh. His eyes narrowed, and Phaedra felt a blush touch her cheeks, but she was too shocked by a sudden change in Bishop's formerly nonchalantly sarcastic air to protest. "Did he…?" The ranger said, hoarsely, harshly.

"No" Phaedra shook her head instantly, and quickly tugged the swathes of silver silk to cover her leg. The thought of where his mind must have gone, finding her here on this scorched bed, dressed in this gaudy, revealing dress, ripped up to her thigh…it threatened to send her mind reeling into panic and despair again. "Are you alone?" She asked incredulously, realising suddenly that no one else was coming into the room.

"Yes" He answered laconically. Phaedra blinked with shock, so not merely had Bishop somehow found his way to her, he had done it alone. He must have left the others…infiltrated the keep on his own, in some way…he had done that for her, to save her. She felt another dizzying wave of feeling, and some sensible part of her whispered that she was still in shock, that she wasn't in full control of herself and the reason she felt so pathetically grateful was that she was still being affected by the memory of the horror of Black Garius, but the surge of release had the quality of hysteria.

"How did you get the key?" She breathed hoarsely.

"I swiped it from one of the guards, whatever, that doesn't matter" Bishop shrugged. "I'd bet the others are due any minute now though." He muttered.

"So you really did come here, for me" She whispered, still only half-believing it herself. "Why?" He looked at her intently, inscrutably, through hooded eyes. She knew what she must look like, swooning onto the covers in front of him in her scandalous gown. But she couldn't stop herself.

"Can you stand?" Was all he said in reply, as he suddenly leaned forward and reached for her. She shrank back automatically, instinctively from his closeness, forgetting that she had asked a question of him at all. Bishop paused, for a moment he looked on edge, more than his usual "Come on, princess, we haven't got all day" He said. Suddenly a wolf's howl, piercing, echoing off in the distance, sounded from outside the window, somewhere out in the hills beyond the Keep. Bishop tensed, glancing for a moment out into the cool darkness through the broken window. "And that's the rest of your valiant party, right on schedule" He muttered. Again he reached for her, and this time she let him take her in his arms. She wasn't quite sure why she went to him so unresisting, she was pretty sure she could stand on her own, and yet she allowed him to pick her up from the bed meekly. In fact she found herself wrapping her arms around him in turn, lacing her fingers behind his neck, as if this were natural and right, to let Bishop carry her, and turn from the bed towards the open door, his arms clasped tight under her body. She was just…so exhausted, so tired of being afraid, so shattered in mind and body after the ordeal that she had been put through, hour after hour, day, after day. Garius had tormented her for weeks, digging his claws into her mind, and it had drained her to the bone, so that after his feverish assault and the terrible revelation about her mother, she almost had no strength left of her own. And so she leaned on him, on the man who, despite everything, had come to this fortress to save her. Maybe it was stupid, foolish, but Bishop was here, and real, and his arms were around her. And so she gave into it all, and let him carry her slowly down the stairs.

Oooo000000000ooooooooo

Precious time drained away and all any of them could do was stand and watch Vale's fruitless, repeatedly wasted efforts to penetrate the magical defences of the gate. As the dark clouds overhead seemed to grow thicker and blacker with every passing moment, the shadow over Crossroad Keep became colder and more pervasive. And all that time, Gods alone knew what Phaedra was suffering inside this accursed place. The serenity to pray had long since left Casavir, something in the fortress was working upon him like poison seeping into his mind and soul. He had never felt anything quite like this, a palpable sense of evil that pressed down upon him like a great weight almost beyond his strength to resist. He found himself gritting his teeth, as though the walls of the fortress around him were slowly closing in. And it was almost as if the darkness that hung so thick over Crossroad Keep that it seemed a solid presence all its own was slowly pushing down closer and closer until it coated them all in its icy, bleak blankness. There was almost a sense in which it was hungry, as if it wished to make them like unto itself. And it only seemed to grow more intense, more piercing as time went on, as if something was gathering its power, taking on greater form and shape within the Keep. Garius must be doing something truly terrible, but to be so close to stopping him, and yet be unable to, was deeply unsettling. Only the firm imperative to save Phaedra from whatever was going on here kept him focused. He just wished that he could be doing something other than simply watching Vale, and the Cloaktower mages, mumbling fruitless incantations, summoning streams of dispelling light again and again, that seemed to only grow weaker and more ineffective as time went on, and none of them pierced the veil of magic over the door. The rest of the party paced restlessly or simply sat amidst the ruins uselessly as they waited, all feeling both the frustration and the pressing sense of doom seeping from the castle walls.

And then suddenly Vale's eyes snapped open. The mage slowly lowered his hands, blinking with shock, as Casavir immediately strode to his side. A breakthrough, pray Gods…let there be something…

"Impossible…" The elf breathed "The resistance to us, it just…stopped suddenly." He looked down at his spread hands as if expecting some kind of trick.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Khelgar leapt to his feet. "Let's get these doors open." But before they could start, the doors began to open outwards on their own, mechanisms squealing and protesting as they did so. Casavir tensed, drawing his hammer across his body. Whatever came through this door, whatever foul trick Garius had employed, he would fight his way through it and find Phaedra. He would fight until she was safe. But then the doors was forced fully open, and what came forward was no magic, no beast or monster, but none other than Bishop.

"Took you lot long enough" The ranger taunted, with a mocking sneer. "And, surprise, surprise, you couldn't even get in without me." Immediately Casavir glanced past him, into a cavernous hallway, and there on the floor dead bodies of two Hostower mages in their characteristic finery, each one with a number of arrows sticking out of his body. And there, amid the dead and the shadows, was Phaedra. Casavir felt a disorientating lurch of both intense relief and dismay. He'd never seen Phaedra like this, or ever imagined he would. She wore a flaunting dress of silver silk, ripped halfway up on one leg, the gaudy finery serving only to accentuate her extreme pallor, the thick black shadows under her eyes. She looked as if she had been brutalised, terrorised for hours. What had Garius done to her? And why? "Come on, let's put an arrow in that old man's eye and end this whole damned thing" Bishop said sharply, shrugging off the shock and questions of the rest of the party.

"Yes…" Phaedra walked over quickly, ignoring the plaintive, shocked gazes of the rest of everyone else, the hundreds of questions in all their eyes, just as fully as Bishop had. Despite her waifish appearance, there was a knife-sharp edge of purpose to her stature. Casavir, looking closer, noticed something disquieting, her posture was arched completely towards Bishop, and she stood as if somehow his presence was what was holding her up, the only thing holding her up. He had worried over Phaedra and Bishop for some time, and, though they didn't even look at each other never had Phaedra…seemed quite so dependent on Bishop, or quite so aware of him. It was him who had saved her, Casavir's heart sank. Gods, after all his prayers, why this? Instantly he rebuked his selfishness. What mattered was that Phaedra was safe, and now what mattered was stopping Garius. Phaedra looked over the party, almost expressionlessly. Her whisper, soft but utterly implacable, seemed to fill the vast hallway. "Garius needs to die."


	66. Chapter 66

_Yay! I'm back! Thanks to Lynn-Pintel for a very nice review, and Gaspode once again. And of course a favourite from Corvida-Magareth too. Moving onto the new chapter, Garius' story arc ends here (for now!), and Phaedra receives an unexpected gift in return for her efforts, yes the Captain of Crossroad Keep is coming into her own._

_Apologies if this chapter sometimes seems a little bleak at times. Phaedra did go through something rather terrible, and I didn't want to just do away with the consequences of that, so they will continue to be a background to her character development, but thankfully she does get other things to think about, including the arrival of Zhjaeve. A new companion, but one who I've found rather troubling I'm afraid. In all honesty I have very mixed feelings about Zhjaeve's involvement. In some way her function seems to be simply the transmission of information and to fulfill the 'mystic guide' trope. Doing something with her character is difficult when there's so little to work from. I've embellished and re-worked her explanations, got rid of her knowing about the Rituals of Purification right away (where did she get that information from anyway?), and here's hoping her relationships with other characters will help grow her into something a little more. She will become somewhat important to Phaedra, and some other party members aren't going to like that one bit! I'm also going to try and probe her motives as we go on, maybe her agenda might be a little more complex than it appears. _

_Otherwise, the movement into becoming hero of the world and Captain of the Keep seemed a little sudden in the game, so I put some reluctance in Phaedra's reaction to these ideas, hopefully making the development a little more gradual. Let me know if it seems natural. I also got rid of going back to Neverwinter then coming back to Crossroad Keep as it seemed needlessly complicated. Which gives Phaedra a bit more time to get used to the Keep anyway. _

_Anyway, read on please! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

"Where is Garius?" Vale asked quickly, staring at Phaedra uselessly. That was the critical question, wasn't it? Where was Garius? Phaedra felt her nails dig into her palm. She had to face him again, bring this to an end.

"We've got to head down…" Phaedra glanced back at the rest of the party gathering back through the gateway, and the Cloaktower mages. Urgency was critical, not merely because of the waves of power she could still feel boring their way slowly through the gelid atmosphere of the Keep, but because she didn't want to wait another second with their gazes, and every question they asked silently of her, pressing into her. "They're doing their ritual in the dungeon"

"Phaedra, wait" Elanee touched her arm to slow her, but withdrew it the moment Phaedra turned, as if she was afraid that Phaedra would slap her hand away. "How can you be sure?"

"Elanee, there is not a second to lose" Phaedra dared only look into her eyes for an instant. She could never tell just how much Elanee could see, just how much she could sense…and frankly she did not want to face the questions she had seen in Elanee's face since she'd entered the hallway. Those were questions she didn't want to have to answer…ever.

Quickly she led the party back to the left, the way Torio had taken her, into another long, vaulted hallway. Portraits that were coated with a thick layer of dust, some singed with fire, others peeling and fading, watched their passage implacably from the walls. Once Crossroad Keep must have been magnificent. Suddenly, splitting that thought in two, another pulse of dark energy seared through the Keep, this one shockingly intense, so much so that Phaedra felt it like an ache down to her bones. Bending over, she clutched her head, clenching her teeth tight…by the Gods, it was unbearable. She felt it as much as a physical thing, a wrenching of her joints, a involuntary grasping upon her muscles as if her body was trying to shield itself, as a mental agony, the scorching of thoughts by a passing brush of torment, a touch of pure evil. It rose, unbearably, a wave of discomfort that grew and grew and swelled until it was almost more than she could possibly bear and she only yearned to open her mouth and scream, but her teeth were clamped tight. And then it ebbed again, slowly releasing its hold…slowly…drawing back, but not fully, so that even when Phaedra found she could think, and hear and feel again, it was still there, working upon her like an unwelcome ache in her jaw.

"Ah…" Sand brushed his robes with clenched fingers. For the first time he looked rather dishevelled, sweat glistening on his narrow brow, his normally elegant posture twisted in discomfort. "That would be the impending part of our impending doom" He muttered through clenched teeth.

"By Mystra" Vale murmured. "The power…of it. What is he doing down there?" The Cloaktower mage closed his eyes a second, touching his head with fingers as if trying to focus himself. It was hopeless either way. The dark power was all-invasive, all-pervasive, clinging to the air like an oily film. "I begin to doubt our chances of survival." Vale murmured. "And I feel like I'm being optimistic" Phaedra heard a stirring among the other Cloaktower mages…and amongst her own party. They didn't want to hear that. Maybe it was the truth; the power beneath this fortress was immense. But Phaedra found she didn't care. She would see Garius dead. She wasn't leaving this fortress with…that man…that man who had almost raped her, still alive.

"Vale, Garius is dying tonight" Phaedra said softly, fixing the Sun elf in a cold glare. "Either you can help me destroy him, or you can leave."

"Agreed." Bishop sneered "Enough talking; let's get Garius. We don't need this fool's help" Phaedra glanced at him, her feelings a stormy swell within her as her eyes found her unlikely saviour. She had been conflicted about Bishop for so long, and now…she couldn't tell if her new confusion was just gratitude overwhelming her long-held caution, or if her consuming desire to end the man who had tormented and victimised her somehow did bring her closer to Bishop. It did feel…like he was the only one who really could understand her urgency, the strength of this desire to kill Garius.

"I never said anything about not helping you" Vale looked at her firmly. "Let's go down there then, before this gets any worse." And, despite the evident reluctance of some of the mages, they did go deeper into the shadowy fortress, further down towards the festering heart of this dark place, where Garius waited at the centre of this flow of horrid power. Guided by the aching, nagging sense of wrongness that pumped through the fortress, Phaedra led the way, following the way Torio had taken her originally, through another decaying corridor lined with luxuries that had fallen to pieces, and they emerged into another hallway, this one entirely bare and barren of anything that might once have made it liveable. To the side, a series of cold, stone steps led down a dramatic drop to a cast-iron doorway, secure as only a dungeon could be. This was the right place, Garius was down there; she could feel it down to the marrow. But unfortunately, the way was blocked.

"You may not pass, Shard-Bearer" Standing before them was a woman, sallow and thin, and garbed from head to toe in black. Her voice, and the way she held herself as she gazed through burning, black eyes at Phaedra, practically vibrated with the intensity of her purpose and her self-possession. "Our King forbids it. Garius will be reborn this night" And she was not alone, emerging silently from the shadows like wraiths were three of the more familiar Priests they had encountered before, with their animalistic ivory countenances and flowing black robes, hoarse rough breathing emerging from behind their fearsome masks. Each carried a mace, but Phaedra knew that these were not their true weapons, just as this woman, seemingly a leader, was far from defenceless. The same dark power pulsing through the fortress was at their disposal. But they would not take her, not after everything she had endured to get this far.

"Is Garius not your master?" Vale whispered, raising his hands defensively. The Cloaktower mage did not understand, how could he?

"We serve the King of Shadows, pawn of Neverwinter." The woman smiled coldly. "Garius serves him too, though he does not know it yet" Phaedra tensed. She did not like the sound of this. Garius had claimed mastery all along, but it seemed the Shadow Priests in the end saw things differently. And this ritual might yet have effects even Garius had not foreseen…the woman's words…being "reborn". No matter what that might turn Garius into, no matter if it caused him unending anguish or forced him to the realisation that he had been manipulated all along, the final terrible irony…none of that mattered to Phaedra. She didn't truly want Garius to suffer, she just wanted him dead. She just wanted it to over. "The King of Shadows has guided Garius to his fate" The woman murmured, her voice trembling with ecstatic bliss. "Used his greed and ambition to lead him unknowingly to paradise. Garius is blessed above all. He will join with the King of Shadows, become one with the eternal dark, ever living, ever serving"

"Not if I stop it" Phaedra snapped, sick suddenly of arrogant villains, and their endless monologues. She threw up her hands, and fire exploded across the room. Immediately the woman drew back, hissing like a scalded cat, she crossed her arms and the shadows all around her rose up like a shield. Instantly her three cohorts threw themselves into the fight with the reckless abandon only true fanaticism could bring.

The fight, in the end, was short and brutal. The Shadow Priests threw everything they had into the fray, webs of shadow, quick, stabbing darts of darkness, melding their power like it was a sword upon the anvil. But they were outnumbered, and even what subtlety they could muster was not enough against not merely Phaedra's power, but ally to it Sand's, Vale's, and the half-dozen Cloaktower mages and even four priests channeling the King of Shadows in this terrible place where his power was so strong could not stand against that. Even when the woman, the priestess, held back all of Phaedra's fire with her spindly skeins of her shadowy defences, Khelgar suddenly appeared from behind Phaedra and, with the strength of the Ironfist gauntlets, ripped one of the crumbling old wooden tables from the floor and flung it at the priestess. She gasped, stumbling back, her shadowy shield split apart like glass, and Phaedra's power poured in. It spilled like molton liquid into the seam, so that it erupted into the priestess and engulfed her in flame for a brief second; and then she was gone, none of her fearsome devotion enough to save her. Maybe she had been the leader of these shadow priests, or at least the one closest to Garius, perhaps the one guiding him, but none of that mattered anymore. The other priests fell soon after, one to a particularly gruesome spell of Sand's that, wreathing him in a nimbus of transformative magic, poured liquid stone through his veins. With one last horrific cry, he became stone…stone that crumbled away the moment Sand lowered his hands with a satisfied smirk. Vale and the Cloaktower mages swept the last two away in a torrent of light and scintillating energy that blasted through the room with gale-force power.

"Did you hear what she said?" Vale gasped out, with a glance at Phaedra, seeming almost staggered by her impassivity. "Seems like we don't have a moment left to lose"

"He's down there" Phaedra nodded quickly to the dungeaon door. "Waiting." She wasn't sure how she quite knew that Garius was expecting her. Were their thoughts still entangled? She felt another surge of revulsion, of outrage. He had to die; she had to burn him from her mind. Brushing past the others, she quickly led the way down the stairs, and pushed the creaking door aside. The sheer strength of dark power, of the sense of complete wrongness, that streamed forth the moment she pulled the door aside, almost felled her, but she managed to hold fast against it. Gods help her but no ritual was going to stop her getting to Garius. In a moment the sense of power ebbed a little, and she forced herself to step forward, into complete darkness.

The dungeon opened out beneath her. A passageway lined with cells, including the one which had held her earlier this night, led forwards. The sheer destruction had not ravaged the underground as deeply as it had upstairs; there were even chaotic towers of boxes pushed up against the walls, no doubt supplies from the siege that had ultimately destroyed Crossroad Keep. But there was more, and there was another doorway at the end of the corridor…through which Phaedra glimpsed an unnatural glow that made her head ache as she gazed at it. But still she forged onwards, through the aching tide of power that poured through the corridor from that doorway, growing stronger as she struggled through it. She was vaguely aware the others were with her. But the struggle was her own, just as what was to come when she finally entered the room beyond this one, would be hers alone.

But eventually she reached the doorway, and she stumbled into a shocking scene illuminated all by that sickly glow, that almost had more the quality of an absence of true light. Across the floor of the huge open cell that had almost the dimensions of a hallway and not a prison gleamed a vast magical sigil that she suddenly remembered from a dream. Traced in an unearthly purple gleam, it spread with aching complexity, spider-like, across the stone floor. Runes danced amidst its contours, seeming to move and change shape even under Phaedra's eyes. At each of the cardinal points of the circular shape that formed the centre, a compass-like design stood a Hostower mage, uniformly garbed, their ornate robes sweeping about them in a blisteringly cold wind. Their eyes were manic with the power that was travelling through them, their faces aglow with the intensity of their concentration, their hands all raised, and rays of howling energy, a sickly purple in colour, exploded from their clawed fingers and arced towards the centre of the design. There standing upon what seemed a pool of pure darkness that seemed to stir and undulate under his feet, was Garius in the same sumptuous black robes he had worn before. About his shoulders a cloud of energy blazed like another collar set upon his neck, but beneath his feet the darkness yawned, the darkness of something so utterly wrong…it was more than simply light's antithesis, it seethed with purpose, a ghastly life all its own. This must be the true substance of the king of Shadows.

"Phaedra" Garius said, almost conversationally, and his voice carried above the howling surge of magic with its characteristic piercing intensity. "I ought to have known you would not take the sensible route and give up" He smiled thinly. "So stubborn, just like her."

"Enough of this, Garius!" Phaedra screamed, throwing up her arms. Her hair whipped into her face from the currents of power sweeping through the room. "How my mother ever loved you I will never know…but I…"

"Oh?" Garius shook his head, almost pityingly, as if he regretted the necessity now, that had brought them here. As if he now wished they could simply have met as two equals, without Esmerelle and his insanity between them. "I think at last I can tell you why she loved me" He smiled again, as if he knew now that everything he had done had been a waste, and suddenly the irony of it was in his eyes, and it amused him at the last in his final madness. "Power. It was power, of course, that attracted her, enraptured her, like the moth to the flame. In the beginning I seemed to her a man with that kind of power, so she toyed with me for a time. Until, of course, she outgrew me and then I could no longer amuse her perverse will." Phaedra reared back; impossible, and yet…what Daeghun had suggested…and Esmerelle's dismissal of Duncan's affections. Had, she thought appalled, Duncan simply not been powerful enough for her mother?

"I'm going to kill you, Garius" Phaedra whispered.

"Understandable" He nodded. His steadiness was maddening. "I'd do the same thing in your position, no doubt. And yet…suddenly I'm not so sure you really need to kill me at all." He said gently, as if almost sorry to disappoint her. "This ritual seems to be doing a good enough job. The King of Shadows may just have double-crossed me." The Hostower mages stirred at that shocking announcement, but they seemed almost mesmerised by the ritual, bound up within it so that even if they had the self-possession to break away, the malevolence within its magical liturgy would not let them.

"I think I'm going to put this arrow through your heart just to be sure" Phaedra snapped, drawing her bow, and slipping an arrow through it with one fluid motion. Garius faced it with equanimity, even though Phaedra suddenly found her hands were shaking almost too much to aim properly.

"I think Esmerelle already stopped it long ago, I'm afraid, but you can do your best to finish what she started" He said softly. "It seems right that way, doesn't it?" Phaedra tried to aim, to fire, but her fingers trembled so much that she could barely grip the bowstring. Was it this power aching in her skull that held her back? But all she needed to do to end that was fire, kill Garius like she'd sworn she would. Yet somehow now, faced with him and every horror he had done to her, she couldn't. Despite all her resolve, her determination, the trauma of everything she had endured with him was still too strong, still so invasive that it could seize her muscles in this paralytic trembling.

"What are you waiting for?" Bishop snapped from beside her, as Garius watched under hooded eyes, as if he knew something about the both of them that neither of them did. She turned towards the ranger, raising her shaking, helpless fingers.

"I can't…" She gasped. And then a vast, yawning groan arose in the room, as if something dark and vast and hungry was being born, forcing its way through the void beneath Garius' feet that rose and fell like a tide, spilling across the summoning circle that contained it. Just as suddenly energy lanced upwards from Garius' form, framing him in incandescent purple light it hit the top of the room with a boom like thunder in a towering cloud of electricity. From there it spread, arcs of lightning snapping and crackling, across the ceiling, alight with evil power. A wave of force ricocheted through the room, shaking the dungeon around them, and sending streams of dust pouring from the ceiling as the fortress above trembled at its foundations. Phaedra staggered, reeling back from the aching intensity of the ritual before her, and fell into Bishop, who savagely grabbed her by the shoulder and held her reeling body upwards, and faced her, his tawny eyes ablaze with the dark magic that was reflected within them.

"By the Hells" He snarled into her face. "Finish him, damn it!" She glanced back at the ritual, and saw the four Hostower mages each suddenly surrounded by a hellish nimbus, purple flames that wreathed their shuddering forms in dark power, their mouths suddenly open in screams that never left their throats, as the shadowy centre of the ritual rose and fell and blazed until even Garius was nothing but a faint insubstantial shadow against a roaring, howling storm of power breaking through the dungeon. She seized her bow again, and, fighting through the incapacitating shivering, and through the blazing light and sweeping tides of power that blazed in the room, sending her dress and hair flying all around her, she found Garius again, standing amidst the swelling tides of dark magic. She was stronger than this! Stronger than what he had done to her! And, at last, she let the arrow fly. And it went, straight and true, through the tides of cold fire and shadows swarming around him, exactly where it had been aimed, to that pinpoint in Garius' chest. The moment it struck, an agonising shudder ran through the whole room. Garius staggered, raising his hands to his chest, and purple fire vomited forth through the room in an unstoppable surge, sweeping through the room in a vortex of sweeping power. Phaedra fell back, cowering against the wall, desperately trying to shield herself…what had she unleashed? The power was unbearable, sheer cold emptiness, but which had a life, a will, and an unstoppable hunger to devour. And then Garius stumbled through the storm, across the cracking, dissolving summoning circle, his hands clasped to his chest…blood dripped to the floor. Phaedra tried to scream, but her voice was strangled in her throat. How was he still alive? She had…struck him right in the heart…but there he was, wreathed in cold fire, crackles of lighting dancing around him. In their effervescent light she almost thought she could see Garius' bones standing out against his flesh, alight with a horrific glow.

"What…have you done to me?" He gasped. "Phaedra…" And then he fell back, and hit the floor in a swirl of black robes. Instantly the screams of the other Hostower mages echoed through the room, suddenly audible, discordant, and impossibly loud. They were all of them wrapped in fire and light, of that same ghastly purple hue, and shadows danced around them, hungry and devouring, darting through their skin, wrapping them in cords of darkness. But then, one by one, they also collapsed, dead, within the searing coils of fire and light. And the howling void of darkness at the centre of it all began to pull back, through the summoning circle that was sending streams of light and lightning through the air as it strained to hold back the unimaginable explosion of negative energy. The power was draining out of it, without Garius and his cohorts to hold it here. Phaedra watched, paralysed from the other wall, as the whole crackling structure of lightning was pulled back through the circle, and all the fearsome powers that had accompanied it were dragged with it. It only took a few seconds more. And then suddenly, shockingly the void in the centre closed in on itself. A last screeching, discordant surge of power swept past Phaedra, sending her head, and something in her chest she suddenly realised was the shard, aching with agony, and then in the next instant it was gone, it was over. The room was silent, and empty of all but the bodies of the five mages, lying all upon the stone floor, and they too were silent and empty entirely. Sickened, Phaedra found her gaze travelling over their pale, bleached skin, their open, unseeing eyes, their faces twisted in agony. And Garius…he was lying there prone before her, with her arrow in chest, and blood flowering upon his rich silk robes. He was dead. Phaedra looked away again, feeling like she was about to cry, but no tears came to her dry, sore eyes. It was over. But it almost felt like it was too late; the damage was already done. He'd touched her, wounded her…deeper than the skin, forced her to be aware of just how vulnerable she was…maybe the scars from that would never fade. But at least he would haunt her no longer. Now she just needed to start picking up the pieces.

"By Mystra" With an exclamation of shock, Vale and the Cloaktower mages spread through the room, the sun elf examined one of the lifeless bodies with horror. "What in the hells was he doing down here?"

"What you see here is the price one pays when attempting to use power without the means to control it." Sand murmured significantly, joining Vale by the dead body of the prone Hostower mage, hovering over it with clear distaste, and yet undeniable curiosity. Phaedra raised her head slowly; was that a lesson for her from Sand at this moment? Just what she wanted…

"I'll get through to Nevalle that we're done here" Vale nodded quickly, business-like once again, quickly leaving all his misunderstanding and mystery to those higher up the chain of command, like a good servant of Neverwinter should. "We'd better clean this up before one of the Neverwinter Nine gets here; let's start by hauling this Luskan filth out of the Keep first…"

"We'll assist you" Casavir offered, and Khelgar stepped up alongside the paladin to do likewise. As Casavir passed Phaedra, she grasped at his shoulder, and he immediately glanced at her. Blessedly, there weren't any questions in his piercing blue eyes, though he and all of them deserved some answers from her now Garius was dead, only his usual aching compassion and concern for her well-being. Nevertheless answers would have to wait, for now there was only space for one anxiety, one pressing necessity in her mind, and on her lips.

"Burn them, Casavir" She whispered, leaning against his armoured chest, so that her lips were near his ear. "Make sure you burn all of them." Casavir nodded grimly, thank the Gods he understood. If there was the slightest chance that the ritual had the kind of the effect that the Shadow Priestess had suggested it would, she would not allow there to be anything of Garius left to be 'reborn'.

Ooooo000000000000ooooooo

They set a pyre outside the walls of Crossroad Keep and it burned good and strong, despite the winds that buffeted the lonely hillside as dawn poured grey and misty over the remote fortress. Amidst the flames, Garius and his four cohorts, burned, with the shadow priests thrown in for good measure…the bodies lay under a heap of the dark wizard's possessions that they were using as fuel; magnificent silk robes that crackled and sparked in the fire, linen sheets and fur bedding, a few pieces of exquisitely carved furniture he'd brought over from Luskan broken into matchwood. It was all of it the kind of wealth and luxury that any Docks rat in the City of Sails would have killed for, and Garius, with typical Hostower arrogance, had carted it with him into the wilderness of Neverwinter, and now they were burning it upon his corpse. Bishop smiled for a moment coolly, that thought did appeal to him. It should have been simpler though. Another enemy dispatched, a Hostower mage of all things, one of the circle who made Luskan what it was…but looking down again into the crackling, snapping fire, Bishop found himself less satisfied than he should have been with their little adventure. Phaedra had, in a dead-pan quiet voice, revealed that her mother had been hitched to Garius years ago, before she was born in fact. It explained a lot of things, enough to let the druid, the paladin and all the rest of them coo and fret, but it wasn't the whole story, not by a long shot. And it sure as the Hells didn't explain what had happened when Bishop had met Garius at the foot of the tower in which the mage had been holding Phaedra captive, and what Garius had said to him there:

_He'd made his way into the derecript castle through a broken window, evading the Luskan soldiers as easily as he'd ever done in the early days. But he knew that was the easy part; he'd seen Luskan garrisons first-hand, he'd meticulously learned how they worked and how to exploit every single weakness, however small, that they had. But a Hostower mage was an unknown, everything about Garius was a mystery. Including why he was so obsessed with a simple farm-girl from the swamps, with more bluster than sense and her scrawny self-righteousness. One thing was for sure, she wouldn't be executed, or handed over to the soldiers for their amusement, the way that the pitiful wenches that occasionally strayed into Luskan patrols in the Borderlands were. That meant she was somewhere in here. Not the dungeon, too obvious…and Garius, if what Bishop knew of his dealing with Phaedra was any indication, had a flair for the dramatic. He'd seen no lights in the east wing from outside, but there had been fire in one of the towers, to the east side. A good place to start. Carefully he made his way along the silent passageway. Crossroad Keep seemed almost entirely unoccupied, but even Garius had to have some hangers-on, maybe even that bitch of an ambassador, and Bishop was in no mind to encounter her again. He rounded a corner, watching his back as he did so…and felt for the stair behind him with one foot. Ah…the smell of burning, from upstairs, like a bonfire, definitely Phaedra's style. He was about to turn and make his way up, without even giving his surroundings a cursory glance…and then Garius walked out of the shadows under the stairs, where he'd been standing so silent and still that he might as well have been invisible, his thick black robes making him seem almost one with the darkness. Despite never having seen the wizard, Bishop knew right away who he was facing, exactly whose presence he'd entirely missed because he'd been too damned focused on Phaedra…again. _

"_Shit!" Swearing, he moved lightning-fast, in one instant he pulled his bow from his back, and aimed it right at Garius' head, an arrow lay between his fingers in the next. Even so he knew he hadn't been fast enough. Garius was a wizard, a Hostower archmage. If he wanted to, he could have killed Bishop in a second, but he hadn't. And so Bishop hesitated, holding the arrow aimed at Garius' pale, bulbous head. _

"_Don't waste your energy, ranger" Garius said, soft and cool, his voice a dry serpentine slither. "I'm not your enemy. We both want the same thing…" He paused and Bishop noticed something curious about his presence, he looked brittle…almost as if he was about to shatter in on himself. _

"_Oh yeah?" Bishop sneered, holding the arrow firm. Even though he knew enough about magic to know it wouldn't do him much good, he wasn't about to show any weakness to this man "And what's that?" Garius must know him from some sense of what Phaedra had experienced, the things they'd shared in this strange exchange of thoughts, which was a little uncomfortable but not unexpected. _

"_Phaedra…" Garius rasped softly, a long pause after that made Bishop about to answer scornfully on that basis alone. But then the dark wizard added an addendum, so soft it was barely audible. "Out of this fortress."_

"_Not true" Bishop snapped. "I want you and every other Luskan bastard in this place dead."_

"_Is that so?" Garius looked up at him exhaustedly. "Well you won't have to wait long for that." Bishop frowned, but Garius offered him no explanation for his cryptic fatalism. "Take her away from here, ranger" He said instead. "Forget the rest of the fools gathering outside the gate." _

"_Easy" Bishop shrugged. "But there's nothing in it for me. I'd rather put an arrow in your head and end it now…" He ran his fingers through the fletching of his arrow warningly. _

"_If you even could…" Garius muttered coldly, and something in Bishop, despite himself, respected the old man's sheer palpable sense of mastery. And then the ancient archmage reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a single rusted key, which he offered to Bishop. "There" He said "You'll need this. And yes, she is upstairs, and she is utterly vulnerable. She'll welcome you like a saviour, ranger." Grudgingly Bishop seized it, without ever lowering his bow. "You may think you're the one in control of this, but you're not" And then Garius suddenly leaned in towards Bishop, his wrinkled, pale features pinched, as if he was seized by a sudden impulse to sob, but what was left of him was just too withered to give in to it. His voice was hoarse, ragged. "She leads you on, she makes you think you're the one who has her where you want her, but she's always been two steps ahead, and it's been her dance all along. If you love her, you've already lost at her game." _

"_I don't love her" Bishop snarled, then fell silent, unsettled by the intensity of his reaction to Garius' insinuations. Was he really here because he'd felt that this man, this pathetic ruined old man had challenged him by luring Phaedra away under Bishop's own watch? Judging by the state Garius was in, Phaedra had beaten him good and proper at whatever game he thought he was playing with her. And Bishop certainly wasn't playing the same game._

"_Well then get away from her before you do" Garius muttered, withdrawing slowly into the darkness. "She'll make you love her, before you even realise its happening, and then you will be her's." And then he simply turned his back, seeming almost to suddenly forget that Bishop was there, and walked away down the corridor on unsteady footsteps. Bishop considered firing an arrow into his fleeting back, but he knew the wizard would likely end him before that shot hit; and besides he had what he wanted. This key, Phaedra…that was all that he was here for; Garius, Garius' cryptic words, none of them meant anything to him; it was all nonsense, insane ramblings. Phaedra couldn't make him love her, not like she did the rest of her merry band, he knew far better than her, than Garius. He closed his fingers around the key. _

Bishop glanced down at the key still held within his fingers. What Garius had said was worth less than nothing. Loving her…Phaedra of all people, or any useless wench for that matter…Bishop didn't get tied down to people like that, no one owned him. It was Phaedra who had no idea what she was getting into, and he was the one leading her on, not the other way around. But, he reminded himself, she was the one who had kissed him, he hadn't expected that, or planned that…though he'd wanted it. Swearing under his breath, he shook his head, trying to rid it of the last remnants of the wizard's insane murmurings.

"Can I have that?" And then Phaedra's murmur sounded from behind him; instantly he spun around and met her glinting green eyes. She'd changed out of the silver gown, back into one of her usual simple peasent dresses, although somehow it didn't seem to fit her as well any more. She seemed to know it too. "The key, I mean…" She said quietly, after a moment in which they both simply looked at each other, both wary of each other, each considering the other. He knew she was thinking about the kiss, and about him finding her in the midst of that desolation.

"Sure" He shrugged carelessly, handing it over into her open hand. "What are you going to do with it anyway?" She didn't answer right away, but moved past him slowly, on studied, careful footsteps, until she reached the edge of the roaring pyre, and she looked deep into the flames for one long moment while Bishop watched her warily from the side.

"I'm going to lock the door to that room" She said, at last. "And never go back there or think about it ever again." Bishop frowned. Even if that was what she thought she could do, he wasn't convinced. She wasn't about to burn what had happened to her with Garius' body, or seal it away with the room. Maybe she couldn't. She just wasn't someone who could easily cut their losses, move on, and leave the past behind in the ashes, the dirt and the blood. Bishop had done that a couple of times, taken on new names when he had to, made up stories, and kept on moving. Phaedra, though…he couldn't see it. But maybe that suited him in the end.

"My lady…" And there was Casavir, trailing behind uselessly as usual. He ignored Bishop, who nonetheless smirked slyly for the paladin's benefit. Phaedra turned from the fire, and met Casavir's concerned gaze with alabaster expressionlessness. "We found Aldanon in the library, he was safe and unharmed. Seems like Garius needed him to help with the ritual, but whatever he told him, he can't seem to get out exactly what it was Garius was doing. But it just seems to be his usual carelessness. He doesn't seem traumatised at all, in fact he seemed entirely engrossed in the books in that library"

"I'm glad" Phaedra said quietly. "Aldanon has been a help." Bishop snorted audibly. He hadn't met Aldanon himself, but it didn't seem that way to him. Getting himself kidnapped…the old man was probably more trouble than he was worth.

"Also Garius…had been collecting shards too, it seemed." The paladin continued, slightly anxious, almost wary, as if worried that the wrong thing might set Phaedra off. Bishop thought he likely gave himself too much credit if he thought he could dig under Phaedra's surface, get under her skin. It took a certain skill, as well as a certain ruthlessness to do that. But when he did, those few times when she'd been utterly vulnerable in his arms, the reward had been worth it. And in the end, when she finally gave herself up completely, it would just be more satisfying for her close-kept dignity. "We found one, in his study." He offered, in one hand, the bag which Phaedra had left behind originally, that finely woven thing from the corpse of the Githyanki madwoman which bore within it the shards they'd collected from before and which he'd been carrying during her absence, and in the other yet another example of the silver pieces, a glinting, sharp nugget of silver with a straight edge. Bishop raised an eyebrow, the whole question of the shards had been a background issue for a while. Not that it really mattered to him; but hey if someone else came chasing after them that meant more enemies to kill.

"Thank you Casavir" Phaedra smiled distantly, and took them both in hand again. Bishop was sure he saw something change in her demeanour as she held them, glancing lingeringly from the single new shard, Garius' possession, to her own growing collection. He couldn't put a finger on it, but maybe she stood a little straighter, held herself with a little more fragility. Like the shards both gave her strength and bound her tighter. "I'm not sure what I'm meant to do with these anymore." She noted quietly. "But they seem to want to be together…so…" With an elegant flick of her fingers she dropped Garius' shard into the bag, and then clipped it back on her belt, where it had belonged, like it had never left.

"There's something else" Casavir continued, with a little hesitation as if he was unsure of what exactly to make of what he'd found. "We found someone in the dungeons; a prisoner…"

"Torio?" Phaedra looked up quickly. Bishop clasped his fingers into a fist. Torio should rot.

"Not her" Casavir answered. "She escaped, along with most of Garius' staff. Vale is returning to the Cloaktower to track her down, but she may be long gone." He paused. "No, this prisoner is someone else…something else." Oh get to the point paladin, Bishop thought irritably. "And she's asked for you."

Ooooo00000000000oooooooo

"Forgive me, Master Aldanon, but I do not understand" Vale shrugged his thin, elegant shoulders. Standing in the midst of the old dungeon beneath Crossroad Keep, the pristinely garbed wizard once again looked a little out of place, especially talking to grizzled Aldanon. Despite the battle Vale still looked as if he had not a hair out of place, but Aldanon appeared as if he'd been dragged twice through the dusty keep at the back of a handcart. Clearly he'd followed the wizard down here, and was offering his own opinion on this 'prisoner' Casavir had so mysteriously mentioned to Phaedra.

"Very well" Aldanon wasn't cowed by Vale's evident complete lack of comprehension. It was a bit of a shock to see him alive, but a relief too. She did like Aldanon, despite his unique manner of expressing himself. "Let us set aside the broader metaphor of the stone and narrow our attention to the to fact that is has been cleft in two which, while not a fact, is a smaller metaphor than the first. You see, at first glance, the two halves both appear as separate stones, but they were both once one stone; yet not. Do you follow?" Ah, Aldanon was as coherent as ever.

"Squire Blake" Vale turned to Phaedra with evident relief as she slowly descended the stairs back into the dungeon where just hours earlier she had faced the horror of Garius' ritual. Strangely, like the rest of Crossroad Keep, much of the malice had now left this place with the end of the horrific ritual, and she was a lot more comfortable here than she might have been. "I was just speaking to Aldanon concerning the prisoner we've recovered here." Vale continued. "A woman…but not of Neverwinter, or Luskan, or even perhaps this plane of existence." Phaedra raised an eyebrow, how curious. The more she heard about this prisoner the more intrigued she was. "The prisoner has asked for you personally. I was hoping you might be able to help us out concerning her identity, or her intentions. Aldanon has a theory, but I'm afraid..."

"If you both would simply listen, the comparison to a rock, a big rock, is a simple one, almost perfect." Aldanon rambled. "This prisoner you have... it seems that she is of the same stone as the githyanki, but yet she is not." The Githyanki? Phaedra started with shock and a note of unease. They were gone, dealt with…or so she'd thought. And yet, if she understood Aldanon correctly, what he was saying was that the prisoner was…of the same people as the Githyanki, but not identical to them. "You see, both were once one people, at one time, even though time is a very difficult thing to measure depending on the Plane, and that's not counting time in the Astral Plane or on…"

"Forgive me Aldanon, but is the prisoner a threat or not?" Vale rubbed his fingers together with exhausted frustration.

"Oh I don't know that" Aldanon answered, as if that were elementary. "I do know that the Githzerai and Githyanki have been at war for millennia. That is common knowledge." Phaedra blinked with surprise, that illuminated the situation a little more, and reassured her just a little more. So the prisoner was an enemy of the Githyanki, then; a common ally perhaps? And this word…this 'Githzerai' Aldanon threw out so carelessly, something about it had an inexplicably calming effect, set sibilantly next to the guttural hateful moniker of the Githyanki. Phaedra just wished she knew a little more of this 'common knowledge'. "So I should think if your young lieutenant here..." And Aldanon gave her a formal nod. "Well met again, by the way, you seem to be everywhere... is hunted by the Githyanki, then the Githzerai, and this Githzerai prisoner, would be allies, by default. But I could be mistaken."

"Perhaps I should just speak to her" Phaedra said carefully. She felt…a strange pull towards this prisoner, the more she heard the more she wished to look upon, and hear, this woman.

"If you think it is best, Squire" Vale shrugged. He motioned to a cell further down the corridor. "Lord Nasher trusts your discretion and so do I, but be wary of this woman. She has…an uncanny air…" But Phaedra barely heard him; silently she glided past Vale and the agitated Aldanon, towards the cell where she felt…she was meant to be.

"I felt your presence before my eyes fell upon you, Kalach-cha" And then the voice sounded. One could simply call it the voice of an older woman, with a cadence that was at once strange but soothing, yet that would not do justice to its ageless thrill, as if it spoke with the weight of eons. And when it spoke that name that had become hateful to Phaedra's ears, this 'Kalach-cha', suddenly the title rang with the resonance of a truth recognised almost instinctivally, as if it had been written in the beat of Phaedra's heart all of her life. It was, she remembered, her very first thought about the name, until Zeeaire's death had put it from her mind. "Step forward, let me look upon you." Slowly, automatically, Phaedra obeyed, stepping up to the barred window of the cell. Standing, there, tall, serene and reverent as if she was within some a sacred space and not this dingy cell, was a woman, who did in many ways resemble a Githyanki. She had the same mottled greenish skin, long pointed ears and piercing grey eyes as the fearsome warriors Phaedra had encountered. And yet, she was less gaunt and predatory than they were, and instead of their ever-present tension always on the edge of exploding, her features were still, calm and serene. Her frame was narrow, bony, and angular too, with long and slender limbs and delicate, graceful fingers, but instead of being coiled around and honed towards a core of incipient violence, it was rather nestled within a subtler but undeniable air of ascetic detachment. Her costume was exotic, but certainly not that of a warrior. A gauzy veil, embroidered with a silver design at either hem, ran across much of her face and neck, and was tucked beneath each of her ears, each of which had a profusion of glinting earings. It alternatively revealed and hid her thin nose, bloodless lips, and sharply formed chin, depending on the fall of light and shadows over its surface. A phylactery of sorts hung from her forehead, a shimmering, delicate piece of white gold or platinum, glinting between her the fall of her braided hair, which was tightly coiled and pulled tight to the back of her head, and a dark murky brown. A thin cloak of cloudy grey covered her shoulders, and though her shoulders and her midriff were bare, there was no sense of flaunting display about the grey skirt that hung in waves of silk to her knees, folding like the petals of a rose, and belted to a circular silver clasp set on her stomach, or the wrap around her slim chest. Set in the centre of the latter, was a single gemstone that gleamed with an otherworldly light, and her arms were wrapped with leather and a coiling silver armlet. Phaedra had never seen anything like her garb before, but it was beautiful, and somehow…mystical. And yet the woman did not speak at all for the moments Phaedra gazed at her with wonder, she only watched Phaedra back, and though her alien features and that veil made it hard to read what she was thinking, Phaedra knew she was being considered in just as much detail.

"You asked for me" Phaedra said at last. "By name."

"Your name…" The woman raised a curved eyebrow. "Your name is not how I know you, child of elf and man." She moved forward in the cell, each step deliberate, like part of an ancient rite. "Know that it is this title our enemies have draped upon you, this Kalach-Cha, whose echoes have reached the ears of my people, they who are known as Githzerai. At first, we thought our enemies had erred, that they did not know that of which they speak. But here, now, as you stand in my presence, I see the truth." She lowered her head as if in reverence, yet her eyes never left Phaedra's face. "I am here to aid you, Kalach-cha. Now I know that you are the reason I have come to this place, this plane where time runs by like drops of rain upon the seas of Limbo."

"You've come to help me" Phaedra repeated slowly, taken aback completely by the sheer depth of importance this woman seemed to be applying to her. It seemed she had been hunted by the Githzerai, whoever they were, as much as by the Githyanki, but for an entirely different purpose. Perhaps it was the air of the speaker herself, but the words had the ring of some great destiny, something Phaedra was not so sure she felt comfortable with.

"Yes" The Githzerai woman nodded. "I know much of the problems that beset your people and mine; the reason behind these attacks upon your heart and home. Let me go free, and allow me to travel with you, as I have been charged, and all I know will be yours. Kalach-cha, you shall have no greater ally than I." Information, so this woman thought she could offer information…there was no telling which of the tangled threads of this mess that Phaedra had found herself in that she could help unravel.

"Let her go free?" Vale glanced over, a little alarmed. "Squire, after what these things did in Neverwinter is that wise?" Phaedra shot him a glance, what did he know of what the Githyanki had done? Despite her experiences, she still couldn't help but trust this woman…she was just so different to the Githyanki, to anyone Phaedra had ever met.

"This cell is abhorrent to me" The Githzerai said, with a note of cold dignity. "It is a shackle of stone encasing me…it causes memories of the ways of the ilithids to surface in my mind. I have borne this indignity because I knew that it would bring you to me and through us a greater truth will be known."

"So if I free you, you'll tell me everything you know?" Phaedra made sure, before she even began to piece together some of the stranger things the Githzerai was saying.

"I seek to know this plane, this world that I have come to as a stranger, a traveller." The woman went on; there was no chance of a simple 'yes' it seemed. "And to know you, Kalach-cha; and speak honestly to you and to your world both, so you might truly know what strikes at your heart."

"Then I accept" Phaedra answered, on the fly. After all, had she not accepted people on far more dubious terms? And if Zhjaeve appeared to have strange ideas about Phaedra's own cosmic significance, well…Phaedra could deal with that when the time came. Right now, information was what she needed. Information that Zhjaeve just might be able to provide. Because although Garius was dealt with at last, she did not believe things were over yet. There was still the King of Shadows, who the Githyanki had been chasing once. She doubted he, whoever he was, would be finished even with Garius' demise. And even if that particular problem could be left to Neverwinter, as perhaps it should have been from the start, it would be a great relief to finally know something about these forces that had circeled her for so long. She was in limbo again, and she was tired of it. If this woman could help shed some illumination, she would accept her help gladly. And there was something else…some inexplicable effect the mere presence of the Githzerai seemed to have on her. Perhaps it was her serenity or her deep certainty, but somehow it blunted the rawness of some of the things Phaedra had so recently endured. "Vale, let her go" She turned to the wizard.

"Are you sure Sir Nevalle will approve of this, Squire?" Vale moved over. "This woman is in Neverwinter's custody. I'm sure he'll want to interrogate the prisoner further…"

"Nevalle trusted me to handle this operation, Vale" Phaedra snapped, with the cold, clipped tone of command she barely recognised in her voice. "And she's offering to share her information willingly, isn't that enough? Let her out."

"Very well, Squire" Vale obeyed instantly. He quickly unlocked the cell door, and swung it open with a sharp tug. He and Aldanon both moved closer as the woman stepped towards the doorway, with the same deliberate controlled air in even the smallest gesture she made. She ignored them almost completely however and her eyes did not leave Phaedra's face, yet far from being unnerving Phaedra found the intensity of her gaze…strangely compelling. It was almost hypnotic.

"My utmost thanks, Kalach-Cha" She said as she reached Phaedra. "Shall we step outside into the clear air, and see this land for which you and your people have shed blood, that I might know the strength of your duty? There I shall make known to you what the lore of my people reveals."

"Wait, who are you?" Phaedra blinked…somehow it hadn't seemed necessary to ask until now, as if all of the woman's talk of knowing had rubbed off on her, and she really did think she knew enough about her to trust her as completely as she, strangely did. "I mean, what's your name?"

"I am Zhjaeve" Came the answer.

Oooooo000000000000ooooo

"Look" Zhjaeve motioned, with a graceful, dancer's sweep of her slender fingers out into the fields on the plateau beyond Crossroad Keep. Standing beside her on the walls of Crossroad Keep, Phaedra found herself looking almost automatically where Zhjaeve gestured as if directed by the strings of a puppet, though in truth she saw nothing to justify the Githzerai's intense focus. The fields were the same as before, a wasted desolate expanse, their crops crushed under-foot by the Luskan soldiers Garius had brought here. But Zhjaeve seemed to find it fascinating and so Phaedra looked again. "Even now shadows fall upon this plane. Yet still its beauty persists" And then, guided by the voice of the Githzerai whose carefully considered intonation gave it an undeniable sway, she began to see it anew. It was indeed beautiful…simple, a little devestated, but still beautiful. Look at the gentle sweep of the hillside, or the exquisite stillness of the field under the morning. Maybe it was the simplicity of it, or perhaps the potential…new growth could come here, despite the lengthening shadows. Whatever it was, Phaedra found her mind thrilled to Zhjaeve's words. "It is not surprising to me that our enemies wish to mar this place with their blades and their war" Zhjaeve continued.

"'Our' enemies?" Phaedra raised an eyebrow questioningly at the pronoun. "You know them as well, then?" It was Zhjaeve who had led her to climb here, up onto the walls of the Keep, and she'd found it unexpectedly restorative. Indeed the whole fortress, cleansed of Garius' malice, seemed less menacing this morning, and more habitable, which was rather fortunate, as Vale had made it clear they were expected to remain here until Sir Nevalle reached them with further instructions, whatever that meant.

"Know this; the signs of this conflict you have witnessed are not where the threat upon your world begun." Zhjaeve said, and Phaedra braced herself for a long, ornate explanation. "They are but glimpses of things that travel well into the past and the present. It is all part of a greater war, a war almost as great as the one that split my people on the sword of Gith long ago, and the tragedy is tied to such a blade." Again she gestured out into the courtyard, and this time the precision of her gesture was such that it was the seeping shadows behind the farmhouse and stretching out beyond the trees that were highlighted to Phaedra's eye. "These shadows you see" She continued. "There is a Lord who dwells in darkness with them. And he has fought on this Plane before against those who have embraced Gith's hatred, the githyanki."

"The King of Shadows" Phaedra said quietly, there was nothing new yet. And yet Zhjaeve's words imbued this man with an even greater cosmic threat than Phaedra had suspected so far, though of course Zeeaire's last words had threatened something of the sort.

"Indeed, it is this Lord, this King of Shadows, whose malice lies so deep across your world as his power waxes that it attracted the attention of the Githyanki and of my people" Zhjaeve went on. "The Githyanki came to this world for vengeance. He had attacked them years ago, attempted to cast his shadows upon their fortresses in the plane beyond"

"He attacked the Githyanki?" Phaedra gasped. "On the Astral Plane?" Up until now, despite the power and religious devotion of his followers, she still hadn't suspected that the King of Shadows was more than a powerful warlock, but…plane-walking, leading armies against the Githyanki…these were extraordinary things, even for a warlock. Could he be more dangerous than she had even suspected?

"The story of the King of Shadows runs deeper and darker than you have known." Zhjaeve read the exact meaning from her shock. "But you must uncover his secrets, if we have any hope of defeating him."

"Wait…" Phaedra turned, and for the first time the spell of Zeeaire's absolute certainty was broken, and she realised that the Githzerai had been directing her towards taking on the burden of destroying the King of Shadows herself…as some kind of cosmic heroine. Yes, the King of Shadows concerned her, after all she'd done more than anyone to face him so far. But Neverwinter, people like Vale, were far more qualified to 'uncover' the knowledge they needed and implement it. There was a difference between reacting to the charges given to her, find out about the shards, or to the blows of fate, saving Shandra from Zeeiare and defending herself from Garius, and actually charging into full-blown combat with a dark villain or, in essence what Zhjaeve seemed to be implying, trying to save the world. It was a fine line she had just managed to walk so far, but plunging so far from it scared her. "You want me to face the King of Shadows, fight him myself?"

"Kalach-cha, what else can you do?" Zhjaeve looked at her over her veil, intently. She seemed almost surprised, a rare disturbance in her serenity, that Phaedra was questioning her. "Each day he grows in power. He can already make his presence felt beyond his chains. The advantage is his."

"Yes, I know…" Phaedra glanced away, out into the distance, towards the Mere, and the breeze lightly caressed her face, sending her hair dancing. "I have felt…his influence, seen…its effects on my home, my people. But he is too strong for me, for one person to fight alone. I've done…as much as I can, more than anyone could expect of me. And now Garius is dead…I'm not sure I can do anything else."

"If you do not, then everything you see before you will fall to shadow" Zhjaeve said categorically. "And your home, everything you love, will die." Phaedra turned back to her, and stared at the Githzerai with shock and horror. What made her so completely, utterly certain? And certain she was, her voice had the cool solidity of granite, and was just as unforgiving. "You doubt me, and that is because you do not know me" She continued. "I am a Zerth, and I swear upon the circle of Zerthimon that what I speak I know to be true. And this King know that he threatens us all"

"I…don't doubt you." Phaedra said quickly, rather flustered by Zhjaeve's intensity, as well as by a flurry of alien words. "But I don't understand you. Why does it have to be me, specifically me?"

"This title of Kalach-cha, do you know it?" After a moment's pause, Zhjaeve continued with a seemingly unrelated point, but Phaedra knew that the the Githzerai was pointing to something.

"I assumed it was an insult, something to do with stealing a silver sword" Phaedra answered patiently, as if she were the student, and Zhjaeve the teacher.

"No ordinary thief would wear this title. No ordinary woman could bear it. You wear it because the name knows you, even if you do not know it yourself." Zhjaeve shook her head, and Phaedra had a sinking feeling that she was about to hear something that would again change her life, irrevocably shake how she saw herself, and challenge once again the idea that anything she had done and had happened to her had been freely her own choice, her own experience… "Because, Kalach-cha, 'Shard-bearer' in your tongue, the piece you carry with you, near your heart, is a piece of the true Sword of Gith, forged by Zerthimon, and the original from which every silver sword was made. That sword was thought long-lost to our people. And yet you have always borne it close to you." Phaedra stared at her. Gith…Gith's blade, from what she knew of Gith, the implications of conversations with Aldanon and Zeeaire, she had been the legendery leader and almost religious figure to the Githyanki, and presumably the one who gave them and the Githzerai their name. The fact that the sword she carried in its pieces was her own sword had dizzying implications…it had to be immeasurably old, for one thing, and perhaps even more powerful than Aldanon had suggested. And it also at a stroke explained Zeeaire's strange reticence and the implications that the Githyanki Sword Stalker had another agenda which had surfaced in that final, dramatic confrontation that still was seared so deep in the back of her mind. Zeeaire…had to have known the truth and hidden it from her own followers, to seize the sword herself no doubt. "It was once said that Gith's sword once drawn would never find a scabbard again and now it is sheathed within you." There was a note of wonder in Zhjaeve's voice. "It sings, and they can hear it as I hear it now, whispering all the hate of Gith and the war she sought to bring to all the planes. The githyanki and my people are tied in a way by such a weapon... and now that weapon is you"

"Wait, so only Gith's blade can stop the King of Shadows?" Phaedra gasped. Then she remembered that Zeeaire had said exactly that in her dying moments.

"Precisely Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve answered. "Of all the silver swords only this most ancient and baleful blade has the power necessary to defeat such an implacable foe. And know that you are the only one who can reforge Gith's blade and use it, once more, in a battle. A battle that will free your lands and people from an evil even greater than the evil the illithid sought to bring upon my people. There is no other." Phaedra fell silent for a moment, and leant against the stone, trying to process the information. Slowly she raised a hand to her chest, and laid it upon the scar. Beneath the ridges of her ribs, she felt the steady beat of her heart, and something else, a slight hum, a song she'd half-heard all her life. Gently she closed her fingers upon it. And she thought of West Harbour, and its people drowning in darkness, and the Circle of druids dead or missing, and Elanee's own frightening experience of the darkness gathering in the Mere, and the Shadow Priests with their terrifying plots, and the undead walking in the misty depths of the swamps…all of it was the touch of the King of Shadows, his presence gathering as Zhjaeve had put it. If and when he reached the zenith of his power…would that darkness spread? Consume Neverwinter? So many would die…just like the people in Ember, like Cormick had. If she was the only one who could stop that, and somehow she could not doubt that Zhjaeve spoke the truth about that, then what choice did she have? She had promised to save West Harbour, if she could. And here was the chance. Slowly, achingly, she closed off the part of her that protested, that begged her to argue with Zhjaeve, fight what she saw now was inevitable. Zhjaeve was right, if the stakes really were this high, there was no room for doubt.

"And you can help me?" She said quietly, turning to Zhjaeve. At least, after so long stumbling in the dark, she at last knew a little more of the truth; another reason why she was where she was. Even if it wasn't what she'd wanted, at least she knew now. And Zhjaeve had revealed that truth. In the end she needed the Githzerai.

"I make this pronouncement to you" Zhjaeve said, and even in the midst of Phaedra's struggles, she found an inexplicable comfort in the formal, archaic turn of phrase the Githzerai adopted. It spoke of a bond that would not be easily broken. "Greater than the Bond of Two Deaths as one, with a strength that echoes the Pronouncment of Two Skies." Even the flurry of alien concepts did not shake the effect Zhjaeve's words had on Phaedra. She had a sudden wish that everything in her life could be as simple, as clear-cut as Zhjaeve's words. "I make the Pronouncement of Three in Darkness, Two in Light. As the two of us shall meet this King in his fortress, it shall become a battle of three. And when it is over, the two of us shall walk in the light, and you will taste true freedom, just as Gith and Zerthimon did, when they broke the will of the illithid at Sagrassa's End." Phaedra glanced at Zhjaeve, not missing that the Githzerai counted herself and Phaedra, but left no room for anyone else in the party. Was that really how she saw it? And yet this stark, yet undeniably beautiful expression of the vow had its own power. It seemed to have a vast, unfathomable history. And the idea behind it, that she could face the king of Shadows from the light with this unshakeably sure woman by her side, and one day she would find true freedom that Zhjaeve's words promised, tugged at her heart. "It is my life I am giving you, Kalach-Cha, and all I ask that you let me share your path with you"

"Zhjaeve, thank you" Phaedra answered, almost hesitantly, nothing she said seemed like it would be enough after such a promise. "You…can travel with me."

"Then we shall speak no more of it" Zhjaeve nodded courteously. "My vow is made. It will not be unspoken." There was a moment's pause and the Githzerai settled into a contemplative silence.

"Where do we start then?" Phaedra ventured, after a moment.

"Know that this journey will not be a simple one." Zhjaeve said. "So much of our foe remains a mystery. And yet know that a fallen enemy may yet yield the clues we require."

"Garius…" Phaedra breathed, immediately seeing Zhajeve's logic. Garius must have researched the King of Shadows at length, even obsessively given his nature. She couldn't resist glancing quickly at the rapidly dying bonfire below the walls. Almost everything was consumed. To an almost surprising extent…there was no sign of the bodies at all. But, feeling a sudden swell of revulsion in her stomach, she quickly looked back to Zhjaeve and tried to forget about Garius' body smouldering in the ashes.

"Indeed" Zhjaeve nodded slowly, her eyes were intent upon Phaedra, and she couldn't help wondering how much the Githzerai could read about her thoughts of Garius. "Know that I will pore over the information that Black Garius gathered. Are there any familiar with the scholarly traditions of your world who will be able to assist me?"

"I'm sure Aldanon would be delighted" Phaedra answered. "Though Sand would probably be more of a help."

"I will find them" Zhjaeve lifted herself from the wall gracefully, her veil and the folds of her gown stirring in a shimmering silken flutter.

"Wait" Phaedra offered. "Shuldn't I help you?"

"Do not worry yourself Kalach-cha" Behind the veil, Zhjaeve's lips turned up in what might have been a smile. "This knowing of things is my task; but I do not doubt that you shall soon have your own." And with those cryptic words, she turned away and glided back along the wall leaving Phaedra with a great deal more on her mind, and yet a strange clarity of thought that she had missed in the past weeks. It wasn't a comfortable safe certainty, anymore than being around Zhjaeve promised safety or comfort…but just like the Githzerai did, it provided a stability to centre herself around, a way to define herself anew when she needed it so badly, finding out who the woman she had missed and longed for all her life really had been. So she bore the Sword of Gith, it was easier to accept that than it might have been, and that made her the only one able to stop the King of Shadows, save West Harbour from his grasp. Heroine she was not, but maybe she could find the freedom Zhjaeve had promised once this dread task was complete, and West Harbour safe. That was worth fighting for, and she would fight for it, even if it was maybe impossible. Feeling the cool wind brush over her, she made a promise to herself as unyielding and pressing as Zhjaeve had made to her, though less ornate and far simpler. She would keep on fighting, like she had fought so far, until it was over.

Ooooo00000000ooooooo

Strangely the days Phaedra spent in Crossroad Keep while it was still a ruin around her were some of the most restorative she had ever known. Despite what Zhjaeve had told her, or perhaps because she finally knew the truth and knew at last where the road lay next, the goal stood in front of her, insurmountable perhaps but at least visible, she found herself possessed of a meditative stillness in those days quite unlike anything she had known. Perhaps it was simply resignation to this destiny that appeared to have been written entirely without her, but at least she didn't have to question anymore, or fight anymore. And the old ruins, despite the horrible things that had happened inside them, now seemed almost familiar, welcoming in a way. They closed around her, and for a few days they kept the world out. Or maybe it was Zhjaeve herself. The Githzerai spent much of her time researching the arcane secrets Garius had gathered with Sand and Aldanon, but each evening she would find Phaedra wherever her wanderings around the Keep had led her, and together they would talk. Or rather Zhjaeve would listen, and Phaedra would talk, telling of everything that had happened to her on this journey, down to the smallest detail, keeping only a few things, personal things mostly, to herself. Though she tended to reveal more than she'd anticipated, still she would always leave these sessions feeling profoundly restored, as if the process of revisiting her past with Zhjaeve was a form of meditation. Maybe it was. As for the rest of the party they either avoided her, like Neeshka and Elanee, or avoided the thought of what had happened to her, in quiet courtesy, as Casavir did, or in exuberant restlessness, like Khelgar. Only Bishop could and did disturb her serenity, but he was rarely in the Keep during the day, preferring to roam the wilds doing Gods knew what with Karnwyr. Bishop muddled her even more these days, with her possibly misplaced gratitude for his dramatic rescue always bubbling beneath the surface and yet the desire to forget the circumstances of that same rescue just as constant, the kiss she still felt burning in her skin when she looked into his eyes again, and the feel of his arms carrying her away from Garius' room an all too close memory, when she needed and wanted clarity. But she knew she could never avoid him for ever. Something still drew her to him, now more than ever. It was one thing, however, she thankfully had managed to keep from Zhjaeve. She doubted she could explain the whole mess with Bishop to anyone's satisfaction, let alone the passionless Githzerai's.

But, Bishop notwithstanding, she found some peace during the day. Only at night when she spent hours sleepless and alone in the old room she'd claimed to herself for the space it offered, a bedroom, once that of the lord of the Keep, in the east wing near the extensive library where Aldanon, Sand and Zhjaeve spent their time, did she grapple with the past, including the accusing portrait of her mother which she could not bear to consign to the flames. She had brought it into her room, not knowing quite why she did so, and laid it against the wall where she stared at it every night before she slept, trying to read more into her mother's enigmatic smile. But Esmerelle kept her secrets, and her once-husband still skulked the edges of Phaedra's dreams. She couldn't pretend it was easy, but she the visceral horror of it passed with time, and she no longer found herself looking over her shoulder. That was an improvement.

Still she knew that the days of rejuvenating her exhausted and shattered psyche would not last. Vale left the Keep a day or two in, and informed her Nevalle was on his way 'with further instruction', whatever that meant. Still it was a surprise when Nevalle did arrive, four days after the assault on Crossroad Keep, and he brought with him a contingent army of Greycloaks marching on foot, about fifty-strong, and a handful of what seemed to be menial labourers, with their mules and carts and equipment, tools and large blocks of stone freshly carved from the quarries trailing behind them. As Phaedra stood above the gate impassively, her dress stirring about her in the wind, and watched the parade file into the Keep's barren courtyard, Nevalle in the front on a silvery charger of a horse, she knew that something big was about to happen, here in the Keep and to her. Particularly when she met the raised eyes of one of Nevalle's companions, who rode to his left on a delicate black horse, a petite yet formidable woman whose features had an exotic cast, copper skin tinged with the sun, close-cropped feathery black hair, and large, gleaming eyes, her armour streamlined and immaculate, down to the flowing lilac cloak that hung upon her graceful shoulders. After a brief second in which she held Phaedra's gaze, the woman inclined her head with deferential grace, bowing to Phaedra, before guiding her horse skilfully into the courtyard. The respect in the gesture was foreign to Phaedra, it was the respect due to a superior. Troubled, she quickly turned and walked back down from the crumbling gateway to meet Nevalle in the courtyard along with the extensive company that already, around her, seemed to be de-camping with well-practiced professionalism, swiftly taking over the lonely desolate fortress in a flurry of activity. As Phaedra moved through the clamour, the soldiers shot her curious glances, but their overall attitude towards her was of deference and a note of awe. They moved aside for her, saluting, treating her like a commanding officer. The woman Phaedra had noticed was in the centre of it all, barking out orders that had the men rushing instantly to fulfil them. The rest of Phaedra's party emerged quickly, drawn by the noise and watched with surprise as Crossroad Keep swiftly became a hubbub of unpacking soldiers, and the setting up of a temporary camp that resembled Old Owl Well, though enclosed in the crumbling walls. Nevalle, dismounting with an elegant flourish, stood apart from it all. As Phaedra approached, he looked down his nose at her rather, as if he wasn't entirely impressed with what he saw, once again.

"So this is Crossroad Keep?" He sniffed rather standoffishly as Phaedra drew near to him. "It's certainly seen better days, and will again." He paused, examining Phaedra with a note of distaste that she couldn't help but puzzle at. He'd seemed perfectly okay with her before, while she was his underling. So what was the problem now? "Once this Keep was a key defensive position for Neverwinter, the hub of our authority in this region. It was sacked during the war against the King of Shadows. That was a dark time for Neverwinter, and since then these lands have been too long without the firm hand of our city's lordship to guide them."

"You're rebuilding the Keep?" Phaedra noted quietly. So that was what his escort were for, and indeed the civilian men who had accompanied the convoy already were beginning to unpack a vast array of tools and masonry, wasting not a moment. And it seemed the Greycloaks would also help work on the menial work, the common soldiers at least.

"Indeed" Nevalle answered. "It shall be a symbol of Neverwinter's ability to adapt, to recover, as we face new threats, not limited to this troubling resurgence of the enemy who sacked this place. As such, my lord Nasher saw fit to suggest that one of our servants in particular was most suited to govern and oversee it, a reward for service that has gone beyond the call of duty." Just behind the formal words, there was a note of grudging distaste in Nevalle's tone, as if he wasn't entirely pleased with the idea. But Phaedra was too preoccupied with what the thought that Nevalle saying this to her now meant… "Lord Nasher wishes to award the stewardship of this keep and its surrounding regions to you, Squire Phaedra Blake." And then Nevalle said it, out loud, exactly what her mind had just reached. Even so Phaedra stared at him, staggered, and he went on, filling the silence with more platitudes that his clear reluctance to speak these words to her belied. "You've proven yourself a loyal servant of the city and our lord, not least in dealing with Black Garius so succinctly within these very walls. Vale was complementary about your role in the liberation of this keep, despite…the setbacks you encountered." Setbacks? Phaedra clenched her teeth together, swallowing a retort. Far more important than Nevalle's condescension was this shocking move of Nasher's, couldn't he at least have consulted her first? Had he planned to spring this on her from the beginning? Maybe he knew she'd refuse.

"Nasher must know that's impossible" She snapped "I have no experience, no authority except that of a Squire…and I never learned anything about what that meant anyway. I'm not noble born, I'm not even from Neverwinter. And besides I have other priorities…" She paused there…what exactly were her other priorities? She didn't know yet. Zhjaeve had yet to reveal what their next step to counter the King of Shadows would be. But though Crossroad Keep had been habitable in the last few days she couldn't see how re-building a derelict fortress for Lord Nasher would fit into that.

"Squire, I told Nasher much the same" Nevalle answered reluctantly. Oh, Phaedra bet he had. He didn't like this one bit. "But he insisted. And, curiously enough, the men agreed with him. Frankly they leapt at the chance to serve under your banner; I had far more volunteers than I required. In fact, I doubt that these few I have brought will suffice for long, others were petitioning their commanders to travel to Crossroad Keep already by the time I had left and they were not the only ones. It seems, when news reached of your victory here, your repute in the city grew somewhat legendary. You are something of a symbol to the…" He paused, as if contemplating a sour taste in his mouth "…common folk." Phaedra was stunned into silence. A symbol, a heroine, her? Well, wasn't that how Sand had set things up to be at the trial, the only way to save her life? She couldn't complain that it had worked. Certainly if you put it one way, the plucky swamp girl standing up to Luskan with a band of companions of all shapes and sizes…the narrative had a certain appeal she understood, but that was nothing like it really was. Surely no one in the city, in the Greycloaks, honestly expected her to run a fortress? "And as for your 'other priorities'" Nevalle frowned mistrustfully "I believe Lord Nasher thinks that this Keep may yet be essential, if the King of Shadows is on the resurgence, as Black Garius seems to have believed and as you, I know, believe. Further Vale told me of the new companion you have encountered, the astral woman."

"Know that I am not of the Astral plane, as those you assailed your city were." Suddenly Zhjaeve was there, and spoke up immediately at what must seem to her an insult. She must have padded over, her grace making her approach almost silent, and at her appearance a visible shock ran through Nevalle, something Phaedra savoured just a little. Behind her, most of the rest of the party, Bishop and Neeshka as usual were not among them, were approaching, and it seemed like most of them had heard what Nevalle had offered her, reactions differed on that, it seemed. "Unlike them, my goal is to aid Phaedra, and through this to aid your city." Nasher tried to disguise his discomfort with being confronted by a woman as…different as Zhjaeve, but Phaedra rather enjoyed the uneasy glances he kept shooting at her.

"Zhjaeve, you heard what Nevalle was saying?" Phaedra turned to her. She wasn't really deliberately baiting Nevalle by keeping the focus on Zhjaeve…at least not mostly. She would like to know what she thought. "Isn't it better that I focus on stopping the King of Shadows now?"

"You're asking her?" Elanee suddenly cut in, her voice a shrill warble of anxiety. This time it was Phaedra who started with shock, looking properly at Elanee for the first time in days. She looked…dishevelled, her hair a tangled flurry, and unnaturally intent. Phaedra had barely spoken to her in the last week, since their argument before West Harbour, but she supposed the elf was feeling guilty about missing the signs of Garius' control. It was her habit to take things too personally, even if they didn't belong to her. She almost wished she could reach out to Elanee as she might have done before, but the hostility in Elanee's voice when she spoke of Zhjaeve boded ill. She acted as though Zhjaeve wasn't even there, instead of watching impassively, and giving no sign she was offended. Could it be…Elanee was jealous? "Why her? Don't we all have a right to decide this?"

"Zhjaeve knows most about the King of Shadows, and that has to be our focus now." Phaedra answered coolly. She felt a stab of guilt when Elanee withdrew, visibly stricken, but she told herself that Zhjaeve at least had revealed everything she knew, and kept nothing back. Zhjaeve hadn't spied on her. Whereas Elanee was still hiding something. And besides the talk of anyone else having 'rights' over her own choices irritated her nowadays. She already had enough things that were beyond her power controlling her life without the people who were supposed to be her friends trying to shoe-horn her into the role that was convenient for them. For a moment the bluntness of her thought shocked her, had Bishop's attitude rubbed off on her a little then? But it made sense.

"Kalach-cha, you may not like this, but I believe that what your lord asks of you and what the shard in your chest has made of you are one and the same." Zhjaeve answered. Phaedra felt a sinking feeling, but at least Zhjaeve came out and said it instead of skirting around her feelings and making things worse. "Know that the King of Shadows will soon deploy his armies, all of the dead in the Mere, and countless twisted servants to his designs. We will need a base of operations, and a sanctuary, should things come to that. This Keep would serve that purpose well."

"You're sure?" Phaedra whispered, and Zhjaeve nodded slowly. There was little pity in her eyes, but Phaedra could do without it. If Zhjaeve was sure…she had already vowed to do anything she could stop the King of Shadows, as she was the only one who could. If taking on this keep was part of it…then maybe…

"You will not be alone, Squire" Nevalle added, trying to be helpful but coming off condescending again, as usual. "The garrison I have brought with you, and the labourers I hired, all are under your command. And Lord Nasher appointed you an executive officer, Kana, to assist you in the management of the Keep." He nodded to the upper courtyard, where Phaedra saw the striking woman she had noticed before, still in the thick of organising the Greycloaks. "And Master Veedle had been contracted to rebuild the Keep and the surrounding areas." Further up, an older gentleman stood amidst the labourers, dispensing orders and tools with a jaunty smile. "If you wish it you shall simply be the name assigned to the Keep, a figurehead if you will…" Nevalle went on, and Phaedra felt a flash of anger. How insulting. She'd never be a figurehead, she felt a sudden stubborn urge to take on the job just to prove Nevalle wrong.

"For what it is worth" Casavir said. "I believe you would be a great leader here in this Keep as you have been to us, and if your example continues to inspire Neverwinter…it can only be in the service of justice." There was that too. She didn't quite feel the need for sacrifice as much as Casavir did, but…she did try to be good, for the people of Neverwinter as she had once for those in West Harbour.

"Owning a Keep?" Khelgar nodded vigorously. "That's pretty amazing, I'll say. Not many around who'd be able to say they've done the same."

"It would be nice to be somewhere a little more secure than the Flagon" Shandra murmured "Somewhere I haven't been kidnapped from at least.'"

"It will also add a secure knowledge base, something we've lacked so far" Sand added his agreement. "The books here I mean, I'd rather not abandon them to whoever smug noble philistine Nasher would send here if you refuse. They'd probably burn them, some nonsense about them being dangerous or some such." He snorted extravagantly.

"But Phaedra are you sure you'll be comfortable here?" Shandra then said, quietly amidst the chorus of assent, glancing cautiously at her. "I mean…after what happened?" Ah, Phaedra smiled weakly at Shandra, thank the Gods for Shandra. Amidst the flurry of political, moral affirmations only she'd truly thought of this, of how Phaedra would feel here.

"I think so" Phaedra answered simply. In fact she had been fine in the Keep for the last few days; avoiding the tower room and the dungeon where Garius had died suited her fine. And if she continued to do that, staying in the Keep would not be so hard. Besides running from this place wouldn't fix what happened to her and she couldn't fool herself into thinking that. At least maybe with the Keep to handle she would be busy enough to distract herself. "Sir Nevalle…" She began formally, before pausing once again, still reluctant to speak the words that would make this place her own. If Zhjaeve was right, and as always with the Githzerai Phaedra somehow could not doubt she was, then this was her duty. She still felt a creeping doubt, though. Not simply whether she was capable of doing this, but if she could handle being tied down in such a visceral visible way. If she accepted this, Neverwinter would have a hold on her as never before. No more could she wander as she had, flitting between the city's service and her own goals, and no more would she able to fool herself into thinking that she had a choice to leave it all behind. Well, there was little chance of that anyway, knowing what she knew now. But still, it felt like another step down a road she hadn't wanted to take, and an impossibly large one too. And what would Bishop think? She tried to visualise his reaction, no doubt contemptuous, before stopping herself with her own flash of visceral contempt, halfway through. Why did Bishop occur to her, now as always? He should have been the last thing she thought of, and she didn't answer to him anyway. Who cared what he thought? And yet she knew she did. But as if in reaction, her stubborn nature revolted against the dictates of Bishop's opinion, and she turned back to Nevalle. As she did so, though, her gaze travelled over the the men working hard all around them, and she saw suddenly how they were all looking to her, how they were here because of her. These were ordinary young men, like Cormick, like Bevil, who served Neverwinter for their families and for the safety of their city, and they'd come here to make a difference, because they thought somehow that she was capable of making one. She knew that she wouldn't, couldn't, let them down. "You may tell Lord Nasher that I accept" She said at last, and then fell silent, struck by the enormity of the decision.

"He will be pleased" Nevalle said softly, seeming a little surprised that she had accepted. He was looking at her with a new interest, as if seeing her again for the first time. "The men here are yours to command, as are any you choose to recruit and train should you wish, and your tenants in the lands surrounding this place. Henceforth, you are their Captain in Neverwinter's service." Captain...Captain of Crossroad Keep, another title to add to her name. And so she grew further from simple Phaedra Blake. "Nasher has authorised you to do whatever you must to prepare against this enemy you seek, if truly he threatens our sovereignty. This is your land. Defend it, for the sake of your people, and the sake of Neverwinter." Phaedra nodded slowly, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the burden of this obligation he laid upon her. But this was it, suddenly she was responsible for this Keep, and all the people within it. She would have to learn fast. But she would adapt, as she always had.


	67. Chapter 67

_Yay here we are again! And last time I didn't even notice that we'd passed 500,000 words! Crazy stuff. Thanks to Mystical Ninja Unicorns (great name by the way) for putting this as a favourite story, and to Gaspode as ever. _

_In some ways not that much happens in this chapter, but in another way loads does. Lots of Keep business, and lots of lovely character moments for all. But we do start moving on towards the end, so it's not a complete loss!_

_Read on..._

* * *

It wasn't long after her appointment as Captain of Crossroad Keep that Phaedra already began to understand both the strengths and the limitations of her own abilities as a leader of so complex an organism as a garrisoned keep in the midst of serious repair. To her surprise her mind, once trained by Tarmas to arithmetic and complex logic, quickly adapted to the more technical side of things, almost as if her brain had just been waiting for the challenge all this time, as her body bore the brunt of her travels since leaving West Harbour. Her store of coin, supplemented by a grant from Lord Nasher, the expenses she'd need to recoup by tax and trade, and the cost of the essential repairs and acquiring the supplies she had to oversee: all of it came to her more easily than she'd anticipated, and in fact she found herself almost relishing the teasing complexity of it. Her lieutenant Kana, a brisk and official woman who had a way about her that managed to calm and focus Phaedra when things threatened to be overwhelming, had gone over things in precise detail, but had left many of the key decisions on where to go from where they started entirely to Phaedra herself. This was where she struggled a little more.

A castle was far more than a building, it was a living community, and her decisions would affect the people within it for better or worse. It was a daunting prospect, when the Greycloaks looked up to her, and the merchants expected an all-seeing eye and a lax hand. Her first move was to see the Keep at least partly rebuilt, she'd decided from the beginning. To that end she had the skilled builders, led by the eccentric but capable Master Veedle, begin work on converting one of the gutted buildings in the courtyard into a functioning smithy. Others would be turned into accommodation for the soldiers and merchants, but for now they could settle for tents in the courtyard. In the meantime, she'd drafted in a few of the more enthusiastic Greycloaks, village boys many of them, who had at least some experience with building, to begin laying groundwork for the daunting task of repairing the walls. Both a supply of weapons and armour and strong walls would be essential if the Keep was to be maintained, and far more so if what Zhjaeve prophesied was coming was true. Increasingly Phaedra found she was surer on that point, and the more time she spent with her newest mentor the surer she became. The Keep would be ready when the time came. How best to make it though?

A smithy was useless without a smith, and his tools, which meant the Keep had to be made attractive to merchants as a stopping point. They'd also bring gold to the treasury. On that front though there were distinct difficulties. Nevalle hadn't been wrong when he'd said that Neverwinter had lost its hold over the region surrounding Crossroad Keep, a rather bleak region at best. The reports Kana had showed Phaedra were sketchy and rather bleak. The main highway through the adjoining lands and onto Neverwinter was in disrepair and a regular haunt of bandits. Those few merchants who dared brave it, though overall it was shorter and more direct than going by sea through Highcliff, were neither monitored nor properly taxed, which probably meant most of them were carrying illegal fare. There were farmers too, hardy and independent folk in little isolated homesteads and hamlets who weren't likely to take kindly to any interference from her, but they needed to be brought into things to help supply the Keep and its currently rather small garrison. Patrols needed to be sent out into their lands, and soon. These people had to be convinced of the benefits of being part of a wider community. At least the Greycloaks didn't lack in morale or enthusiasm on that front.

She'd inspected the garrison as recommended by Kana, who'd been drilling them and implied that her close attendance would help hone the army to its purpose. She'd felt rather shy and intimidated faced by so many bright-eyed young men who looked on her with reverence and respect, but later Sand had complimented what he called her showmanship. Apparantly keeping a distance from the men would cultivate an iconic presence, an untouchableness that would keep them fighting for her out of sheer reverence. She'd remembered Lieutenant Vallis back in Fort Locke at the very beginning of her adventure, how foreign his entitled arrogance had been to her, and been so disturbed that she'd almost wanted to go back out and tell them all she was just from a small village like then and was still learning what she was doing. But she knew enough to understand that that wasn't possible. She might not fit the role of commander perfectly, but she'd do as well as she could.

At night she returned to her room, exhausted. Kana had christened her chamber the Captain's Suite, and unfortunately the name had stuck. It was still a rather sparse place, excepting the portrait of Esmerelle in the corner, and the wardrobe packed with lavish gowns they'd found in the Keep, belonging also to her mother Phaedra surmised since they would have fit her perfectly. They were a splendid collection, sumptuously heavy iridescent satin alongside sheer finely woven silk as thin as a breath, gorgeously crafted ballgowns stacked with sharp, threatening arcane robes of authority, thick black, perhaps from the Hostower. When she'd seized them all, Kana had suggested she take or sell them, neither of which she could bear to do. She hadn't touched them since, and they merely took up space. But getting rid of them was unbearable, and putting them on would be like taking on Esmerelle's mantle, and she was already irrationally afraid of straying too close to her mother's tragedy and the ambiguity of how Esmerelle had strayed from Garius' consort to alone impoverished mother in West Harbour.

"Wait just a second" She jumped at the voice of her guard at the door, another annoyance she'd had to take on simply because it had appeared there on someone's instruction. But he was a pleasant-enough young man, albeit one who couldn't seem to string two words together if she ever tried to speak to him. "You aren't allowed in here, these are the Captain's rooms, and she's not to be disturbed." Someone was here, Phaedra stood slowly. Who?

"The Captain's going to hear me out, or else everyone one of you minions is going to be sorry, and you first of all" Oh of course, who else? He'd been absent all day, but Phaedra had known she'd have to face Bishop soon. What she didn't expect was that he'd have the audacity to come here. "Do you want to lose your hands, boy?" Gods, she'd better get out there and put a stop to this. "She's going to hear me out." Phaedra stumbled over to the door, although halfway there she found herself unconsciously touching her hair and immediately stopped herself. She ought not to care what she looked like for him, especially not now. Tugging open the door, she found the confrontation hadn't escalated to blood yet. But Bishop was glaring, darkly sarcastic, at the young guardsman who was quivering in his boots. Immediately upon seeing her, relief flashed across his face. He really wanted Bishop gone. He had that effect on most people. "Finally you're here darling" Bishop drawled, with a savage streak of sarcasm in his voice. This was not going to go well. "Things were just about to get messy."

"I'm not your darling anything, Bishop" She snapped. "What in the God's name do you want here?"

"Why don't you invite me inside, and let's find out shall we?" He leered lecherously and the guardsman blanched and went white.

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" She cried. "Fine, just come inside, and stop that and I'll hear what you have to say." Bishop strode past her and into the room as if he owned the place, and the guardsman stared at her, aghast and helpless, so that she felt obliged to murmur to him. "I do know him, unfortunately, so he can come in for just a moment or two" The poor young man blinked, seeming barely even able to hear what she was saying.

"I heard that" Came the inevitable retort from within. "Isn't it just that unfortunate you know me? As far as I remember, you wouldn't still be here, princess, if I hadn't pulled your arse out of the fire coming on half a dozen times." Phaedra flushed angrily, it was true of course. But it reminded her, as he meant it to, of the last time he'd saved her…carrying her from the burning tower room while she was too brutalised to resist him. And, as it was meant to, that muddied the waters all over again. "I could tell you things about your little Captain that would make even her lovely hair curl, boy." Bishop grinned at the guardsman, so Phaedra slammed the door between them in a fit of pique. Breathless, suddenly, she turned on Bishop with only the intimate small room between them. He looked back at her with dark mockery. It wasn't ideal to be alone in her small, sparse chamber with him, but she'd rather not have this conversation in front of anybody, especially not the Greycloaks. She'd never expect Bishop to hold back, and by the surly gleam in his tawny eyes he wasn't about to disappoint. She glared furiously back at him. "Oh have I offended the Captain of Crossroad Keep?" He sneered sarcastically. "My gracious lady, how ever shall I gain your pardon? Shall your humble tracker hunt some miscreant down for you milady, or scout some forsaken path?"

"Oh just grow up Bishop" Phaedra fumed. "Cut out the mockery, understood?" Underneath her anger, beneath the surface, her lingering confusion and doubt flared and flickered within her, blurring the lines as usual and sending her spinning. She just wished she could have a proper conversation with him, try and sort out what she was feeling, and try to get at what he thought about anything…about everything. Why it had been him in that tower who'd come to her, and what he had thought as he'd carried her down the stairs, weaker and more helpless than she'd ever been with anyone in her life. Instead he always came at her like this, like she was something he needed to pull down. She'd known all along that he wouldn't like her new position as Captain, but couldn't they have a reasonable talk about why? Didn't he owe her that at least? It was so frustrating.

"Mockery?" But no, the ugly sarcasm in his voice was still there, and the tension boiled in the room as he glared at her coolly. "There's no mockery; I'm just addressing you by your new title, as a lapdog for Nasher. Is that really how you want to spend your days, princess: with a painted shield, a squire by your side and some pathetic code of honour to keep your back stiff as a board?"

"I knew you'd be like this, I just knew it!" She stormed, typical, just typical. He was wilfully misunderstanding her. Sometimes she felt like he knew her better than anyone, the rest of the time he didn't seem to know her at all. "Don't you understand that's not like me at all?" She asked defiantly, though she was shocked when it sounded rather like a plea.

"It's how the meatheads outside see it" Bishop answered, evading the question yet again. "They think you're half a saint already, don't they, these fools with their grey cloaks and their badges of Neverwinter, lambs you're leading to a merry slaughter. But we know better, don't we princess? You're a girl who's sold herself to Nasher for a pretty castle and some pretend honour."

"No, you're wrong!" She cried, seizing his wrist in one hand without even knowing what she was doing. Only he could do this to her, knocking her off base entirely, until it seemed like she was trying to convince herself as well as him, when she'd been so sure before. "How dare you say that after…" She stopped before she could say another word, flushing miserably at her own indiscretion. He knew well what she had been about to say, she could tell. But surprisingly he didn't seize the chance to goad her further by bringing up the kiss more explicitly. If he had, it would have been excruciating and if his goal in coming here really had been mockery and nothing more he could have felled her there and then. But he didn't.

"Someone has to or else you're going to start believing what they're saying outside." Was all he said, and rather simply, almost neutrally. After the ugly mockery it was so surprising that she didn't answer for a second, and looked up at him again, suddenly feeling her hand grasped around his arm as if she'd only just put it there.

"I'm only here to defeat the King of Shadows" Phaedra went on, much more softly, more quietly. "What they say doesn't matter."

"If Nasher can't hold his own without you, he may as well let that painted crown of his go" Bishop answered. "He's using you, as usual. If the King of Shadows does come, you're nothing but collateral damage. A bulwark to protect his precious throne, he'd sacrifice you in a heartbeat if you don't do the same to him. And if there is no King of Shadows, then he has the new heroine of Neverwinter, the people's adored champion against Luskan, Captain Phaedra Blake yoked firmly to his throne. You're a tool."

"No" Phaedra answered firmly for the first time. In a way she found herself appreciating what Bishop was saying, strangely, now that they'd gotten past the cruel, needless mockery. She had to consider what he was saying if she was to be completely certain about this project. "This is my choice, it was my choice to come here, and it's my choice to do this for everyone who'll suffer if the King of Shadows rises. He is coming, Bishop, you know that as well as I do."

"People will suffer anyway, they always have and they always will" Bishop answered callously. "And it's your choice to give up the only thing that's really worth fighting for, freedom because you think you can save a bunch of nobodies too weak to rise from the gutter, but don't expect me and Karnwyr to go with you if this is the road you're going down. I served under a banner once, princess, and only once. It damn didn't end well for anyone except me."

"Don't say that like you mean it" Phaedra whispered. "You're not going to leave" Somehow, even quiet as it was, her voice had far more firmness and command in it than before when she'd been arguing furiously with him. This she was sure of; he would not leave, he couldn't, not now after everything. Even if her heart fluttered uncomfortably as he spoke, though maybe that was to do with another hint to his mysterious past revealed so carelessly, or perhaps not carelessly at all. You could never tell with Bishop.

"And you're certain of that, are you?" Slowly Bishop stepped closer, and the muscles in the arm she was still holding onto tightened as he wound his hand around to grasp her wrist in turn, pulling her a little further in towards him. His touch ached, and the sensation of the kiss they'd shared flooded through her as she looked up into his flashing tawny eyes. But she held her ground, she dared not step back. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she'd thought about that fevered moment of desperation, the first kiss she'd ever had…

"Yes I am" She breathed, not sure how much more she could say. He leaned down, and his face was inches from hers, his eyes staring down into her own. That fascinating tawny colour blurred before her vision as she tried to hold his gaze, to read what he was thinking, what he might do next. "I am" She repeated, her voice quavering a little. His hold on her hand hadn't loosened, and then he bent in further, so that his lips were so close to hers that all he needed to do was press forward just another millimetre more and they would touch hers. Unable to quite think, or stop herself, but possessed by the potential of the moment, she bent her head back as though she too were waiting for the moment he kissed her, her lips parting slightly, almost instinctively.

"Don't be" He murmured roughly, his breath touching her face, and for a second, so brief that she almost couldn't feel it, his lips brushed over hers. Then he was stepping back, leaving Phaedra dazed and dizzied, but knowing as well as she did that the second's contact hadn't been enough for her. They'd struck sparks off each other once again, fighting with Bishop had a magnetic edge of tension as always. "This isn't going to end well for you." He warned, stepping back towards the door, and she wondered if he meant taking on Crossroad Keep, or pursuing their volatile relationship. But she stood firm. For the first time she could say definitively that she had won the skirmish between them. He wasn't going anywhere, and neither was she. And in a way his kissing her like that just proved that. It had been the only way he could think of to seize the upper hand, playing on her inexperience. But she wouldn't let it work. She wouldn't acknowledge the kiss as anything else, even though it had thrilled and disturbed her all over again. She knew she'd gotten stronger, she'd had to in order to endure what had happened to her. Maybe now Bishop knew now that he had to reckon with her. With one last smoky glance in her direction, he stalked to the door and pulled it open. "Your captain's got a good mouth on her" He said openly to the guardsman on the door, and Phaedra collapsed onto the bed, trying to fight the urge to flush uncontrollably. It was meaningless, it meant nothing. It didn't intrude upon her true character. It was time she learnt that, and stopped giving him the power to shame or embarrass her. "Pity she doesn't know when to shut up." And then he was gone, and Phaedra finally let out a breath.

Ooooo000000000000oooooooo

Neeshka sat on the crumbling walls of Crossroad Keep at dawn and watched the first Greycloak patrols from the fortress march out along the rough dirt road into the shadowy countryside under the pale morning sky from behind a parapet. A snake-like line of disciplined warriors marching out under the uncertain morning light, they were fearless, morally upstanding and eager, well prepared to meddle in the business of everyone they encountered. Neeshka disliked them all over again. In her experience, nothing good ever came of soldiers. That time outside Fort Locke had only been the last in a line of harassment from the military forces of Neverwinter, and now she was holed up in this Keep with a force of Greycloaks, some fifty and growing. To them she was trouble waiting to happen, or to those with a little less of an idea of what Phaedra's ideal keep was about, an easy catch in a place where women were scarce. Telling them she was with Phaedra did get them to leave her alone usually, she supposed, plus it was enjoyable watching square-jawed straight-laced Greycloaks struggle with the notion that their darling Captian travelled with a tiefling. But still as the Keep grew into a kind of life with Phaedra at its centre, Neeshka found herself more and more discontented. She told herself that she was past this with Phaedra, that her once-friend no longer had the power to hurt to hurt her but every time she saw Phaedra flitting around the Keep, with her devoted hangers-on trailing behind her and the eyes of yet another adoring crowd to charm always upon her, it made the old pain fester. Once again Phaedra got everything, adoration, prestige, and most of all that simple validation and acceptance from everyone she met that Neeshka so rarely saw in the mistrustful gazes of the same people when they glimpsed her. And all this was despite the inconvenient, seemingly forgotten fact of Phaedra's own infernal ties. Not to mention the questions that remained about her involvement with that creepy old mage, Garius. Mind control or not, not once had Phaedra breathed a word of what she must have suspected was happening to her, not even to Casavir and Elanee, and well the pair of them knew it. What else was she still hiding? She wasn't the innocent little girl she'd appeared at the beginning, Neeshka was sure of it. No-one was as good, as selfless, as Neeshka had once thought her. Everyone had secrets, everyone betrayed you when they had the chance. Neeshka should never have forgotten that.

"Hey devil-girl" That lazy drawl from behind her once again sent her heart both fluttering and sinking in her chest. Bishop…another of her mistakes, one she'd thought had been part of a familiar pattern, the bad guy who used her because he was bored and she was available, while she desperately invented scenarios in her head where he might actually like her for who she was. But she was beginning to suspect that Bishop was different, and that what he was using her for was different. Not that that made it any better. In fact, she almost thought whatever Bishop really wanted might just be worse. But still she had him, Phaedra couldn't say that, and each time he roughly handled her against a tree or wall like she was some object, some thing, she told herself that she was doing this to get back at Phaedra, or else she said she was fine with it, that it was better not to get emotions involved anyway, or sometimes she told herself nothing and just let him do it. Which wasn't to say it wasn't satisfying, he was…good…but he'd never kissed her once, or done anything more than he'd had to. So she simply ended up needing it more, just to convince herself that there was something between them, and ending up hating it even more at the same time.

"I told you not to call me that" She turned sharply. This time, this time maybe she'd lay down the law, she'd make him see her, respect her as he only respected strength. And then she'd have more than Phaedra twice-over.

"Why not?" Bishop shrugged, and Neeshka, though she'd been with many bastards in her time, found herself once again reflecting that she'd never met a man as hard as Bishop. Maybe that was what drew her to him so desperately; that they were both broken in some way. But she'd never dare tell Bishop to his face that she suspected something in his past had stunted him anymore than she'd dare to wonder what exactly that thing was. "It's what you are, and there's no use hiding from that. I thought you liked that I tell things like they are. Or would you prefer I lied to you, maybe if I whispered sweet nothings in your ears?" He smiled mockingly, though Neeshka reflected privately that it might not be so bad if he did, if some man did, just once, even if it was all a lie. No one had ever even told her she was beautiful.

"What do you want anyway?" Neeshka sighed, feeling herself weaken all over again. He was right, of course. Devil-girl was what she was, and she did respect his straight-talking, there was no denying that.

"Just a little plan I've come up with" Bishop said. "Needs your input, think you can handle that?"

"What kind of plan?" Neeshka asked warily. All her instincts for self-preservation were screaming at her to be careful.

"Well as our darling leader has come into this wonderful fortress, it seems about right that some of us who've travelled with her so long, borne our share of the danger, profit from it." Bishop leaned casually against the wall. Neeshka watched him carefully, trying to see past his guard but it was impossible. He was as unreadable as that wolf of his. "Think of how long you've been with her, say, and what you've gotten out of it; nothing, less than nothing really." He twisted the knife, he always knew how. "But this here fortress is a rich opportunity to finally get your due, and you'd be a fool not to seize it."

"And how exactly would I do that?" Neeshka asked sullenly.

"With that attitude, I might think you don't trust me" Bishop leered, mocking her. "Relax, devil-girl, it'll be easy gold. This place is about to start growing; Nasher's funnelling so much gold in that not even our precious leader can mess things up. And the merchants are going to follow the money. With all that gold around, shouldn't be hard to siphon a bit off the top. You know the drill; smuggling, misplacing goods and accounts, and there's always the Greycloaks to fleece too. A bribe to the right person here, a contact in the Greycloaks or two, and you could get a right little organisation going. You do have a few old friends you could call on, right?"

"So what if I do?" Neeshka shrugged. She did in fact, and despite herself Bishop's words sent the cogs in her mind turning. She could see the potential; keeps like this always had an edge of corruption that kept them well-lubricated. Why shouldn't it be her? "Don't see why you expect to see any of the pay"

"Oh, I'll pull my weight, don't you worry" Bishop answered coolly. "If I'm going to be in this place, under her banner, may as well fleece it for all its worth. Whatever I like, I'll do; whether it's tracking down some merchant or soldier who doesn't get the drill, reminding him to pay up, or getting rid of him quietly. I don't give a damn."

"Alright, I'll do it" Neeshka heard her lips sayings, and wondered at it. She told herself the plan was a good one; a discreet operation could make a killing in the emerging trade routes around the Keep. And she'd been wanting to start up in her old ways soon, why not here, now? What better way to use the time they spent here? Frankly right now the only other option was jumping ship and trying to get back on her feet in Neverwinter, alone. But she still had enemies in the city, and things were harder there. This was virgin territory, here she could make a new start. Or was it really because she knew Bishop wouldn't leave Phaedra, whether she did or not? "You can have a quarter of what we end up with." She decided.

"A third, devil girl" Bishop smirked his wolfish smile.

"Fine" She agreed dully. Might as well anyway. But she did wonder what he wanted the money for; from what she'd seen his needs were simple and with a sudden edge of exhausted black humour she reminded herself that he didn't need to pay whores anymore now that he had her.

"Someone else is going to have the idea soon, so you better get it set up fast" With that he turned to go, and Neeshka felt a flash of rage at him and every other man who'd used her like he was doing. What made it worse was that she suspected the real reason he was doing this, using her like this, was not gold at all.

"Are you really doing this for profit, or are you trying to get back at her?" She cried, suddenly giving voice to all her frustration. There was no need to say who 'her' was, and Bishop stopped mid-stride, and turned back to her slowly. Neeshka felt a lump rise in her throat. If she'd hoped for anger from him, she wasn't sure if she had or not, there was none.

"Captain or not, she's still just a jumped-up, hysterical swamp-girl who's playing with fire" He said slowly and deliberately. "She's nothing to me, and, Hells-brat, you're less than she is." Neeshka stepped back slowly, feeling the old familiar agony like a burning coal pressed to her chest. Even after all this time, it wasn't any easier. "Let me know when you've got some kind of framework ready." Bishop said over his shoulder as he began to walk away down the walls again, as if she hadn't asked, and he hadn't answered at all. "We'll plan more once we've got an idea of what we're dealing with." Neeshka stared after him. If Phaedra really was nothing, why was he still here?

Oooo000ooooo

A week passed by in a flurry. After so long on the road, with long breaks with little to do but think and talk, punctuated by short sharp bursts of action, Phaedra found the constant demands upon her attention in the keep exhausting. Patrols had to be monitored daily, every report ended up on her desk to read, the dizzying to and for of accounts flew by as money began to trickle in from the first new taxes she'd implemented, and flooded out on her ambitious projects. These included the ongoing work on the walls, as well as supplying the new smithy and the merchant's holdings springing up in the coutyard. Everyone seemed to expect daily inspections of the soldiers at the crack of dawn, and her newly improvised signature was required for an endless stream of documents: village charters, merchant licenses, requests for supplies, leave or reassignment from her contingent of soldiers. The pressure was constant and only grew more intense, as the activities of the bandits grew more pressing. They knew the Keep was a threat, and her Greycloaks were the target for their desperate attempts to hold onto the shreds of power they'd enjoyed in this region. Her responsibility had to be to safeguard the lives of her soldiers, as well as her new, rather reluctant, tenants, the stubborn farmers in their isolated villagers. She became intently aware that that her decisions could cost these bright-eyed young soldiers their futures, or see the rag-tag hamlets, so like West Harbour in their stubborn isolation, destroyed. When the very first soldier under her watch died in a surprise ambush on patrol, she shut herself away in her room for an hour, sobbing hysterically, but when she emerged she was even more determined to keep everyone she could who depended on her safe. Patrols skirted the nearby territories, but she kept them from more distant assignments for now, until she could build up the infrastructure and solidify her hold. The patrols were necessary to keep up morale and keep the soldiers busy, as well as to remind the villages that there was another option other than fighting it alone and what their taxes would pay for, and most importantly also to inspire others to enlist. She'd had a few more recruits, but they'd need more to keep the roads clear for the few merchants who came by without stretching too thin, let alone being able to strike out into the countryside.

"Captain" She glanced up from the spread of paperwork over her desk, her brain humming from overuse. It was Kana, walking into her office giving her usual official and brisk salute, as well as bearing the newest developments in hand in paper form. Phaedra felt a rush of desolate panic, more paper…she'd barely scratched the surface of this, and her desk was already in shambles. But Kana's unshakeable core of self-possession and loyalty was as effective as ever, and Phaedra managed a smile at her officer. She suspected the oriental-looking woman was more than a simple officer. Though she hadn't seen Kana in action yet, she'd glimpsed the woman's exotic crossbow, a mechanistic marvel, and her air of command always inspired the Greycloaks she trained, as well as aiding Phaedra whenever she felt like wavering. Kana often seemed more of a Captain than Phaedra did, but she was surprisingly content to stay within the bounds of her second-place role, even when Phaedra wished she would sometimes sweep away some of the burdens. "I have some news" Kana went on. "Greycloak patrols on the Luskan border apprehended Ambassador Torio Claven, Garius' consort. She was fleeing from Luskan alone and desperate. It seems the Hostower has turned on her." Phaedra started with shock. She saw again the haunted, fearful figure who had stood by her and Garius in that ghastly meal, but she also remembered the Ambassador's shrill callous cruelty during the trial and her culpability in that horrific scene in Ember. "Lord Nasher has turned her disposal over to you, given your close involvement in her case." Kana said "You're welcome to take custody of her here at the Keep, should you think it will be beneficial, or else the city will see to her trial and imprisonment." Phaedra paused briefly. There was plenty to blame Torio for, maybe she deserved to be punished, but Phaedra found her instinct was to bring Torio to the Keep. Maybe she sensed that things weren't yet finished between them, perhaps the ambassador had more to tell them about Garius' plans, things that might still help them as they combated the King of Shadows he had tried to harnass. She barely acknowledged it, but she did want to hear from Torio herself what the ambassador could tell about Garius…maybe even if he'd ever mentioned Esmerelle in her hearing.

"Have him send her here" Phaedra decided.

"It will be done, Captain" With a flick of her quill as precise as if she were wielding a fencer's blade, Kana noted it down on the scroll she held, before turning to yet another piece of news. "There's another matter; a man, a barkeeper from Neverwinter, has come to the Keep and he wants to see you."

"Duncan?" Phaedra instantly leapt from her seat. Another old face, but this time one she'd actually been longing to see.

"Indeed" Kana nodded, seeming a bit taken aback by Phaedra's enthusiasm. "I believe that was the name."

"Would you take this over for a second, please?" Phaedra requested. "Just look over the reports, keep back the accounting for me to seal later."

"Of course, Captain" Kana moved over to the desk, and Phaedra immediately without another word sprang from the room, joy floating in her chest. She'd sent Duncan a note but she'd never hoped she'd see her uncle any time soon. What could he be doing here; she doubted he'd easily leave the Flagon. But then as she entered the large front hallway, where some of Veedle's workforce were hard at work repairing tiles, renovating stonework and taking down the old chandeliers to make the place in Veedle's words 'a more suitable abode for a Captain of Neverwinter', she paused and again, as it had many times in the last week, the thought of Esmerelle stole up upon her like a shadow. Surely Duncan didn't know anything about her dark past? No, he wouldn't have hidden that from her at least. Still she had to ask him if there'd ever been any sign of the Hostower's cruelty in Esmerelle's manner when he'd known her, or that dread ambition that had attracted Garius to her side. She had to know if her mother had really found true redemption, not least of all because she was possessed by the idea of the similarities between her and her mother. That portrait in her room sometimes might as well have been a mirror. Did she have the darkness inside her that had so impressed upon Garius, from whom her mother had fought to be free? More soberly she walked out of the great gates, missing the respectful bows of the guards, so used to them had she become.

The courtyard was still a hub of fevered activity, as it had been for the last week. Those Greycloaks who were not on patrol for today drilled and massed in orderly lines for the day's training across the main space, while a half-dozen carts of quarried and cut stone were pushed against the walls, ready to repair them or be used in one of Veedle's other projects. There was the smithy, gradually being constructed into usefulness, with a chimney already trailing an ephemeral cloud of smoke from the forge, and a merchant's shop and warehouse further down by the gate, still a shell but with work beginning on it under her eyes, to hold and count the inventory of any who chose the keep's security over the unpredictable sea route via Highcliff. The walls themselves of course were looking better each day with a few of the more gaping holes filled in and the towers propped up, but there was still a lot of work to be done. Nasher had supplied them generously. But to keep up the pace, let alone finance some of Veedle's more extravagant plans, which included enhancing and thickening the apparently outdated walls and laying down roads in the surrounding areas, they needed to get financially independent. But despite the huge amount of work that still needed to be done, Phaedra felt a strange sense of pride as if she were a West Harbour housewife and the Keep her well-run home. But then suddenly she was shaken from that thought by a sudden thrill of recognition when her eye alighted on one of the sergeants directing the drills below, a strong, young blonde woman who filled out Greycloak armour like she was born to it, her sun-burnt features commanding as she barked out orders. Though Phaedra had last seen her months ago, draped in the macabre trophies of slain orcs and bearing makeshift arms and armour, she knew her instantly; Katriona, Casavir's lieutenant from Old Owl Well.

"Captain" It seemed Katriona knew her too, for the moment she arrived near the drill and the sergeant's eyes found her, the robust woman's lips twitched with what just might have been a smile. "You have certainly come up in the world since our last meeting."

"Katriona" Phaedra beamed, as the men, in the midst of their drill, glanced at their captain with shock that she was on first name terms with their Captain. Even with Katriona distracted, none of them put a foot wrong. It seemed Katriona was as focused and strong-willed here as she had been at Old Owl Well. "You have too; a Greycloak sergeant already?"

"Yes, ma'am" Katriona nodded proudly. "Promoted in Old Owl Well by Commander Callum himself. But there's not much to do there anymore with the orcs still fighting and slowly wearing themselves down. Most of my men went back to their villages, with the Greycloaks keeping things in order we can finally move on with our lives and make those mountains a place worth living. But as for me, I knew I wasn't done. And the moment I heard of this here enterprise with you, I knew it was for me. You've got a good place here, with a firm hand and a clear head at the helm it could be even better."

"I'm doing my best" Phaedra answered. Katriona's praise, which she sensed was a rare thing, buoyed her spirits. Silence fell for a second, and Phaedra searched for something else to say. "Have you seen Casavir since you came in?" She asked eventually, remembering Katriona's fierce devotion to her one-time commander. It had perhaps strayed into the stronger feelings Phaedra knew all too well that Casavir's presence could rouse. Katriona nodded slowly, by her sudden guardedness she had guessed what Phaedra was thinking.

"He seems different, ma'am" She answered. "More focused than I've seen him. He has a goal, now, a purpose. I suppose you've given that to him. But also…" She hesitated before speaking. "He's more distant, a little more careworn." Phaedra looked down, was that true? She had certainly brought Casavir enough trouble to weary him. He cared for her deeply, as he did all under his guard; Elanee and Shandra as much as her she supposed. Frankly she'd seen too little of him lately, if there was a spare second after she caught up with Duncan she'd try and track him down. No doubt he'd be training Shandra, or perhaps conferring with some of those Greycloaks who had come to him as the only one with holy orders resident in the Keep. "If you don't mind me saying…" Katriona lowered her voice, so that the men couldn't hear. "What I thought about Casavir once…that's done with. He's meant for finer stuff than me" Blinking with surprise at Katriona's uncharacteristic candidness, Phaedra wondered why Katriona was telling her this. Did she maybe believe that Phaedra…was this 'finer stuff' she spoke of?

"Oh no, don't think that" Flushing she stepped back, entirely thrown off balance by the suggestion. "It's not like that between me and Casavir either."

"Is that so?" Katriona raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you and Casavir…" She paused, realising her mistake. "That is some of the men were saying…"

"We're not" Phaedra answered quickly. Her thoughts whirled in her head, thoroughly disturbed. She'd maybe naively thought of Casavir that way, and the deep feelings he'd roused in her had never truly left. But…things were never that simple, could never be, not as they were. She remembered what had happened to Cormick, and Bevil, both of whom had said they'd loved her. She couldn't see Casavir ever being like them, and maybe it was better for him. It seemed she only brought grief to the men who loved her. And she cared for Casavir too deeply to risk their friendship by inviting that kind of complication, while they were both walking on the edge of a knife as it was. And there was…she flushed deeper, the matter of Bishop too. She couldn't bear the thought of confessing to Casavir what had happened between them, but as long as she hid the truth there was no chance of anything happening. It was a comprehensive set of reasons not to even think about Casavir that way. But her feelings were still in disarray. "I'll see you around the keep Katriona" She murmured hurridly, as Katriona stared at her as if in expectation of an explanation. "But I'd better leave you to your drills." And then, leaving it there, she fled, feeling Katriona's clear-eyed gaze following her away. She wondered what the woman thought of her, a flighty girl, no doubt. But she knew she was doing the right thing by keeping that distance between her and Casavir, not that he'd ever broached the idea of crossing it. Perhaps he understood just as well as she did. Yes, that was most likely it. To a man so devoted to high ideals, the idea of falling in with a flighty girl was no doubt nothing but foolish.

Still her peace of mind was disturbed, and she recalled Duncan waiting with a heavier heart than before. Quickly she made her way down towards the gate. And there he was, watching dubiously as a group of Greycloaks unloaded a cartload, which seemed to bear what had to be every possession he had into the courtyard. He looked more care-lined than before, and his clothes were the same dirty apron and tunic as always, as if he had simply got up and left the Sunken Flagon on a whim. Knowing Duncan, perhaps he had. Phaedra felt a twist of concern for her wayward uncle, what did he think he was doing here? And then she remembered the circumstances of their last conversation, when she'd shot down his concern with a dark anger she knew now had come from Garius rather than her. How to explain that to him without disturbing him further? But the moment he saw her, he lit up and the cares seemed to fall from his shoulders, his broad smile gleaming like always. It was as if she'd never snapped at him.

"Well, well, look at my niece" He cried. "A hotshot in Neverwinter, owner of this here fortress…the whole city's abuzz with news of what you're doing up here."

"And what are you doing up here, uncle?" Phaedra asked with a smile, as the Greycloaks exchanged glances, no doubt surprised that the ragged innkeeper they'd been helping was the uncle of their Captain. No doubt that would be good for Duncan if it was widely known.

"I'm setting up shop close to my niece, that's what" Duncan said proudly. "Hope you're not too superior to hob-nob with your drunkard uncle every now and then in my new inn, here in Crossroad Keep."

"You closed the Flagon?" Phaedra gasped, stricken, far more concerned than Duncan seemed. "Oh Duncan…" It had always seemed as much a part of Duncan as his limbs. What a terribly reckless move…

"Yes" For a moment Duncan looked a little troubled, the memories of his old bar flickered across his face. "The old place didn't seem to have the same charm as it used to with you gone." Phaedra looked at him pityingly, remembering how lately it had seemed that he had simply been there in the Flagon waiting for her each time between her adventures. It had left him little time to truly look after the bar as he'd used to, when it had been the undisputed centre of his life. She felt a flash of guilt, he'd given his inn up for her. But then he brightened, instantly and wholly, the new possibilities running through his head displacing thought of the past. Phaedra was amazed at his ability to run on impulse, and forget the consequences. And he was older than her! "But this is where things are really happening. Lots of thirsty soldiers, lots of rich merchants passing through in need of a bed…"

"Slow down, uncle" Phaedra couldn't help laughing and was surprised at herself. "We barely get any traffic through here at the moment."

"Mark my words Phaedra" Duncan grinned. "This place is the place to be." He nodded with satisfaction. "Truth is, I was ready for a new start, just like this old place here. A new start…hmm, I should think of a name for the inn that sums that up." Duncan tapped his chin thoughtfully. Phaedra watched him thoughtfully; if anyone was flighty, it was her uncle. This was a huge risk. But Khelgar would be pleased with it no doubt, and Bishop, and so would some of the soldiers, perhaps a little too much. Although it did make sense to have somewhere for the merchants to stay as they passed through; the Keep was a little inhospitable and martial at the moment, but a functioning tavern in the midst of this wild country would no doubt attract many. And it would also keep up morale, she supposed, in a place where there really wasn't all that much for the soldiers to do in their recreation. So long as they did it in moderation. "Anyway, I'll think of it later" Duncan spread his hands, excited to get started. "I'll pay my rent just like everyone else. Hells, I'll even build the place myself if I have to" Phaedra raised an eyebrow sceptically at that, and Duncan chuckled. "Well maybe not, but I am serious about wanting to do this. I do want to keep an eye on my favourite niece, after all…" Phaedra's smile faded. There was an uncharacteristic sudden note of restraint in his voice which told her that he did remember her outburst, however much he pretended otherwise. She opened her mouth to explain. "Speaking of which…" He began, slightly sheepishly running a hand over the back of his head. "You aren't planning to dispense with Bishop any time soon?" Phaedra blinked, so it was Bishop he was concerned about. She'd almost forgotten the curiosities of the animosity between the pair of them. "I heard some of the men talking about him…and you. It seems he's made his position here as clear as the Flagon." The men, it seemed, did all too much talking about her and men. They were worse than old women.

"Duncan" Phaedra chided carefully, trying very hard not to think about Bishop, or Bishop kissing her, or Bishop in her room or the men talking about her and Bishop, lest the treacherous blush betray her. "Haven't we both spoken about him more than enough? He's here because we're going to need him to win this fight, and that's the last I'll say about it." She felt a twinge of guilt, but she hadn't really lied. What was the truth anyway? Even if she'd wanted to, she wouldn't be able to say exactly what tied her to Bishop.

"Alright, alright" Duncan grumbled. "I'd just like to know he's stuck with you so long. Doesn't seem like him, is all, unless you've found some way to twist his arm. I thought he might have a fancy for you, but he'd definitely have tired of it by now. He's no man for the chase when it comes to women." Duncan was too busy musing to see how his words affected Phaedra. She went still as stone, desperately trying to hold herself in case a treacherous murmur escaped. Duncan was right, it didn't make any sense that he'd stay just because he had some design on her. And yet the impulse between them was definitely a dynamic, she wasn't imagining it. But to expect that Bishop…would…well it was even more ridiculous than to think so of Casavir. "I'd ask him, if I had any hope of getting a straight answer, and he didn't likely want to murder me." He sighed wryly. "Was there anything else, lass?" He glanced at her expectantly, and she realised she'd been silent for a moment or so, trying to sort her thoughts through.

"Yes actually" Phaedra answered, a little reluctantly. "It's about my mother…"

"Esmerelle?" Duncan sighed, instantly closing up and looking a lot more wary. "Look, Phaedra, I know deserve more than I've given you but she's gone, lass. Best to let it rest now…"

"I can't Duncan" Phaedra argued. "She's part of who I am, whether I want her to be or not. Maybe she's the only way I can understand where I'm going, who I'll become. And after what I've found out here I just had to ask, and Duncan, you deserve to know this too…" Duncan looked at her, his features pinched with wariness, seeming almost frightened of what she had to say. But she couldn't spare him; she'd been spared by those around her for too long. "Esmerelle was a Hostower mage, Duncan, before you met her." Once she began, the words wouldn't stop. They rushed out from her in an agitated flood. "And she was married too, married the whole time, a mage named Black Garius, the one who I came here to kill. He thought she was dead…"

"My Gods, Phaedra" Duncan staggered, raising his shaking hand to his forehead. He looked stricken, it was far too much, too quickly. "Of everything I thought you might say…that…this is the last thing…I could ever have imagined." His struggle played across his face painfully, and then he looked at her again. "Are you certain?" He asked pleadingly.

"Yes" Phaedra answered, with genuine pity. In a way it was harder on Duncan, he'd known Esmerelle, the memory of her had been the centre of his heart, the one thing that he had always taken seriously as he drifted through his life in the Flagon, and now that memory was shaken to its foundation. But he didn't have to grapple with the knowledge that this woman now neither of them knew in truth was her mother, that maybe her deeds and her character now marked her.

"Esmerelle a Hostower mage" He shook his head. "It seems impossible…but…" A pained look passed over his face.

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" Phaedra's heart sank. So even Duncan saw what Daeghun had told her: the recklessness, the carelessness of those around her, the pride that had brought Garius to her knees…it had all been true, and perhaps a legacy of the same evil that she had toyed with in the Hostower. Her daughter, too, had fallen into Garius' clutches by token of this fatal resemblance between them. What if it was more than skin deep? Did Phaedra stand to lose those around her through her own carelessness, as Esmerelle had? If it did happen, she'd never forgive herself. She'd never be able to move on like Esmerelle had.

"Aye, it does" Duncan muttered. "But not in the way you're thinking, lass. Yes, she had the gaps in her past, and that power in her grasp…she must have learned what she knew in that Godsforsaken place. But that wasn't all she was, Phaedra, she had her faith, and a strong faith it was, even if she was new come to it. And she always did right as she saw it, even if it cost her. I never saw her harm an innocent, or wilfully do evil in all the months I travelled with her. If she was looking for some kind of redemption, from the Hostower, or from this man, Garius, I honestly believe she found it before she died."

"But Daeghun said…" Phaedra began.

"I can imagine what Daeghun said" Duncan snorted. "He blames Esmerelle for Shayle…well, for a lot of things. But Shayla knew the risks when she chose to return to the village, just as much as Esmerelle did. But they still went back for you. That should tell you something about Esmerelle."

"I suppose it does" Phaedra conceded thoughtfully. Garius had loved Esmerelle, but so had Duncan. And yet they both had seen her so differently. Duncan was right, though; she'd forgotten Esmerelle's faith and the new calling she'd apparently found as a cleric of Sehanine. Garius had given no hint of such an impulse, she'd have guessed that he would have contempt for it. So where had it come from? How had her mother hidden so much from her husband, and why had she been with Garius in the first place if she was a good person? Something had taken her to the Hostower in the first place, and there was still the mystery of Phaedra's father, another man, perhaps another man like Garius. After all Esmerelle had spurned Duncan.

"She was complicated" Duncan said softly, gazing for a moment up into the sky with a gravity that was quite unlike him. "Maddeningly so sometimes, and I didn't always understand her. But I know this, Phaedra, as sure as your drunken uncle knows anything, your mother was fundamentally a good person. And if she'd been in a bad place before she met me, well I'd still trust that it wasn't her fault that she'd ended up there. There's nothing anyone could say would change my mind unless Esmerelle herself came back and told me so." He shook his head, as if to clear it of a moment's idle dreaming, a moment's idle hope. Phaedra gazed at him, with both pity and wonder. He had such unshakeable confidence in her, even though she had been gone sixteen years. Could he really only be glamoured by Esmerelle's presence? He hadn't heard Garius' whispered adoration or seen the fevered glow in the mad wizard's eyes, but he had known her, and he had loved her. Maybe next time she saw the portrait, she'd be able to see a little more of what Duncan had. "And she's gone, Phaedra. Whatever she did, it's over now."

"I wish I could have known her…asked her…" Phaedra began, then faltered. She didn't even know what she would ask her mother if she could; there were so many questions. They whirled in her mind: How could you let Garius touch you, love you…? Who was my father and why did you leave him? Did you hate me…did you want to cast me away like you did his jewellery, or leave me in West Harbour with Shayla? And you were an adventurer, how did you deal with her hard decisions, the departures, the deaths? And how did you deal with love?

"So do I lass" Duncan nodded slowly. "So do I" They stood there a moment, in silence, surrounded by memories, wrapped in the fingers of a ghost…

"Your new inn then" Then Phaedra swallowed her feelings and turned back to the castle, finding herself unwilling to speak of Esmerelle further. Her gaze found an old outhouse from the keep, another of the derecript old buildings in the courtyard that once would have been supply depots or accommodation when the Keep functioned before the war, or maybe it had even been a tavern back then. Veedle had found no obvious use for this one in particular, apart from maybe housing some of the Greycloaks, but that would probably involve far more work than turning the place into a new inn for Duncan. She could shift the Greycloaks into the Keep once it was safer; it could use a bit more life around it anyway. "How about that one over there?" She indicated it.

"It could work" Duncan squinted thoughtfully at it, taking his cue from Phaedra by being all business once again. "The Flagon was in a worse state when I started. A new roof, filling in those holes, and some refurbishment on the inside…I still have the furniture and a few of the supplies from the old place which gives me a starting point. And I could get some of my old contacts moving out here on their route to the city, which could bring a bit of business as well as drop or two of good ale down here,."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to do most of the work on your own coin, and negotiate with the farmers for your produce yourself" Phaedra said rather regretfully, running it over in her head. She simply didn't have a choice. "I can't spare the men; we're stretched thin as it is."

"What, not even for your old uncle?" Duncan winced, and Phaedra shook her head helplessly, smiling in commiseration. "Well I can't say I didn't expect it" He sighed. "And may I say, you sound exactly like a good landowner should, hard-arsed and skint." He grinned at her, and she knew it was okay regardless.

"Sorry Duncan" She answered glibly. "We've got a lot of work to do already, without picking up after you too."

"Don't get lippy now" Duncan chuckled. "I knew I had to get here, keep an eye on you. Now you're such a big-shot, you need someone to keep your feet on the ground." Laughing, Phaedra waved as she left him to see to the rest of his unpacking. She had work left to do, it wasn't fair to leave Kana for the rest of the day to get on alone. As she climbed back up towards the Keep she reflected how good it would be to have Duncan around, well as long as he didn't corrupt the Greycloaks. She caught a few surprised looks from them as she went, perhaps at the bright smile or her lighter step. She even greeted a few on the way back to the keep, those whose names she could remember, and was rewarded with straighter-backed salutes and even a smile or two back. For the most part, they were just boys, just young like her. She promised herself she'd remember that, always.

"Phaedra!" On the steps of the keep, a familiar nasal hail caught her in her tracks and she turned to see Sand sweeping dramatically up behind her, his splendid black robes with a high silver collar, a new set if Phaedra was any judge, trailing at his feet. Sand's expensive tastes wouldn't go unsated, even here, it seemed. As a merchant himself, Phaedra knew his good word could a long way in bringing more equally expensive goods the way of Crossroad Keep. "Ah I'd been meaning to speak to you" He said, as he reached her there on the steps. She stepped down to his level, as he was scarcely taller than she was. "But first did you realise you'd attracted a kobold merchant to your keep?"

"A kobold merchant?" Phaedra repeated, blinking with surprise. She vaguely recalled reading something about the kobold, miniature draconic creatures, shy and secretive, but they were so rarely seen, and never in civilised climes. As for one being a merchant here, she'd signed a number of permits to operate around the keep, but only one to accommodate a permanent shop just yesterday. Hadn't that been under the name Deekin? So he was a kobold, fascinating.

"Yes it's quite extraordinary" Sand smiled indulgently. "I had quite the fascinating conversation with the little creature, although his diction is a little grating. It seems he's been just about everywhere. And he does carry some items in rather good taste. I'm sure a visit would do you some good" His fingers ran over the silken folds of his robe for a moment, meditatively. Then he raised his head and suddenly a rather more serious, even teacherly, note entered his bearing and Phaedra realised she was in for a lecture. The good feeling from her meeting with Duncan evaporated. "Regardless we do need to talk Phaedra" He began. "About certain aspects of your bearing as Captain of this Keep."

"I was under the impression I was doing a good job" Phaedra pricked instantly. Yes, it bothered her to have her competency to manage the Keep questioned. Already that felt personal. "At least I've had no complaints"

"No one's saying any different my dear" Sand soothed, as if she were being unreasonable. Phaedra took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Sand's advice was always useful in some form or other, even if she didn't accept it fully. "It's simply a matter of how you conduct yourself, or rather your private affairs."

"What do you mean?" Phaedra glanced at him. If this was Sand being circumscript, she didn't like it.

"There is a rumour abroad that you entertained a certain uncouth ranger in your chamber about a week ago." Sand answered slyly, savouring the gossip just a little too much for Phaedra's flaring temper and shock. Sand knew…about Bishop being in her room? Who else did? Who else had heard about it? Had Casavir…?

"How did you find out about that?" She gasped.

"The guard on your chamber door was a little loose with his tongue, I'm afraid" Sand tutted. He wasn't the least bit ashamed to tell this to her, Phaedra noted, in fact he almost seemed to relish it. "I took the liberty of having him dismissed and replaced with a more discreet man, well one in the usual model, rather too dumb to notice your assignations but easy on the eye. I'm sure you'll find him more palpable to your particular needs"

"You did what?" Phaedra stared at him, open-mouthed, utterly unsure of what to rage about first. Sand had dismissed a Greycloak? That wasn't his prerogative, it was her's. She was the commanding officer here! And she hadn't even thought about her poor chamber guard, and how much he'd heard of what had happened with Bishop. Hells, even what he must have seen could have been enough for him to draw the same erroneous conclusion that Sand was. But she'd been so distracted…

"We're not discussing my conduct here, Phaedra" Sand sighed airily. "Listen, you know I've always been understanding of your affair with Bishop, much more so than anyone else I must say. Mutual animosity is quite an aphrodisiac, I understand that, and I imagine he has some allure for you, given your painfully deprived upbringing. But you must think of the scandal if this gets out; the lady of Crossroad Keep in bed with a common scoundrel, imagine!" He shuddered dramatically, giving Phaedra a second to sort out her stunned thoughts and finally get a word in edgeways. Frankly she didn't know what to be insulted about first.

"Sand Bishop is not in bed with me" She snapped. "We're just…" She paused, what? Not friends surely? "Well there's nothing between us, not in that way."

"Oh" Sand looked almost disappointed to hear it. "But you must understand, I'm only thinking about your image here. These young men around you, they want to see you as they do their sisters, their daughters…."

"I'm their commanding officer!" Phaedra drew herself to her full height, her eyes flashing. Just because she was a woman didn't mean she was going to be some passive symbol of feminine meekness, like Nevalle had implied, like Sand was now suggesting. She was as capable as anyone

"Yes you are, and none of them will forget it and nor do I." Sand nodded slowly, he didn't seem offended by her rage. "But, like it or not, you're also a tangible reminder of what they're fighting to protect, an embodiment of what they've left behind. You'd be foolish not to inhabit that role and that is one thing I know you are not. Become that symbol, Phaedra, and they will gladly lay down their lives for you. Spurn it, and you spurn the things that matter most to them. And I know you do not wish to do that" His reasonableness allowed Phaedra's anger no proper relief, but slowly she calmed down, knowing his words made a sort of sense. Wrapped up in nonsense, and as usual giving people way too little credit, but still, it was there. After the trial, she was forced to admit she understood the power of such things. "So if you want to see Bishop, whatever the nature of your congress, do what every noble in the city does and practice a little discretion." Sand continued. "Find him in whatever sordid hovel he's squatting in, and get it done out of sight. It is not good for your dignity to be associated with him, and I say this with the utmost respect for you and no prejudice against filthy, discourteous rangers either." Well there was a point there. There were certain expectations upon her, ones she'd promised she'd do the best to fulfil. But if some of her companions, Bishop, Neeshka, or even Casavir with the stain on her record, didn't fit with the ideal, she couldn't change how she treated them just because of that. It wasn't right. She just had to make sure Bishop didn't get her into such a compromising situation next time.

"I'll be more careful" She promised with a sigh. No one could fault that.

"You know I'm right, my dear" Sand nodded slowly. "And speaking of which, don't you have a stock of some rather fetching gowns in your room. Isn't it time we ditched the farmer's daughter look and tried something a little more ambitious? You are a noble after all…"

"No!" Phaedra swung back, with a snap in her voice that astonished her as much as it did Sand. She still had such a visceral reaction to her mother's gowns, she couldn't help it…even after her talk with Dunacn. Was some part of her really that afraid that there was a chance she could turn into Esmerelle? "The gowns stay where they are, Sand" She pleaded, a little quieter. "Please…"

"Alright, it was just a suggestion." Sand thankfully pulled back. "Don't strain yourself, my dear. You're under too much stress already, Mystra alone knows what you're doing to your warlock powers." Phaedra raised a hand to her head, feeling another migraine coming on. Just another thing she was supposed to be thinking about, keeping a hold on, only she barely had the time to do it. So far the infernal flames had simmered within her acquiescently. The explosion in the tower room with Garius had so drained her, that she was only just coming back to full strength. But she knew next time she was in a fight, it would seize the chance and it would be all the more deadly for the long wait. "You do know you can come to me with anything" Sand leaned in gently. "Or Duncan, now that he's here, or anyone really…well, I'd rather you didn't go to Bishop. Just make sure you're not bearing this all alone."

"I'll do my best" Phaedra nodded, and then she turned and walked, a little quicker now, back into the keep. Well it was nice of Sand to say, nice enough to help her pass over some of his earlier comments. She wished she could talk to him, explain something of the turmoil in her heart…but really, his advice had been dead wrong, because the only person she really felt like she could talk to right now, was in fact Bishop.

Oooo000000000ooooooo

Kana and Master Veedle had been determined from the very beginning to see the inside of the keep a suitable residence for a Captain of Neverwinter. And slowly the combination of her master builder's irrepressible enthusiasm and her officer's quiet determination wore down Phaedra enough to convince her she couldn't live in a half-ruined Keep for ever. From the moment she gave in, a horde of labourers descended on the quiet, long-deserted halls of Crossroad Keep. Dust was eradicated, long-surviving kingdoms of cobwebs were swept away, and replaced by new stonework in the pock-marked walls. The perilous chandeliers were replaced or re-hung and the termite-riddled cross-beams were re-coated and repaired. In a few days, Phaedra barely recognised the main hallway, now glowing with firelight and hung with tapestries. In the library Aldanon had taken charge of the work, cataloguing the tomes and books, surprisingly well in fact. The West Wing remained uninhabitable but all involved had alarmingly detailed plans for it. Phaedra's mind buzzed with details every time she laid it down on the pillow, then she would wake at dawn to find the life of the Keep had begun once again. It was fiercely hard work and she floated on the edge of exhaustion most days, but it was such a distraction that she could almost forget the one dire charge for which she had begun this endeavour, the King of Shadows. That is, until Zhjaeve came to her one morning.

It was so strange, the moment the Githzerei stepped into the room, Phaedra could focus on nothing else. The constant buzz of keep's business, which she'd been unable to rid herself of for days, fled her brain and instead the awareness of the Githzerei's stillness and serenity floated through her suddenly quietened thoughts.

"Kalach-cha" She said, and the exotically inflected cadence of her ageless voice flooded every corner of Phaedra's soul. "Know that my labours, and the labours of your sage and the wizard have borne fruit at last." Instantly the paperwork fell from Phaedra's fingers. She felt her heart pounding.

"What have you found?" She asked, and her voice trembled.

"Garius had much dark lore in his possession, but what was not perilous to the soul was often of little certainty." Zhjaeve answered. "But our research always returned to one place, to one people…the ancient forefathers of this land, the Illefarn."

"The Illefarn?" Phaedra remembered the old ruins in the Mere where Daeghun had secreted the first shard, and those ancient halls where the Githyanki had hidden. That they should be another part of this mystery seemed right.

"Indeed, they were somehow involved in the very first war against the King of Shadows, an ancient and terrible war so long ago that the knowing of it is difficult at best" Zhjaeve continued. "And they may have discovered the secret to ending him entirely. There is a Ritual, fivefold in nature, a Ritual of Purification that will give one select being the tools, ancient and mystical powers born from light and hope, to defeat the King of Shadows within his very lair."

"And you believe I'd be able to accomplish this ritual?" Phaedra inferred.

"There is none better than the bearer of this false king's bane, the Sword of Gith" Zhjaeve bowed her head gracefully. This was a theme with Zhjaeve, it seemed, that Phaedra stood alone as the only one capable of this monumentous task. She wasn't sure if she believed it yet. But Zhjaeve's persuasion worked subtly upon her, and she was more convinced that she had been before. "The ritual will scatter the shadows, so that the blade may strike at the heart."

"How do I do it then?" Phaedra asked.

"We must go to the ruins of the ancient city of the Illefarn, a place once known as Arvahn, and there uncover Five Statues of Purification that are imbued with the Sacred Power of the Ritual." Zhjaeve explained. "Once they are found, a simple touch and a mind open to their power should be enough to unlock their grace."

"Avahn…" Phaedra breathed the word, it was elvish, and the ancient form of that language. It felt right on her tongue.

"It is to the north of this place" Zhjaeve went on. "Three day's journey by the fastest road."

"I'll have to leave the keep for at least a week then." Phaedra frowned, doubt disturbing her focus for the first time. She didn't like it, not at this early stage.

"So you shall" Zhajeve leaned, and Phaedra felt the press of her cat-like eyes like a physical touch. It had an undefinable power, so that under that gaze Phaedra felt her doubts subside anew. What if she did have to do this? Would any sacrifice be too great to stop the monstrous King of Shadows? Her heart quailed at that question suddenly, what more could she give up, but once asked, it couldn't be unthought. "All the readiness of this keep, though tested it will be is as nothing if we do not possess the means to slay the King of Shadows once and for all" Zhjaeve's voice rose in a hypnotic swell.

"You're right" Phaedra answered quietly. How could she say no? "Kana could handle things for a week, I suppose, so long as it wasn't much longer." She felt so reluctant to leave the Keep, how unusual, but then again she'd already poured so much effort and feeling into the place that it was only natural in a way. Maybe once she would have welcomed the chance to delegate her responsibilities, but the Keep…no, she couldn't leave it to anyone else.

"Have faith in them, and they shall have faith in themselves, Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve advised. "It is a power stronger than any blade." Abruptly, she turned, as if to go, to leave things at that…

"Zhjaeve, on the way…" Phaedra began abruptly, before pausing and trying to think up a way to make the question seem less strange, less rude. "On the way I don't suppose you could reveal a little more about yourself? About your people, and how you came here…we'll have a great deal of time." It still felt strange to ask, but then Phaedra had become so amazingly used to having Zhjaeve around, even so mysterious as she was, in such a short space of time that she almost felt like she knew the Githzerei already, despite really not being able to tell all that much about her.

"I would be honoured to share what I can with you" Zhjaeve replied with a graceful sweep of her cloak. Well then, that was good. What Tarmas would give to have this opportunity to quiz a being so obviously alien…what Amie would have said…she paused a moment, but the thought of Amie brought only a small ache, like the wound had almost healed.

"Well then…we ought to get everyone together I suppose" Phaedra clasped her hands together, putting everything else from her mind. It was time to think like the adventurer again. She knew it would be good to have everyone around, all in one place, for a few days' travelling. Perhaps she could catch up with where everyone stood exactly, since there'd been so little opportunity in the Keep so far. Some of those conversations, she thought, would be more welcome than others. Still they'd all have to be faced some day. Better it was out there. Well, she turned to her things and began to mentally inventory what she'd have to bring along, here we go again.

Ooooo0000000oooooooooooo

As the cool wind danced over the well-trodden dirt road skirted the crisp sky and brushed over Shandra's face and hair she reflected that it was good to be on the road again. The gates of Crossroad Keep groaned shut behing the little party as it trundled along down the path which led from the Keep into the world. The hilly countryside opened out around them, under a clouded sky through which beams of light flashed across distant lakes and rivers and pierced the sky in radiant tunnels of shimmering gold. The ripe smell of grass and freshly turned earth flooded her nostrils. It smelt like home. She still missed Highcliff sometimes, missed the familiar and the expected, the small, homely daily rituals that marked the passing of the seasons, but she'd never have traded the chances and experiences she'd had since leaving for just about anything in the world. And now they were off again, to see more and to do more. After nearly two weeks cooped up in Crossroad Keep, it felt right.

Maybe it was because they were all together again. It had been astonishing to Shandra how quickly and completely the party had disintegrated while Phaedra was too distracted by the keep to hold it together. Everyone had gone off to their own little niches in the Keep and occupied themselves with their own activities, almost as if they'd never been brought together in the first place. Khelgar, for example, had taken to the Keep as easily as he had anywhere else. Shandra had exchanged a few words with him here and there as they'd passed each other, but he always was busy amongst the most raucous young Greycloaks, teaching fighting techniques or brawling or drinking, making friends as simply as he now chatted with a sullen Neeshka. Elanee, by contrast, had never looked worse, Shandra thought with pity. The rumour was, Shandra had heard from the Greycloaks, that Elanee wandered around the Keep every night at ungodly hours, like some kind of spectre. Her sleepless nights showed, her hair was ragged, her gaze dulled and turned inward as if she were fighting a constant pain within. So far she'd been a cause of friction already. She didn't like Zhjaeve, and she'd made that clear. But her objections to the Githzerei had the shrillness of hysteria. In all honesty, Shandra was worried about Elanee, but she'd never been close to the enigmatic druid, and wasn't sure how exactly to approach her.

Perhaps Casavir had spoken to her. He was the only one Shandra had extended contact with during the last weeks, but only for their lessons which had become almost tedious in the constancy of their exquisite torture. Casavir never spoke to her about anything other than swordplay, though she'd have given a great deal to unlock exactly what was going on in his heart. If he was going to go for Phaedra, as Shandra had once thought he would, then at least Shandra could move on and be happy for the pair of them But he never made any move on her, never indicated his intentions by anything but the most oblique courtesy. Did he doubt himself that much? All Shandra knew was that if he didn't move quickly, he would lose her. Bishop and Phaedra were as volatile as ever together. Carefully she considered the back of the ranger with her gaze, the wolfish slope of the shoulders as he loped along, bespoking a certain casual, sneering arrogance even in the smallest gesture. Rumours had already flooded the Keep that he and Phaedra were involved. Shandra had argued that down whenever she'd heard it, but she could see where it came from. Even now, when she walked at the head of the company with Zhjaeve by her side, her head bowed slightly as if deep in thought, Phaedra couldn't stop herself gravitating towards him, and his steps always mirrored her's, as if in ownership. The chemistry between them was undeniable. But getting Bishop to open up about his intentions would be harder than making Casavir. Gods, they were quite the trio. And there was Neeshka to think about. Shandra wasn't even sure if she and Bishop had continued their clandestine affair or if it had just been a one night thing. She'd seen even less of the tiefling in the Keep, she always seemed to be bustling around on some mysterious business of her own. Frankly Shandra didn't want to know and Neeshka wasn't telling. Sand was as insufferable as ever, but it was Zhjaeve who occupied Shandra's thoughts most of all. Understandably, as the new presence in the party, but she seemed to have thrown off the dynamic of things somewhat. Shandra wasn't sure where she stood with Zhjaeve. She didn't quite distrust the Githzerei like Elanee did. But Zhjaeve was just so eerie…so otherworldly. She gave Shandra the jitters every time she looked at her, which thankfully wasn't often as she always seemed to be watching Phaedra. In fact she was always creepily close to Phaedra, shadowing her, always at hand to impart wisdom. It made Shandra think of a craftswoman slowly moulding her masterpiece, and frankly she didn't like it. But her prejudice wasn't easily put into words, and she preferred to keep quiet about it.

She certainly had plenty to think about, as the day went on in a companionable journeying way. She chatted to Phaedra a bit, inconsequential things mainly, but she got the sense that the younger girl's mind was elsewhere anyway. When they set up camp that first night, everyone mainly went about their business on their own, though Phaedra sat with Zhjaeve, like an acolyte at the feet of her teacher. They didn't speak all that much. But Shandra sensed there were communications deeper than words running between them. She was watching them out of the corner of her eye, when suddenly a flurry in the opposite side of the camp caught her gaze. It was Elanee, suddenly the elf stood up from where she'd been sat sullenly in her bedrolls, watching the pair with more intent and less discretion than Shandra, and threw down her blankets as if she were about to run across the grove and tear Zhjaeve and Phaedra apart. Casavir instantly appeared by her side, leant down, murmured to her urgently. But Elanee only tossed her hair dismissively, fire in her eyes.

"I can't take this anymore!" She snapped, loud enough that Phaedra and Zhjaeve must have heard it. But neither of them looked up, even when Elanee abruptly stormed out of the grove into the silent, dark forest. Casavir paused, looked across the grove at Phaedra.

"It is just stress" He said quickly. "I will talk to her."

"Make sure she's okay" Phaedra instructed with a cursory glance. But that was all. Though she'd once been so close to Elanee, nowadays she couldn't even see that the druidess was in trouble without her. It had once seemed that Phaedra had needed Elanee so desperately, but maybe it was really the other way around. Casavir nodded gently, and turned to follow Elanee. Shandra stood slowly…she'd give anything to find out what they were going to say to each other. She needed to get to the bottom of what was happening to Elanee if Phaedra wasn't going to, and, if she was honest, she'd also like to know what exactly was going on between Elanee and Casavir too.

"Want to listen in to that, farmgirl?" Suddenly Bishop's hoarse murmur sounded close to her ear. She jumped, turning around to face the ranger standing uncomfortably close, with a wolfish grin. How did he do that, get so close without her even knowing?

"Gods, Bishop" She complained. "Don't do that!" He shrugged infuriatingly.

"Do you want to know what they get up to the undergrowth or not?" He said. Shandra considered, her better nature warned her against making deals with the devil, but…her curiosity was a stronger impulse.

"Oh alright" She sighed, crossing her arms. But she wondered what his goal was in offering, what did he get out of this? Still maybe a chance to observe Bishop as well was no bad thing, see how he operated, and maybe pin him down a little more. Shandra didn't like not being able to tell what someone could do next. "But he can't know I'm doing this…"

"As long as you don't clank through the forest your darling paladin won't know a thing" Bishop turned back to the forest. "I'm sure he'll be too busy…comforting our dear druidess to notice you anyway." Typical…

"I don't clank…" Shandra snapped, following him out of the grove, after a quick glance back to make sure Phaedra wasn't watching. Disappearing into the forest with Bishop sure wouldn't go down well. Only Neeshka was, but the tiefling was expressionless, so, shrugging, she padded along in Bishop's footsteps, trying to mimic his stealthy silence.

"Hells" He cursed, once they'd gone only a few metres. "Do you hear yourself? You sound like someone stuck armour on a swamp boar and set it running."

"I do not" Shandra snapped, insulted. "Just because you have freakish senses…"

"Don't you see it Casavir?" Elanee's shrill voice rang out, and Bishop instantly raised a hand to motion Shandra to fall silent. She didn't need the order, instantly freezing where she stood. "That woman…that thing…is trying to take Phaedra away from us, wrap her up in astral mysticism, make her less a part of our world, less ours …"

"Phaedra isn't ours Elanee" Casavir answered, his voice reasonable, gentle beside Elanee's manic rasp. "Any more than she is Zhjaeve's or anyone else's. We can all guard her, and guide her, but in the end the choices are her own. It is she who bears the Shard in her chest, she who must face this bane…"

"You sound like her" Elanee hissed. Shandra shifted, trying to catch a glimpse of the pair. Bishop furiously glared back at her, apparently she made too much noise, but she managed to peer through the trees and see Elanee and Casavir facing each other across a rotting tree stump. Elanee looked shrunken, closed suspiciously in on herself like an animal which feared attack. Casavir's back was to them, but he stood tall and stalwart before the raging druidess. "Just like Zhjaeve, I might have known you'd enjoy her bread of dogmatic zeolotry. Will you sacrifice Phaedra too, then, hold the knife over her head as Zhjaeve rips out her heart? That's what this talk of duty leads to!"

"I will sacrifice myself a hundred times before I let Phaedra come to harm" Casavir answered firmly, and his voice sent an unwilling thrill through Shandra. Such devotion…she could only ever dream that anyone would speak of her like that. "At the hands of Zhjaeve, or otherwise."

"Good!" Elanee stumbled forward, and grasped his hand in both her own, suddenly pleading. "Then talk to her, persuade her to end this madness! She can't throw herself at the King of Shadows like this, throw herself into the darkness on the strength of Zhjaeve's pitiless dogma…"

"I have faith in her, Elanee" Casavir answered. "And the King of Shadows must be stopped. He has already killed too many times…"

"Let someone else do it then!" Elanee snapped. "Let Nasher, that sanctimonious moron Sir Nevalle; it's they who have something to lose." Shandra held back a gasp, as Elanee suddenly cracked apart, and a look of pure devastation crossed her beautiful features. She sank down on her knees, still clasping Casavir's hand close to her, as if she were cradling a child. "But not Phaedra…not my Phaedra…" She moaned, and the pain in her voice pierced Shandra's heart. She'd always seen Elanee as passionless, cool and collected like the other elves she'd encountered, but…by the Gods, this was…the agony of a mother. How could Elanee feel so strongly for Phaedra? It seemed impossible, after the simple random encounter that had led her into this quest.

"Elanee…" Slowly Casavir knelt down beside her, infinite pity in his voice. Shandra found herself holding her breath. "What is truly wrong?"

"I…oh Casavir…it's driving me mad" Elanee breathed hoarsely. Suddenly she had no strength left, she was helpless, utterly vulnerable. And of course nothing set off Casavir better. He leant in closer, holding her up, and Shandra felt her heart ache with longing. "I feel it dying, every day a little more."

"What do you feel?" He asked.

"The land, the Mere…" Elanee choked. "It's being consumed, harvested, stripped bare of all life and left to rot in the cursed corruption of the King of Shadows. And I feel every acre die as if it were my own body. I can't shut it out, ever…I can't sleep, I can scarcely eat…the pain of it is always with me." Shandra raised her hand to her mouth…by the Gods, no wonder Elanee had been so out of sorts.

"Tyr's mercy!" Casavir exclaimed, shock breaking through his sombre presence. He leant over Elanee, almost cradling her. "Why did you keep silent? Why couldn't you say something, tell me, or tell Phaedra?"

"No!" Elanee straightened suddenly with a new strength born of desperation, grasping Casavir's hand again in entreaty; the other hand seized his shoulder frantically, pulling herself close to him. "Phaedra can't know…she can't ever know, Casavir, understand?"

"Why, Elanee?" Casavir breathed.

"If she knows I am weak, that my power is fading with the Mere…" Elanee's voice cracked with a great, harsh sob. Tears glistened in her lovely green eyes. "She will know that I am useless to her, she'll abandon me. Sand, Zhjaeve…they will take her away from me, even you will go with her." She shuddered with hysterical grief. "Casavir…I have no Circle anymore, they are lost, and the Mere, which I am sworn to protect, falls away from me beyond my meagre power to heal. Phaedra is all I have left." The loneliness, the agony in her voice was devastating. How could Shandra not have realised how alone Elanee was feeling? Her circle, the only home she'd ever known was gone…destroyed. At least Highcliff still lived, still thrived. She could always return there. Elanee could never go back. And now Phaedra, all she had left, had turned her back on her, for what? Some squabble they'd had, not even Shandra knew the details of it. But she felt a twinge of blame directed at Phaedra for the first time. Maybe if she didn't spend so much time dancing around Bishop she would notice that the people who cared for her were suffering. She wasn't the only one who had been through something terrible.

"Elanee I will never allow you to be left alone." Casavir murmured, and lifted her up against his chest to hold her. It was a chaste embrace, remote yet comforting. But Shandra still longed for it with every fibre of her being. And she saw Elanee fall back within his arms, trembling with mingled sorrow and relief, and she knew suddenly that Elanee loved Casavir just as much as she did. But she could feel no jealousy for the druidess, not after what she had just heard. If only Casavir was acting out of love and not duty. Then at least one of them would end this happy.

"I reckon we leave them to it." Bishop murmured coarsely at her side. She'd almost forgotten he was there. "I'm not sure the paladin's man enough to handle the pair of you at the same time, so running out to him won't do you any good." She scowled at him. By the Gods…he too had heard all that, seen everything. She wished he hadn't, he would only find some foul use for it.

"Come on, then" She snarled as quietly as she could, and began to trudge back to the camp, feeling very much too out of sorts to deal with any more of Bishop. Unfortunately he wasn't about to give up on a golden opportunity to wind her up.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, farmgirl." Bishop said with mock pity as they went. "Or if you really have to, do it naked, with someone warm and willing." She glared at him, and he grinned right back, completely unapologetic. "At least then you'll get some satisfaction out of this whole thing, because our paladin back there's either giving it all to the mad elf, or dreaming about our dear leader again tonight. He's not worth it, bet his bed's cold as Cania anyway."

"Just shut up Bishop" Shandra snapped.

"Get over him, give him up like the lost cause he is." Bishop advised. "She already has." There was no need to say who 'she' was. Shandra stopped in her tracks and turned on him. Fine, insult her, insult her silly crush on Casavir if you had to, but...leave Phaedra out of this.

"And what makes you so sure she has?" Shandra challenged.

"I have good instinct, comes with the territory." Bishop shrugged. "She's shown me she has, a million different ways. Some small, some not so small." He grinned, putting a lascivious edge on the conversation. "If you only knew what she can get up to..."

"Damn it all, Bishop!" Shandra exclaimed. "Give it a rest! I don't know what she sees in you!"

"I could show you" Bishop smirked, and Shandra turned away, disgustedly. That was it! She wasn't wasting a moment more on him. "Or else you could just ask her?" Bishop challenged after her retreating back. That stopped her in her tracks. "Did I strike a nerve?" She could hear the satisfaction in Bishop's voice. "Ask her what exactly she's given me, hear it from those soft lips. And then you might find out what keeps her coming back even though she knows I'm a bad, bad man" He paused, and his voice went low, menacing. "Or are you afraid of what she might say back?" He didn't wait for an answer, he knew she wasn't going to give him one, so he went, vanishing into the forest again with barely a whisper of sound. Shandra stood there for a second, blushing like she hadn't since she was a little girl. He had struck a nerve, damn him. Why hadn't she tried to pin down Phaedra on Bishop? It was time someone did, and no one else was going to do it. Maybe she was afraid, afraid for Phaedra that was. Bishop didn't scare her...well, not most of the time. In turmoil, she strode back into the camp. First, they had to get through this ritual, whatever it was. Then she'd decide what to do next.


	68. Chapter 68

_Buenos Dias, my good readers! I am in Spain at the moment, which has made publishing a little more difficult than usual, but here I am the last, with an absolutely mammoth upload for you! I wanted to get Arvahn out of the way, as it's mostly questing, repeated discovery of Statues and the info dump in the Gem Mines area, but there are a few interesting dynamics developing here, with Zhjaeve's philosophy developing and having an impact on Phaedra, Elanee's weakness in the public eye, and Casavir coming out with some rather morbid meditations. I decided to split it into two chapters for the ease of your reading. So if you're here, you're starting in the right place!_

_Thank you ever so much to Ivy Rose Thorn, for your lovely lovely review. Honestly, dear, I'd marry you in a second as well, as one of my friends just got engaged which is very disheartening! (aargh/ she's way too young/I'm going to die alone with cats). And as always to all who read, like and favourite my creation, my dearest thanks. _

_Read on..._

* * *

Dappled light streaked through the trees overhead, glistening in a silvery sheen across the still calm pool of water that stretched out in a clear glimmering sheen to the right of where Phaedra sat, perched on the bank where the grass was soft and springy. Zhjaeve knelt in a meditative pose of contemplation just across from her, and it seemed, as Phaedra looked intently into the Githzerei's glinting eyes, that the still water next to them was reflected in the utter calm of her gaze. Nothing disturbed the surface, nothing peered outside of the sea of tranquil meditation. Whatever was below, Zhjaeve's past, her motivations, her intentions, it was hidden, and hidden well.

"Zhjaeve…" Phaedra spoke, for the first time in what seemed like hours. "You said you'd answer my questions. May I…?" She paused, hoping the Githzerei would pick up her meaning. It had likely only been a few minutes since Zhjaeve had wordlessly taken her away from the rest of the party to this quiet bank where they had sat alone in the peculiar meditation that so often overtook Phaedra when she was with the Githzerai. It was habit to Zhjaeve clearly, but Phaedra had never seen herself as the meditating type, not until now at least. Whenever she sat here though, she forgot about Garius, about West Harbour…or at least they retreated to the back of her thoughts, and a complete stillness descended over the swell and tumult of her mind. It made her more like Zhjaeve was, at least for a while. And at the moment it sometimes felt like the only thing that kept her on track.

"Ask, and I will hear you" Zhjaeve answered quietly, sensing the questions between them. Her spear lay in the grass under her fingertips. It was a beautiful but fearsome thing, carved by the weaponsmith from Crossroad Keep, a man from the Fort Locke area named Jacoby, but clearly it was Zhjaeve's design that had shaped it, with the exotic two-pronged point like the curve of a sharp wave quite unlike anything of this world.

"Zhjaeve, I hope this isn't offensive, but…what makes you so different from the Githyanki I've fought? I mean you look the same, but…something about you is so utterly unlike them" Phaedra asked cautiously, hoping the question wouldn't be monstrous to Zhjaeve. "And you speak as though you're different races."

"What else do you call a people sundered without end and into eternity?" Zhjaeve answered, the rhetorical question felt like some kind of philosophical technique, designed to confuse and muddle rather than give clarity. "We were once one, but never again." There was an air of finality to that, but Phaedra was too curious to be silenced.

"What happened to you?" She said instead.

"It is not…something that can be told simply, or in so curt a form as this journey requires" Zhjaeve closed off completely, something entirely new from her, and it felt like a door slammed in Phaedra's face. But at least Zhjaeve was direct about it. "But let it suffice to say we are at eternal war." There was a moment's silence, as Phaedra considered what Zhjaeve had said, and what she hadn't.

"Aldanon knew a great deal about the Githyanki, but I've never heard about the Githzerei before" Phaedra admitted after a moment or two, hoping she was on safer ground to press Zhjaeve more obliquely.

"That is no surprise to me" Zhjaeve answered. Phaedra smiled, but if it was a joke, Zhjaeve gave no sign of it. "Know that many lifetimes would go by before I recited but one of the annals of our People."

"Where do you come from?" Phaedra asked. "Where's your home?" She couldn't help but think of West Harbour. Was Zhjaeve like her, wandering far away from home, sundered from the places she knew in order to try to save them? No, Zhjaeve would never carry the doubt and regret that she did. For whatever reason she had left her home, she was no doubt entirely sure of it.

"The People, the Githzerei, have made their home on the shifting plane of Limbo" Zhjaeve didn't exactly answer the question, Phaedra hadn't asked where the Githzerei made their home…but she knew by now that Zhjaeve wasn't going to give her any personal information, not yet anyway. "Cities are built from our thoughts, as all else that encircles us is turmoil. We live within the chaos of these planar currents, with only our knowing and our will to preserve us." Phaedra couldn't imagine it, she didn't even try. But she knew better than to doubt what Zhjaeve was saying. There were countless planes, so many that when Tarmas had tried to make her memorise the important ones she'd foundered hopelessly on their different natures, attributes and inhabitants. Some represented elements, the foundational principles of the universe, there were the homes of angels and demons, Mount Celestia and Baator, and for the devils, the infinite Abyss, many other planes had been shaped by the Gods as dwelling places. She hadn't even got to Limbo on that occasion. But she knew that nothing we took for granted was the same in these other worlds: the laws of nature, even time, as Zeeaire's end had shown. To the lucky few who walked between worlds, like Zhjaeve clearly had…experiences utterly beyond comprehension awaited.

"You mean your thoughts shape and defend your cities?" She asked quietly.

"Indeed" Zhjaeve nodded. "Many minds united may create citadels no enemy may breach. And as a Zerth it is my duty to guard the People in the walls of their hearts and their cities, for among us the two are one. I focus the wills of others by using the knowing of our People's history and beliefs to remove doubt, and heal the mind through the words of Zerthimon." Phaedra nodded slowly; hadn't she felt exactly that since she'd met the Githzerei?

"Are you like a priest then?" She asked cautiously. And what of Zerthimon? She'd heard his name before in her talk with Zhjaeve in Crossroad Keep, and alongside Gith, whose blade she carried. These alien names, stories, histories, suddenly seemed so important.

"That title would apply, yes." Zhjaeve answered. "But while we hold the words of Zerthimon to be of importance, we do not worship him as your people do the Gods of this plane. It seems to us to be too close to slavery, and we have sworn never to bear the yoke of another again." So they were an apostate people, just like the Githyanki. Another way in which they were entirely alien from any experience Phaedra could imagine. But to call faith slavery…that gave Phaedra a little pause. The Gods made demands on us all, more or less depending on their natures, but supposedly the rewards of faith were sufficient to make even the most arduous trial pale before the faithful heart. But Phaedra's own faith felt too…distant, too much a thing of old discarded habit these days rather than any real fervour, for her to offer any compelling narrative against Zhjaeve's diagnosis.

"So what made you come here?" She asked quickly, directly. She'd long sensed that the only way to pin down anything from Zhjaeve would be this way. "And how did you come to be locked up in Crossroad Keep? Did they capture you, or did you let them take you?" Frankly that wouldn't have surprised her in the least. Zhjaeve seemed so in control of everything around her, had she meant to be found by Phaedra perhaps?

"The path that led to me being chained in a twisted one" Something passed across Zhjaeve's face, Phaedra couldn't quite tell what it was. Her alien features were so hard to read. "And the citadel that is now yours, Crossroad Keep, was not my intended destination. I journeyed to your plane to see the actions of the Githyanki with my own eyes. This plane... this Faerun... is often in their thoughts and in their speech."

"You were spying on them?" Phaedra leaned in, wrapping her arms around her knees. Suddenly her thoughts were buzzing with interest, as though a stone had been cast amidst the water, sending ripples of questions running through her head.

"I observed them." Zhjaeve corrected rather primly. "The Githyanki are hunters, and they rarely release their prey. Yet it was the name of the prey they sought that first brought the matter to my People."

"The Kalach-cha" Looking down Phaedra remembered the first time she'd heard that fateful name, back in that dingy old tavern a day's journey from West Harbour. How far she'd come since then, and how dread and terrible a resonance the name had assumed.

"So it was said." Zhjaeve confirmed. "Such a hunt must be confirmed with the eyes and cannot be trusted to words traded with another." She paused, her eyes closing a moment in meditation, as if to underline the gravity of her words. Phaedra felt a moment's discomfort at the thought that the Githzerei spoke this title, her title, with such reverence. "I followed the path of the Githyanki, but we were both prey of another." She went on "To my shame, I did not see the Shadow until it was too late. They took me, and chained me within Crossroad Keep. I was questioned, but what I deigned to tell them they did not welcome."

"You spoke to Garius?" Phaedra whispered feeling a chill of the old panic run through her mind.

"Yes, briefly, but I was mainly in the hands of his torturers" Zhjaeve said it with such an eerie calm that Phaedra's breath caught in her throat. Torture, the memory of torture…she approached even that with such equanimity, as if it had happened to someone else…no, more like as if it had happened, but it had not touched her inner being in the slightest. Phaedra couldn't help but compare it to her ongoing desperate struggle to suppress the memory of what Garius had done to her. "He seemed to believe I was one of the Githyanki, but if I was I would have slain myself rather than fall into his clutches. As it was, I buried my spirit deep within, and meditated on my purpose. I knew that I would either be killed there, or chance would intervene. As it happened, fate was my deliverer, the fate that brought me to you, Kalach-cha" Phaedra turned away, looking down through the strands of her hair into the calm waters. She still hadn't made her peace with her ordeal in Crossroad Keep, it still haunted her; maybe it always would. And Zhjaeve had spent days, weeks maybe, in that same darkness, and been tortured and faced death, and yet the Githzerei was so…untouched by it.

"Kalach-cha, your spirit is deeply troubled" Suddenly Zhjaeve leaned in, and Phaedra blinked with surprise, looked back into the Githzerei's yellow cat-like eyes and was caught by the strength of the entreaty in her eyes. It was the first time Zhjaeve had ever said something personal to her, something about Phaedra herself and not the Kalach-cha, and look…it was about how troubled she was. Her troubles were in danger of defining her. "I see the doubt, the fear and the regret that clouds your soul and dulls the power of your will. You are deeply burdened by what has happened to you."

"We all are, Zhjaeve" Phaedra attempted a weak smile, trying to dodge the painful accuracy of Zhjaeve's words.

"Not all of us." Zhjaeve's answer was a sharp shock to her core, yet it was spoken with utter certainty. "I am a Zerth. My will, my resolve, is what I am. And the task to which my will is bent is all that my heart holds: I cannot doubt, I do not allow it, I do not regret, for everything that I have done has been in service to my calling, I do not fear, for everything I am is already sacrificed." She spoke the words like they were a liturgy, yet they finally gave Phaedra the first, brief glimpse, of what had made the Githzerei like she was, what made her so utterly inhuman. "That task to which my will is bent, Kalach-cha, is now you. And if you too wish to hear the words of Zerthimon, to bend yourself to your own task, I could aid you in that." For a moment Phaedra almost considered it: no more wasted agony about West Harbour, or Cormick,or the many dead behind her, no more lingering trauma from Garius' sick treatment, maybe even no more of the passion for Bishop she couldn't rip out, or the long, painful unravelling of her relationship with Elanee. She could approach everything as Zhjaeve did, utterly without passion, thinking only of the defeat of the King of Shadows and nothing else. But how could she still be Phaedra, how could she still be human, without all those things? Like it or not, she was who she was because she longed for what she couldn't have, because she mourned and regretted and wept for agony of what she couldn't change, because she feared going too far in this quest only a little less than she did doing too little.

"Zhjaeve, thank you for offering this to me, but I cannot do it" She said quickly, standing suddenly and stepping back from the Githzerei on a single light step as if Zhjaeve represented a temptation she knew she had to refuse. "It's too much…it's too far…"

"You are the Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve's words, though spoken soft, bored into Phaedra's head as if each were a well-aimed arrow. "You cannot deny what lies so close to your heart, so utterly close to your soul. This task, this quest, is who you are and it is useless to deny that, worse than useless to fight against it. But…" Slowly she turned away, looked out into the waters as Phaedra stood there by her, completely stunned by her words. "I sense that now is not the time for you to hear this. There will come a time when you realise this yourself, and then you will come to me and I shall teach you"

Ooooo00000000ooooo

"It is exactly as the scribes said" Sand's voice was soft, reverent, as he gazed up at the marvellous statue before them. "Five statues of Angarradh, Purification in the old tongue, set amidst the glory of Arvahn of old. And this, the first, just beyond where once stood the gates of the city." Phaedra glanced at him for a second, wondering at his sudden awe. But then again Sand was always transported in the presence of power, and there was power here, no doubt about that. The closer Phaedra got to the statue the more she began to sense it, sense something she couldn't quite describe. It was like ozone in the air, a gentle hum of energy that tugged at her heartstrings, and raised in her an indescribable longing. It…called to her. In a language she didn't know, but in a voice she couldn't shut out. The statue in itself was wondrous enough. Time had not degraded the quality of the carving in the slightest, nor had the forest colonised its smooth marble surface with even the slightest moss nor had vandals damaged its pristine beauty. It was in the form of a woman, an elven woman, impossibly beautiful and perfectly realistic though she stood some twice the size of Phaedra. Even though she was carved only from glistening white marble, still it seemed as though at any moment those lips might part and she might speak. The hands held a bowl, offered up to those standing before her, and tucked behind the statue's arm was a long, slender spear in a curiously elegant and archaic style. It was clearly a later addition to the statue as it was rusted bronze not marble yet Phaedra guessed it had some unfathomable meaning. Everything about the statue seemed to hold infinite meaning.

"Indeed Arvahn that was stands before us" Zhjaeve agreed with a slow nod. "Feel the touch of Illefarn around you, and beneath your feet." Slowly Phaedra tore her gaze from the statue, and looked out into the landscape before her, her mind opening to Zhjaeve's smallest suggestion. They had travelled here, four days from Neverwinter, solely by the intuitive directions of the Githzerei. It was a pleasant hillside, run through with the sound of flowing water, its slopes were gentle and beneath them the flat meadows traced ancient pathways that were long overgrown. It seemed that the ruins were sparse for what had once been a city, a pile of crafted stones cast into the river and overrun with moss and leaves, a pillar or two left standing embraced by vines, the signs of old foundations drawn in places where the grass had not grown so thick. Yet even the gradient of the hills seemed a touch too perfect, too smooth, suggesting that the Illefarn had crafted even that. Still Phaedra felt a slight touch of apprehension, even looking out into this pleasant place. For if this had once been a city, if it had been sacked by the King of Shadows, did the same fate await Crossroad Keep, even Neverwinter, should she fail in her efforts to stop him?

"Chauntea…" Shandra breathed and Phaedra found herself looking back at the statue, the only complete sign that there had been a city here once. It was extraordinary. And yet nothing in the carving itself quite explained the effect it was having on Phaedra. It was only the shell. The power…was somewhere inside. She could feel it. Slowly she reached up, holding her breath as if she were approaching something holy, as if this simplest movement were a sacrament, and she touched the statue's cool, rough stone surface.

It took only that touch. Instantly she felt a rush of power inside the statue, under the statue, through the statue, and suddenly moving within her. It was like the quicksilver glory of light itself, a light that was infinite and falling back into depths that she couldn't comprehend. It had majesty, grace, like a cathedral of magic, its tendrils like great flying buttresses soaring above them, and foundations sunk deep into the earth. And as it flowed through her, she knew how different it was to the febrile ferment of her own power that roared impotently below its gentle current as if in protest at the intrusion. It built up, it fortified, it had a nature that was bound in ritual, in care and in high dignity. It would never turn on her for it had a single purpose, and it was bound to that purpose entirely.

"Phaedra!" Casavir cautioned, but Zhjaeve laid a hand on his arm, quietening him. And then the statue spoke.

"In ancient times the Guardian was created to protect Illefarn" Its voice came from somewhere deep within it, smooth, sexless and echoing with magic. The lips did not move, the eyes didn't open…it simply gave forth the message. Magic had bound these words within its very substance, with an exquisite artistry as great as the carver's work itself. "If the hour has come to dismantle our Great Instrument, you will be the agent of its destruction." Entranced by the symphony of its power, Phaedra nonetheless wondered at its words. The Guardian…was that the same as the King of Shadows? Did that mean the Illefarn had created him? "Take this Blessing of Camaraderie." The message went on, heedless of her confusion. "May its power strike down all who oppose you and your allies." And then the statue began to hum with power, like a dozen voices raised in chorus, and it gave forth an ethereal glow, shining with all the colours of the spectrum in streaking rays of light. Phaedra gasped as the power enveloped her, rushed into her anew.

"How fascinating." Sand murmured, and Phaedra glanced down at her hands to see that suddenly she too was glowing, light seeping through every pore of her body, of the same glorious hue as that which played around the statue. It was there only for a second, shining, playing across her skin and hair with a splendid resonance, and then it faded…yet the power remained.

"The first part of the ritual is complete" Zhjaeve confirmed what Phaedra already knew. "Our enemy's home is everywhere darkness lies. Know that though the King of Shadows may become legions, this ritual may still be used to drive him back." Phaedra slowly drew back her hand from her shoulder, clasping and unclasping her fingers experimentally, as the hum of pins and needles played across her skin. She knew suddenly that the ritual was no simple safeguard, no quick fix scheme to dismantle the King of Shadows step by step. It was far more subtle than that. It was a gift to her, to strengthen her, a weapon she would have to wield herself in the coming battle to undo him. And suddenly, like an echo deep within, she knew its name…this part of the ritual was the Aurora Chain. There were other parts too, other gifts with other purposes. And in a strange way, this first part was waiting for them, it yearned for the completion of the Ritual. In her mind she found it settled so naturally inside her, a different well of power to that fiery chasm in her spirit, one that responded to her as easily and gracefully as a thought. She drew on that power, and let it go, so that the light shone around her once again, in a shimmering cloak of star-like radiance, almost harsh in its purity. The power flowed up from her, and diffused, under her direction, to alight suddenly on each of her companions as her thoughts turned to them.

"By the Gods…" Casavir murmured, holding up his warhammer which was suddenly surrounded by a pale nimbus of shifting colours. He touched it, and drew back, finding it warm under his touch. Likewise Shandra's sword glinted down its blade with a sheen of the Aurora's glow, and Khelgar's Ironfist Gloves were afire with the spectral glint of the Ritual's magic, so too with the other's weapons, Zhjaeve's spear tip, Neeshka's two blades, Elanee's sickle, even Sand's small dagger in his belt, and Bishop's arrows each shone like tiny sparks. It was a blessing upon each weapon, and just as the statue had spoken, it would strike down the King of Shadows or any of the same substance as him.

"Hells, you don't need to go messing with my bow like that." Bishop cursed, drawing his bowstring back almost protectively. Phaedra rolled her eyes, he'd complain about almost anything if he felt like it.

"Honestly, that's so typical!" Shandra tossed her hair at the ranger. Phaedra was surprised, she hadn't been about to say anything to Bishop, but for Shandra to step in in her stead was unexpected. She doubted she'd seen them exchange more than a dozen sentences before. "You don't give a damn about anyone else in this group, then you complain about that ragged old bow"

"I don't need some old forgotten magic to kill" Bishop answered, rolling his shoulders contemptuously. "I've been doing it well enough for years without some ritual to take the edge off things." Phaedra glared at him, trying to work out his angle. Did he feel threatened by this then, did he feel it impugned upon his self-reliance to augment his killing edge in such a way? Or was he being stubborn because, after all, it was from Phaedra herself that this blessing would come? Was he still angry about Crossroad Keep, did he still think about that argument they'd had in Phaedra's room: how it had ended, how it could have ended? Phaedra found it was always on the edge of her mind, disturbing her thoughts, except when she was with Zhjaeve.

"Know that the King of Shadows will never be vulnerable unless light shall scatter the darkness that surrounds him." Zhjaeve put in, with serene dignity as if talking to Bishop were a reasonable, even philosophical pursuit and not the equivalent of running repeatedly into a brick wall. Clearly she hadn't learned what he was like yet. But somehow Phaedra doubted that whatever she learned about Bishop Zhjaeve still wouldn't treat him any differently than she treated anyone else. She'd never be afraid of him, or find herself bound to an inexplicable attraction to him. It might be good for Bishop to meet up with someone he couldn't manipulate. "This weapon shall allow that."

"Yeah, well, Gith, know that it never took anything more than one of my arrows between the eyes to kill any one of those things that looked so much like you, those Githyanki we all hate so much of course." Bishop answered, with a deadly edge to his voice even as he imitated Zhjaeve's peculiar speech. "So seems like that's good enough to me." And he struck right at her heart, almost instinctivally, by playing on the similarity between her and the Githyanki. He was…unbelievable. Yet Zhjaeve gave him no reaction, no satisfaction.

"That's enough Bishop" Phaedra cautioned, finally stepping in. Bishop turned his inscrutable tawny gaze on her, that burning golden gaze with the sharp edge of something that might be cruelty yet which called to her in some terrible way nonetheless…oh Gods there she went again. "We have more important things to worry about." She continued, keeping her voice steady while trying to sound like she wasn't trying. If it was Crossroad Keep he was really rebelling against, that would hopefully remind him of what she'd said then, that she was here for the King of Shadows and for nothing else.

"Fine, but find me something to kill soon or I'll start getting pissed" Bishop shrugged. There, Phaedra inwardly breathed a sigh or relief; that was a Bishop she could deal with…well, maybe.

"What next?" Despite Phaedra's reluctance to take the advice Zhjaeve had offered her during the journey, she still found she turned to the Githzerei first of all on these matters.

"Know that there yet remain four statues and four parts of the Ritual to complete" Zhjaeve answered solemnly. "If you focus your will upon them, they shall be revealed." Phaedra nodded, simple enough if slightly opaque. At the head of the party, she began to make her way towards the hill, the heart of the city. Strangely, as she wandered into Arvahn, unconsciously following one of the old, barely visible highways that ran here and there amidst the place…she began to feel an echo of something she had felt only twice before, once in that mountain hide-out of the Githyanki and in the ruins in the Mere during her expedition with Bevil. Those too had been both Illefarn ruins, and here, as there, she touched upon an odd sense of those who had been here before her, the long-faded footsteps in which she walked. The ages surrounded her, and she felt their weight like a gentle press upon her shoulders, guiding her onwards.

"Look!" Neeshka gasped suddenly. "Take a look at that place!" And there it was just beyond the hillside, rising up from the flowing waters of the stream that touched its base, almost shocking in its solidness amidst this broken-down place, a great fortress-like building, fortified and built to last. Its walls had fallen away in places, torn open by great gaping holes, the strangely delicate domes that crowned it were cracked apart like eggshells, and yet compared to the rest of the city, that had been flattened almost entirely, it stood firm and tall. She saw the touch of the Illefarn here, the walls though all but rubbed away had the marks of their glorious friezes and the stonework was breathtakingly beautiful despite the centuries of erosion. The foundations were strong, firm, and great buttresses jutted out and rose to gentle tapering points. "Must be a damned good haul in a place like that, but someone probably got there first." Neeshka muttered, almost regretfully.

"I'd say this is Riverguard Keep, the old fortress of Arvahn." Sand answered. "And without a doubt the place where the Illefarn chose to hide a Statue of Purification."

"Then we're going in there" Phaedra ordered, nodding determinedly.

"Strange" Khelgar squinted at the building as they moved slowly towards the fortress. "I'd swear those foundations are dwarven work, but at the top it's all fiddly and elvish. Don't tell me elves were out taking credit for our work even back then."

"The Illefarn Empire was a union of both elves and dwarves, Khelgar" Phaedra gently corrected him, thinking of her long-ago lessons. "This place was probably built by both of them." She paused, considering the picture that made a moment. "I doubt you'd find much of that anywhere else." She murmured wryly.

"Yes, and thankfully so" Sand added, with a wry glance at Khelgar. "It is tiring to talk down to such squat little people in casual conversation, let alone during the construction of an entire city." Phaedra blanched; and they'd thought Khelgar had prejudices! Maybe Sand needed to spend a few days with the monks of Tyr.

"Ah, Sand" Khelgar glanced up at the slim elf. "Perhaps I could correct that by smashing you in the kneecaps. Would that suit you, you weak-blooded little potion maker?"

"Threats from a dwarf." Sand sniffed with comically exaggerated disdain. "How droll and unexpected."

"Wouldn't dream of making an elf listen to sense" Khelgar chuckled good-naturedly "Well we all know elven ears are just for show". A ripple of laughter ran through the party as they reached Riverguard Guard Keep and passed through the broken archway of the gate. And then an arrow flew past Phaedra's head. It went by so close that it brushed her hair, sending it floating in a cloud of gold over her shoulder, so fast she barely saw it except out of the corner of her eye…as she paused for an impossibly brief instant, struck to stone stillness by the shock of it. Her gaze instantly found the culprit across the small courtyard just in front of the Keep, a diminutive little creature with rat-like features, leathery skin and an evil glare, wearing cobbled-together bits of armour and carrying a primitive bow primed and pointed her way. It was a goblin, and it wasn't alone, there were half a dozen more of the little things, and just behind them two lumbering vast shapes…bear-like and hairy, ogres. They were guarding the Keep, somehow it had been overrun. Instantly the rest of the party were running forward, a volley of return shots flew from Bishop's expert hands, and Sand threw bursts of transformative magic into the fray, pouring ice, fire and liquid stone from the very air around them into the midst of the goblins and ogres. Neeshka engaged them with a darting dance of blades, then Khelgar hit, Ironfist gauntlets flailing, and goblins went flying in all directions. She saw Zhjaeve fight for the first time, the flow of battle in her hands was as measured and passionless as all else she did, her spear darted forward, unerringly striking some vital point, went through, and was pulled free of the body in what seemed like one smooth movement. The Githzerei moved to face one of the huge ogres alone, her slender body bent forward with the taut curve of a bowstring. She flowed like water, as the ogre struck furiously out, around his blows, then the spear flew up, pierced the creature's chest and the ogre fell. Phaedra's Hellfire did the rest of the job and within moments Arvahn's quiet serenity had fallen over the Keep once again.

"Hmm, now would you have a look at this?" Sand stood by the bodies, swooped down to the goblin leader, the one who'd fired the arrow that had almost hit Phaedra and snatched something from his belt. Phaedra blinked, even with the trial long done, he hadn't ditched the habit of searching the dead. But when he raised a sword to the sunlight, a battered blade, but very ceremonial, its hilt and blade ornate, she moved over, suddenly interested.

"That old blade's no use in battle, elf" Khelgar grumbled.

"Worth a pretty penny if you got the right mark, though" Neeshka said, her gaze glinting acquisitively.

"I'd say it may well be worth a great deal more than gold, my dear Neeshka" Sand's long fingers ran up the blade. She felt his magic move. "I sense some power locked in this old blade, a power to unlock, to open the way to…something very specific, something very valuable."

"The Statue of Purification?" Phaedra gasped.

"It may well be" Sand answered.

"You said something valuable" Neeshka complained, turning away in disgust to glance over the rest of the bodies in case one of the others goblins had a trinket more to her taste.

"But the power's incomplete, there's likely more components to the enchantment." Sand murmured thoughtfully. "We should continue to search while we're in the Keep." Phaedra nodded, they had a way forward then…a way to the second Statue. She felt the power of the Aurora Chain churn inside her in anticipation. The Ritual yearned for its completion, and, in a strange symmetry, so did she.

Oooo0000000000000oooooooo

It turned out that the sword had a pair, in a small one-handed shield carved of the same powdery white wood, as ornate and well-preserved with a sigil that resembled Riverguard Keep as it must have been in the days of its glory carved into its surface, and formerly in the hands of an unfortunate bugbear captain stationed in the Keep whose person and the regiment of bugbears under his command were swiftly dispatched by Phaedra and her party. Casavir took charge of it, strapping it to his back. Stepping over the bodies to leave, Phaedra remembered slaughtering the same creatures in the old Ironfist compound and wondered how the dwarves were coping with their liberated stronghold. But there was soon more to think about, for though Riverguard Keep was not much preserved in its above-ground floors it opened out into a warren of tunnels in the earth beneath it. As they went down, into ruined hallways beneath the earth, perhaps dungeons, perhaps vaults, they cut a decisive line through the path of every creature they crossed, more goblins and more ogres it seemed, and all guarding something. At last they came to one great hall, with a delicate filigree of lighter stone traced into the walls and the low ceiling, statues sculpted with impossible grace crumbling in the underworld darkness, and a great raised tomb set in the centre, the form of a woman in armour set upon it. In front of this was a host of tiny goblins, milling and chattering like pigeons, comically small before the creature that rose above them, in both size and force of presence. It was another ogre, another of the hairy, brutish beasts, and yet different from the dumb brutes they'd fought above. This one wore a leather breastplate clearly crafted to fit its loping shoulders, and robes of dark thick fur beneath, as opposed to a mere loincloth or scavenged pieces of armour. Yet the greatest difference was in the creature's eyes, beady, but shrewd, glittering with a cruel greedy intelligence, and in the palpable aura of power around it, far more than its mere physical strength. This ogre…had magical gifts. No wonder it had dominated its fellows, led them here…

"So this is the disturbance upstairs?" The creature grinned, fixing its beady gaze on the descending party. "I assume from your presence here that my army has been sizably decimated." It spoke with a clear, cold intelligence. It was sure of its power, and very dangerous. "I am Ghellu, and you are?"

"Here for the Statue of Purification" Phaedra snapped. She had no time or patience to parley with this thing. And then she saw something in the creature's belt, another artefact of white wood, matching the other pair. Her eyes widened. It was a sceptre, traced with gold that still shone bright. This had to be the next component of the unlocking enchantment Sand had sensed. They had to retrieve it!

"Oh so that's what it is?" Ghellu seemed intrigued. "The elven manuscripts suggested there was some artefact of power here, but…a statue of Purification, how interesting. There would no doubt be some willing to pay a great deal for such a thing."

"This…creature read elven manuscripts?" Sand sniffed disgustedly.

"Leave peacefully and give up the sceptre, or be slain, like all your fellows" Phaedra raised her hands, and a single flame darted into sudden life in each of her palms. She held them aloft threateningly, her hair and robes stirring with the sudden rush of power.

"I think not" Ghellu grinned, and then suddenly thrust his great clawed hands forward. A great, ferocious surge of lightning, crackling and splitting the air with its sheer raw power, careered straight into Phaedra but she moved instinctively, and met it with a roaring wave of Hellfire, that went out with a whoosh of sheer unbelievable heat. The primal forces met in the centre of the room and an ear-splitting thunderclap exploded outwards. Across the room ran blazing surges of light so that the old chamber was suddenly ablaze with an explosive radiance. Ghellu hissed, his other hand swung upwards, an evil light glinting across his claws. "Attack them you idiots!" He snarled to his goblin subjects. "Kill them all!" Quickly the chattering swarm raced forwards towards them, and the rest of the party rose to meet them. Phaedra faced Ghellu, her features alight with that hot, fierce gleam of Hellfire and set with determination. Her attacks were looping coils of flame that whipped up into the air when she threw them, snapping towards Ghellu with a fierce hunger. She was learning to shape the fire now, make it what she wanted. The ogre drew his hands across his body, and a glistening radiance crossed his face, the blazing spiral of fire met it and was deflected, careering off into a nearby wall and scorching a black stain into the stone. Phaedra gritted her teeth; he had strength, and plenty of it.

She drew him in with a feint, her swinging hands, fingers splayed, sent a burning flood of the hellish inferno, a very showy display, up into the air and left her front obviously open. He was trapped in it, from his claws flowed a streaming hail of magical energy straight for the gap in her defences. Instantly Phaedra pulled her hands back, drawing them across her body in a protective gesture. Roaring within her, and through the room in its terrible heat which stripped the air of life, the fire careered downwards in a great swell, suddenly presenting itself as a roaring wall of flame before Phaedra's face. She felt a fierce joy seeing Ghellu's attacks strike the fire and fall apart, torn to pieces by its terrible animus. But she wasn't finished yet; she threw her arms out and cast all her will forth to direct the wall of flame to split in two and race forward in two towering streams of fire along the ground from both sides, encircling Ghellu entirely. And then they roared together, to meet where the ogre stood. She saw Ghellu tense to desperately leap out the way, but then something seemed to happen to the stone at his feet, it boiled with transformative magic, and then the stone itself seemed to clutch at his feet as if it had been turned into quicksand. Phaedra glanced through the fire to see Sand standing by, his fingers knitted together an arcane gesture, a smug smile on his face. Then the wizard snapped his one hand together, whispering a word of power, and the sceptre leapt from Ghellu's belt and into his waiting fingers, which clasped around it with clear satisfaction. Ghellu's face showed astonishment, then the waves of fire enveloped the ogre. She saw his huge, hulking form wrapped in fire for a mere instant, and he let out a great cry of pain, then he was silenced, and he fell, the fire roaring about him in a great conflagration swept upwards to the roof almost in triumph. And Phaedra, clenching her fingers together with the strength of her concentration until it hurt, ended the terrible song that had given the fire life. With a last whoosh of power it dispersed, vanishing into the suddenly still, silent air. The fight was over.

"A job well done I think" Sand twirled the sceptre between his fingers, seeming to enjoy the feeling of a symbol of authority in his hands.

"Is that the last of the pieces of the enchantment?" Phaedra asked quickly.

"Well we'll know for sure in a moment" Sand glanced across the room. In the opposite wall there was a great double door, shut tight against all comers. It reminded Phaedra intently of that huge gate in the Githyanki compound that had opened to reveal Zeeaire, and the terrible revelation of the shard in her chest, with the same subtle three-pronged curve at its crown, and etched with the same delicate tracings of gently unfurling spirals. "That's the door to which these artefacts are bound." Sand added, as if it weren't quite obvious.

"I'd better take them and give it a try" Phaedra said. Somehow she knew it wouldn't be quite so simple as that.

"Be wary my dear" Lo and behold Sand offered a warning alongside the Sceptre and the Sword. "There's a powerful curse bound into the door as well. If you're wrong…well the consequences could be unpleasant."

"Are you sure about this?" Shandra murmured, as Phaedra took the Shield from Casavir, hefting it over her left arm.

"We have to try." Phaedra said. With all three artefacts in hand she felt a strange new sense of will and resolve. Whoever had borne these in battle, perhaps the same woman who lay in repose upon the great mausoleum, had been a formidable captain.

"You're mad." Shandra attempted levity, but Phaedra could see the worry written into her fine, delicate features. "I was just guessing before, but now I know." Slowly Phaedra turned to the door, took one, two, three steps towards it. She felt the presence of power around it, a raw buzz of magic that also came from the artefacts she held, sending pins and needles dancing over her fingertips. Somehow, remembering what Zhjaeve had said, she forced down her fear and doubt with the press of her will, driving the insidious thoughts of danger from her mind. She was here and the Statue of Purification was behind this door. Somehow she knew that too, the Aurora Chain was stirring inside her, a gentle hum that told her, as if it were singing some secret song into her ear, that the next part of the ritual was nearby. Nothing else had to matter. She was right in front of the door now, and hefting the Sword into a more comfortable position, she reached out and touched it. The power moved in response, groaning into vibrant pulsing life after decades, centuries, of slumber. Golden light ran through the etchings upon the surface of the door, like water let through a hundred tiny courses.

"The master has returned…" She heard the whisper of magic run through the whole fortress, and the door groaned and screeched with the weight of ages. Slowly the stone began to move, to part at the centre, pulling away into slots in the walls, and leaving the way forward open. There was another room inside, an alcove so still it seemed almost expectant, as if the whole building were holding its breath waiting for Phaedra to step in. It was beautiful, the ceiling was inscribed with a great network of curving lines, running in and out of each other yet the walls were smooth stone and unadorned. It was almost entirely empty. It seemed this room had been built for one purpose only, to house the Statue that stood before Phaedra, white and glinting with a spectral radiance. Another Statue of Purification…carved in exactly the same manner as the one above ground, except that instead of the slender bronze spear, the imposing elven woman had lying at her feet a great round shield, coated in shining silver and inscribed with a network of elegant detail. She understood that, just as the spear had foreshadowed the Aurora chain, the shield foretold a little of what the Ritual power this one gave was. Slowly, with the same, great reverence, she stepped forward towards it. The power it was radiating was the same, terrible and beautiful, yet strangely familiar, as if Phaedra had been straining to feel such a thing her whole life, and yet subtly different, a different movement of the same one symphony that was the Ritual. And then suddenly the power seized her. She felt the onrush of power stretching back into a great buttress of light, luminous and strong, a tapestry woven by a hundred wills of the Illefarn, and yet to one purpose alone.

"In ancient times the Guardian was created to protect Illefarn" Again the same smooth, sexless voice, again the same mysterious message. "If the time has come to dismantle the Great Instrument, you will be the instrument of its destruction." The chorus of magic rose in the air again, sending Phaedra's hair standing on edge with static charge. She heard the song of the Ritual again, and the Aurora Chain sang in her too, both voices harmonising and complementing each other perfectly. "Take this Blessing of Protection. May it guard you against the forces of darkness" The statue went on with new words, and pillars of light arose around it, streaming upwards into the stone ceiling and passing through it like it was nothing. Phaedra looked down at her own hands, saw them shining with the same spectrum of colours, gloriously radiant.

"Each part of the ritual prepares you for what is to come." Again Zhjave spoke, again her words seemed to chime with the very chorus of the air, with the statue's message, with the nature of the Ritual itself. "Our enemy wears many forms." She went on "But all of them are darkness." Phaedra closed her eyes, felt the new power settling within her as if had always been there, meshing itself within the Aurora Chain, building up another layer of the embroidery of the Ritual, another colour drawn into the slowly unveiling painting. She drew on that particular thread, drawing it out momentarily from the new whole, and let it go, sensing the power crest and rise in a shimmering wave of light that flowed around her. Opening her eyes she saw an egg-shaped orb of glistening light surrounded her head to toe, its almost liquid form flowing around her with shining streams of luminescence coiling and unfurling within it. It had a pleasant glow of warmth about it. It was a shield of sorts, she sensed that right away. And no power of darkness or terrible chill would be able to enter within its hallowed grasp, ideal to face the minions of the King of Shadows whose powers lay in the shadows and in the icy touch of death. Less so for the dark figure himself perhaps, considering that warlock they had encountered had powers drawn from the fiery depths of the Hells and the endlessly warped Abyss. Still it was a great gift, and it whispered its name, the Shining Shield. "The second part of the Ritual is complete" Zhjaeve nodded sagely. "Keep this shield close in the dark places in which we walk."

Ooooo0000000000000oooooo

Again the old pathways of Arvahn led them true. For next they passed through the mysterious halls of the Temple of the Seasons, a ruined sanctuary with a great domed roof, dedicated to the memory of four great heroes of Illefarn. And in the centre of the Temple was the tomb of the heroes, four great sarcophaguses laid side by side in reverence, each one carved with the likeness of one of those who had served Illefarn so nobly. Casavir felt the veneration of those who had laid them here in the very air; though it was dedicated to no god, this was a holy place nonetheless, hallowed by the valour and sacrifice of the dead. It was a strange thought for a paladin, and he wondered at it, that men could make their own consecration, and yet he doubted that each of these four heroes had not been guided by faith in something. And yet he had a sobering thought; what had lasted of that which these knights had faith in? Their country was destroyed, every one they had loved was dead, the causes for which they had fought and died were nothing now, no one even remembered their names beyond this temple. Only the Gods remained. And the world seemed so much a colder, darker place, with little place for heroes, for those who remained, left behind, to be forgotten by history. He couldn't help but feel the old guilt; these men had fought for their country to the death, yet he had not the strength to give his all for Neverwinter and had abandoned his duty. And now he wondered if even his betrayal of his faith in Tyr and his ideals in service to Neverwinter had any meaning, if the sacrifices of those who were firmer in their duty, like these knights, even meant something, when they sacrificed for what would pass away and be forgotten. Yet while he focused on the tombs, the attention of the others was on the looming beauty of the statue that stood before them, guarded by their vigilant attention in death as Illefarn had been in their lives. Another Statue of Purification…carved with the same pristine beauty as the others into the form of an elf maiden, and yet this one was crowned with a shining circle of gold etched with radiating lines that seemed to Casavir to recall the golden sun.

"Casavir, are you alright?" Phaedra murmured to him, and he was surprised that she had noticed. He struggled for a moment with what to say, but resolved to be honest with her. After all, his concern touched her as deeply as it did his own heart. She served Neverwinter now after all, rather reluctantly he knew.

"These are knights who fell in battle" He said quietly, his voice unconsciously taking on a tone of reverence. "In service to their people and their countries. This is a great memorial, yet it doesn't seem enough to contain them."

"If you're inspired by them, then you're part of their memorial" Phaedra said softly. "And all of us who are inspired by you are part of it too."

"I thank you my lady" Casavir answered, once again he found her words humbling. How well she thought of him still, even after hearing the details of his betrayal, his affair with Ophala. "I do not seek to trouble you" He went on "Yet I cannot help but wonder if this is how all noble deeds end. Does any worthy cause last only as long as there are those to fight for it, and die for it? Such sacrifice is so rarely seen, in Neverwinter and far less elsewhere, what becomes of all we fight for when there is no one left willing to believe in it?"

"I think…sacrifice occurs in Neverwinter every day" Phaedra said, quietly, thoughtfully. "Smaller maybe than we think, quieter too, but maybe no less heroic." He wondered what she was thinking of in particular: perhaps the young soldiers of the Citywatch she'd commanded, or maybe the Greycloaks in Crossroad Keep, or perhaps nothing so specific than that. There were others Casavir knew of in Neverwinter: parents who quietly worked in drudgery for the sake of their children, poor men and women who gave donations from what little they had to the temples. Phaedra was right to remind him of that, sacrifices were not always great and flashy, blazing martyrdoms of glory. Oftentimes it was harder and more pleasing to the Gods to give one's whole life in service rather than burn out in one bright flare. He had to remember that. "Maybe none of it lasts" Phaedra went on "I don't know…but it has to be for something, and if it's that what we're fighting for, to give people a chance to live for what means the most to them…well that sounds alright to me."

"Sounds like crap to me" Bishop interrupted cruelly, and Casavir was suddenly aware that their conversation had been conducted in public. Shandra was watching and listening too, with rapt attention, and pretending she hadn't been. "But if the paladin needs your mothering to keep on 'sacrificing' himself for every pretty swamp girl he comes across, well don't mind me. Wouldn't do for our slave of the Gods to start questioning his motivations, he might just lose his faith and then what use would he be?" Phaedra didn't answer, only shrugged resignedly to Casavir, as if to communicate that Bishop's response were a simple inevitable hazard. She was uncomfortably at ease with his cruelty these days. Casavir could endure it, but he felt the discomfort of knowing Bishop had struck well at his weaknesses, against the constant battle with the weakness of his faith and at the question of whether his real reason for following Phaedra was the affection he carried for her. He tried to shake it off, but he knew Bishop realised well that his words had been close to the bone.

"Just shut it Bishop" Shandra stepped in with a sharp snap. "No one expected you to understand what sacrifice is."

"There'll come a time, dear farmgirl" Bishop smiled at Shandra, baring his teeth. "When you'll realise that there's nothing worth understanding in these pious mutterings. So don't burn to throw your pretty little self away on some useless sacrifice just yet." Shandra scowled.

"Enough" Phaedra raised her hand, almost indulgently, to Bishop. Casavir still found it difficult to understand the dynamic between them these days, it seemed like they fought often and she would then ignore him with studied care, only to be unable to resist being drawn in once again. And when she did, it would be this same languid, half-annoyed, half-flirtatious way she would speak to him. Right now Casavir wondered why she had chosen that moment to intervene. Could she be jealous of Bishop's attentions to Shandra? That was an evil thought and he forced it from his soul. "We're here for the Statue of Purification."

"Thanks for reminding us all" Neeshka sniped. "We've only been standing here waiting for the last ten minutes." Phaedra shrugged off the criticism, as she always did with Neeshka, and moved toward the Statue of Purification. Instantly, almost automatically, Zhjaeve moved to her shoulder. Less obviously, so did Sand, greedy to observe the passage of power here. More and more the elf showed his true colours, grasping, eager for power that was not his to take. Casavir had no doubt that the former Hostower mage was here mainly for the advantage of being near Phaedra's power than any sincere desire to help.

"In ancient times the Guardian was created to protect Illefarn" The Statue gave forth in its cool voice. "If the time has come to dismantle our Great Instrument, you will be the agent of its destruction. Take this blessing of cleansing. May it burn away the darkness in your travels." Light streamed upwards from the statue, surrounding it in a blazing aura of prismatic glory. Casavir was not gifted to feel the power at work here, but he heard the sound of voices raised in song just on the edge of hearing, perhaps a memory of the ancient ritual that had been carried out here. And then the light touched Phaedra, and her every strand of hair, every fibre of her gown, every inch of her skin, was suddenly aglow. He saw her smile, and the glorious blaze poured from her lips like a benediction. It was a stunning picture, even having seen it twice before with the other statues. And then the light seemed to sink into her and pass from sight, yet it was still there, along with the other ritual powers inside of her, ready to be summoned against their enemy.

"The third part of the Ritual is complete" Zhjaeve intoned. Casavir glanced at the Githzerei for a moment; Zhjaeve had much wisdom even though she was an atheist. She seemed to have a link with the powers of the Ritual that only Phaedra could equal, and an almost instinctive insight into the nature of the King of Shadows as well. He'd felt the power of her will, when she'd helped him heal himself from that unlucky arrow shot outside Riverguard Keep. Her presence had already been a steadying influence on Phaedra, and ought to continue to be one on the party, Elanee's trouble notwithstanding. "Feel the power of Illefarn fill you and see what it is you stand against." The Githzerei continued, and Phaedra's eyes closed, almost luxuriating in the feel of the Ritual's embrace.

"The Cleansing Nova" Phaedra whispered to herself, leaning her head back, so that her hair flowed down her back in a wave of glorious gold, and then it came forth from within her. It was more impressive even than the other ritual powers, it touched far more than they had. For the whole room was suddenly filled with light, with the gift of the Nova, a purifying blue light that hummed with energy to purge the power of the King of Shadows from the air itself. All around them sparks floated within the cool blue sea of radiance, nimbuses of brilliant gleaming power, whose gentle wheeling about in the air, like flower petals carried by a soft wind, belied the heat of the power inside them. Stepping into this aureole of light would no doubt be deeply damaging to any creature whose power came from the darkness, or from some twisted plane of existence. Casavir looked about him with wonderment; graced with this power, the whole tomb seemed suddenly blessedly alive with holy power. He saw Shandra reach out, tentatively, and touch one of the floating motes of light, then smile with enchanting glee like a little girl chasing floating butterflies. And then the Nova faded, slowly vanishing into the still, dark air…except where it remained in Phaedra now. Then Zhjaeve abruptly tensed, her cat-like eyes opening in sudden alarm, and almost in the same instant Phaedra did as well. Casavir instinctively moved to protect them, before realising the threat was something distant, something only they could feel.

"He knows... he knows what we are doing..." Zhjaeve gasped out breathlessly. The King of Shadows knew about the Ritual? That surely meant trouble. "But you have learned how to place the power of this ritual between you and him, like a barrier" Then Zhjaeve relaxed, settling back into her usual set of detached calm. "And if he attempts to break it, he will only wound himself."

"Bah" Khelgar spat "I dare him to do his worst. There's only two statues left. This has been bloody easy so far."

"Don't speak too soon" Neeshka muttered darkly.

"We'd best hurry" Phaedra added, rubbing a hand up her sleeve cautiously. Casavir nonetheless felt a strange reluctance to leave the tomb so fast, it seemed there were still things he could learn here, about heroism, about sacrifice. He knew that his own duty called him away from this quiet place, yet he would like to return. He wouldn't forget this place. "I'm sure he's planning something." Phaedra said, as the party moved towards the way back out of the Temple of Seasons. Casavir moved to catch up to Phaedra before she was too far ahead, and, perhaps sensing his need to say one thing more, she lingered to wait for him, until the rest of the group were out of earshot.

"Phaedra, may I ask something of you?" He said quietly.

"Anything Casavir" She smiled brilliantly back.

"If I fall in battle…" He began, immediately her smile faded, she went white as a ghost, and she opened her mouth to protest right away, but he raised a hand to quieten her. "No, be at peace, let me finish." He said gently. "It may happen, for things grow darker and more perilous. We both sense that, do we not?" She didn't answer, she was still ghastly white, horrified to speechlessness at the thought of his death. This was not how he had wanted this conversation to go. He had not meant to be morbid, to dwell on death, simply to speak of his trust in her to impart this wish. He had thought to speak to her as a comrade in battle, a friend in the fight, and someone with whom his bond was very dear, forged as it was in hardship, yet he had forgotten her affection, her sensitivity, and her youth. She had so recently been greatly distressed by the death of Cormick. Yet that didn't seem quite right; he sensed there was some other reason that she was so unnerved…had the thought of the death of her companions occurred to her before for some reason? "My lady, I would be glad to give my life for you" He said quietly to try and comfort her, but she hardly seemed to hear him, her thoughts were turned inwards, to some shadowy fear. He felt like, if she had considered the prospect of death, that it had been in some darker capacity where it would speak to her doubts about something dreadful. "Phaedra, if I do fall…" He went on, hoping to move her away from whatever horror it was she had considered, and finally she seemed to recover herself. "I would like to be buried here in this temple. It is almost silent, and few will ever come here. And I have many questions I would ask those buried here." He hoped she understood now what he was really saying; that he wasn't horrified by death, and that he only asked this out of trust in her, and love of her, that she should be the one to inter his body if it came to that. It was right for him to lie here with the warriors of old, if he died in battle, in a manner worthy of them.

"Casavir…" She began, her voice trembling with horror, but then she seemed to reconsider. She swallowed heavily, mastering herself, perhaps glimpsing something of what he had intended by the conversation. "Yes" She answered softly. "I would make sure it was done." She turned, half-away, but then reconsidered and half faced him once again, glancing at him, her quick green gaze glinting beneath the fringe of her hair. "But for the Gods' sake, Casavir, I'm not going to let you fall in battle" She added in a tone of set determination, and then she was stepping away and he wondered at her anew.


	69. Chapter 69

_Hello! If you're reading this, and it makes no sense because you have NOT read Chapter 68 please go back and take a look. I uploaded two chapters at once because I had a very large backlog of everything in Arvahn. If you have read chapter 68 do continue, as we move into the Gem Mines area, the aforementioned 'info-dump'. Hopefully this'll be interesting to all, even though if you have played the game you pretty much know the story. I'm hoping the reactions of Phaedra and other characters (especially Sand) to how things go here will play into how things develop so keep your eyes open and don't be disheartened by the weight of the prose!_

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There was another old underground complex, some leagues hence from the gate of Arvahn…its entrance was behind the curve of the hall within a small valley, unremarkable in appearance, like the entrance to an old mine, stacked with stone. But it was here that Phaedra's instinct, stirred by the growing presence of the Ritual's glow in her heart, led her. And yet there was something fateful about it, and as she came closer and passed under the stocky stone portico Phaedra found herself holding her breath, as if the air within was almost too old and vaunted to inhale. It had the heaviness of age about it, it smelt…of old parchment, an old library. And, to Phaedra's surprise, when they passed through a rough and rocky passage, scoured by the movements of the ages, that was exactly what they found. She had not expected it, Riverguard Keep had been picked clean by looters, so that only the stone was left, the Temple of the Seasons had been filled with the veneration of the ancient dead, but here…the air seemed to be still stirred up by something, disturbed by the passage of some half-living thing. And the library was almost entirely intact, the old stone shelves lined one after each other, looming in the silence, were packed with scrolls and books, which filled the air with that peculiar, heavy dry fragrance. It was decorated in a humble, scholarly style, with mosaics coated in old dust drawn over the floor, and the remains of old tapestries and carpets so faded that whatever had once been drawn there was invisible. Not even a single thing seemed to be disturbed, or missing, and yet there was still that strange sense that something was moving around in here…observing them. It was ominous that no looter had come here for the secrets of Illefarn, or perhaps they had, and something had met them here.

"The knowledge that must be contained here" Sand marvelled, moving closer to the shelves, his features glinting with avarice. Natural caution was overcome by his greed. Phaedra considered warning him of her suspicions, but decided, rather uncharitably, to be silent. "All the sage wisdom of ancient Illefarn…imagine what benefits it would be to our endeavour if we could harness it."

"Some things ought not to be disturbed" Elanee whispered coldly.

"Nonsense" Sand scoffed, reaching out his grasping fingers towards one of the closest shelves, ready to seize the treasure of knowledge. "The Illefarn should like us to have it, I imagine. We're fighting the same fight they did."

"What brings one of flesh and blood to this empire of spirits?" Suddenly there was a stirring along the shelf in front of Sand, as if a breeze sent the pages of the books and parchments fluttering, and a voice no one recognised rang out in the still air, disturbing the quietly floating motes of dust that wheeled in the air. Sand leapt back, in a flurry of his glorious robes, and abject shock flashed over his pale features. Phaedra saw him thoroughly chided, and moved over to protect him if there was any danger. And yet there was nothing threatening about the form that stepped forward, from within the shelf itself, to part the dust-strewn air. It was a hardly substantial, for one thing, a mere half-shadowed image of an elf, a thin and antiquarian elf, his back stooped by scholarship. His hair was silver, and his robes, cut to an impossibly ancient style, were white, but where Phaedra stood the colours were faded as if glimpsed through clouded glass. And through him could be seen the bookshelf and the room beyond it, as if he were only half here at all, and halfway to another world, another time. He was a spirit of some kind, an impression, but he had little presence to affect anything in the material world. "The dust stirs beneath your feet" He said quietly, his voice, graced with a sweet and flowering accent, was that of an elderly librarian, even with the unnatural resonance behind it that sounded as if it was coming from the bottom of a deep well. "It has been ages since the great library of Arvahn was disturbed by the footsteps of the living."

"Who are you?" Phaedra gasped.

"In life I was Balaur, an elf of the Empire of Illefarn, and I guarded the ancient knowledge of this chamber" The elf librarian said. "Now in death, I remain, a woeful spirit, and keep my lonely vigil as the ages go by. And you, what brings you to these forgotten halls?"

"We are here to find the Statues of Purification" Phaedra answered. "Three parts of the ritual I have performed, and we have reason to believe the fourth is here."

"Has the Guardian returned, then?" A look of desolation passed across the old elf's face and despite herself Phaedra felt an urge to comfort him somehow. But how? All he knew was dead and gone. "I heard the whispers, but I did not believe. His echoes are strong in this place, and the tides of spirits ebb and flow, signifying little."

"The King of Shadows has returned" Phaedra whispered. "You know him as the Guardian then?" He spoke just as the Statues did. What a chance was this, to question one who was truly of Illefarn? Finally something of the mystery that was the King of Shadows might be revealed.

"Perhaps I do." Balaur whispered softly, well that wasn't promising. She ought to have known it was too good to be true. "Ages pass, and names change. I have existed longer as a spirit than as a breathing, blooded elf, and I know little of the world beyond my books. Other Spirits of Illefarn dwell here, elves and dwarves who were bound closely to the Guardian, and the man he was, in life. His memory hangs heavy on their souls. Ask them, if you seek truer words of him."

"Guardian or King of Shadows, he has returned and I have to stop him" Phaedra declared, trying to bring the Spirit to the point.

"So our leaders also believed" Balaur nodded slowly. "They devised the Ritual of Purification, that he might be weakened and carved its magic deep in the stone of the statues of Angarradh. One of those statues is indeed here. It lies in the great hall beyond this place, hidden within the embrace of Illefarn's wondrous Communion Tree, a cunningly conceived sculpture that is arboreal and terrestrial both. It symbolises the union of Illefarn's dwarven and elven peoples and its strength, the strength of all Illefarn, was chosen as a shield for the Statue against the forces which might threaten such potent magic."

"A pretty piece of symbolism" Sand murmured with a cynical twist to his voice.

"Can the tree be opened?" Phaedra asked quickly.

"Yes" Balaur answered, shaking his head as if her haste confused him after years of the slow march of time. "Opening the tree requires the same unity that forged Illefarn. Three elves and three dwarves of Illefarn must stand before it, and link their wills. Without these six, the tree will remained closed to you"

"What can I do then?" Phaedra clenched her fingers together with frustration. Things were never just simple were they?

"The spirits I spoke of before, those bound to the Guardian, remain here under his shadow" Balaur answered. "If you gather these spirits to you, then the Tree shall open to reveal what it cradles within."

"These spirits are bound to him, but you are not?" She surmised.

"No, I am not like them." Balaur confirmed "They are bound here against their wills, but I have chosen to guard these scrolls. And I am afraid I cannot abandon my vigil even for your purpose. Yet I think you shall find enough to aid you in these haunted places, for there are spirits enough to crowd a city in this old hall. But be wary, just as the Guardian has fallen into shadow so have those who were tied to him. Their torment has spawned a legion of foul undead, manifestations of their pain and sorrow. Yet destroy these undead, and I believe their spirits would reappear. For a time, at least."

"Why are these adventuring things never straightforward?" Shandra whispered, echoing Phaedra's thought.

"Beat the undead, drive the ghosts out of hiding" Khelgar said with that kind of comfort born out of reckless bravado that he specialised in. Even Phaedra felt a smile touch her lips at it. "Sounds straightforward enough to me."

"Thank you for your counsel, Balaur" Phaedra said quietly, respectfully, to the old ghost, as he stepped back. He had been helpful enough, but his words had disturbed her. What shadowy things lurked in the halls beyond? What horrors would they have to face before they could unlock the Statue? Suddenly the passage beyond seem dark and ominous, the shadow lying thick upon it exactly as it had upon the Mere. His power was here. But then she felt the glow of the Ritual Powers within her, the Aurora Chain, the Shining Shield, and the Cleansing Nova…and looked down at her hand, and saw it seem to gleam for a moment with their power, and she knew they would aid her, come what may. Newly confident, newly restored, she took a deep breath, and walked forward toward that shadowy hole, towards the terrors which lurked with, towards answers and towards the fourth Statue of Purification. Behind her Balaur took a step back, and faded, soft and silent as a whisper or a forgotten thought fades, into the glow of the faint sunlight, alive with silvery motes of dust, which came through the doorway, and he left the library quiet and still again.

In the halls beyond there was no sunlight, and though they cast light spells to guide their way, the darkness beyond their comforting glow was thick and smothering. The halls were crafted all of ornate stone, frozen in chill splendour, and yet unnaturally full of some stirring life, something that the mind instinctively know shouldn't be there. Whispers and footsteps seemed to float on the edge of hearing, though the halls were empty and the air seemed to stir at the passage of nothing. These corridors positively breathed threat. Some unnatural thing lay thick upon them like a shroud over a corpse. She had felt this before, she knew this feeling, as if oil were draped over the air, slick and vile, with the taste of violation. And she was not the only one. Elanee was pale, her face set in a cold rictus of pain, the rest of the party were as uneasy now as they had been in those days in the Mere. Only Zhjaeve was unaffected, walking forward with the same cool collected calm and sense of purpose. Phaedra almost found herself wanting to imitate the Githzerei, before she realised that she had refused the chance to do just that earlier, and she fell back in new confusion. And then the corridors opened out into one great vaulting hall, lined with slender ornate pillars, and all about traced with stonework so delicate and beautiful it glistened under the single ray of sunlight that was let in through a shaft in the ceiling, to spill a faint radiance over the entire great gallery. And right where the light fell…on the other side of the hall, there was a great looming shape, glinting in the sunlight, a tree carved of stone, thick-trunked, with its frail branches reaching up into the air like outstretched fingers. Or was it stone at all? Somehow it seemed to be both stone and bark, both living and dead. Cunning magic; this must be the Communion Tree, and in front of it a dozen undead, foul stinking corpses still streaked with almost mummified strips of flesh, reeking of death and the foul magic of unlife, Ghasts and some menacing dark shape behind them, tall and spindly, its eyes fires of red in a skull-like head…a lich, an undead creature with strong magic. The creature hissed, let out a guttural, gurgling rasp, and the ghasts shambled towards them. Instantly Phaedra, raised her hands, and let the song of the Ritual rise within her. She selected one chord from its choir, and let forth the Cleansing Nova from within her. Suddenly the room was ablaze with that same hale, living light, scattering the harsh, thick shadows that had brooded here upon the ruins. The motes of radiance that had trembled and floated about so delightfully back in the tomb in the Temple of Seasons were suddenly weapons, sharp, flaring things burning with a terrible, beautiful light. Phaedra gasped, marvelling at the sudden power of the Ritual revealed. And against it there was no defence for the foul undead. The Ghasts screamed, in awful gurgling, rasping screams, and fell to the floor, and the flesh smoked upon their bones amidst the gloriously pure rapture of the Nova. The lich drew back, howling out its unnatural agony, and drew across it a veil of darkness, trying to defend itself from the purity of the Nova. But it was on the defensive, from here on this fight would be simple. Phaedra drew forth fire, and the Ritual hummed out an ecstatic symphony in her heart…no vile undead, no creature of the King of Shadows could stand before her now. Let them all learn fear and let him fear. She was their reckoning.

The fight was quick and brutal, and when the last of the Ghasts fell at Casavir's hammer, and Phaedra burned out the unnatural life that had animated the bones of the lich, the room was suddenly abreeze with the cool stirring of some new interloper in these dead halls, but it was not the harsh unnatural stink of the undead that came to Phaedra's nostrils, but the smell of old air, scented with reagents and the cool glisten of magic, like a wizard's laboratory. And lo and behold the form of an elf man stepped into the still air, a sour-faced acerbic elf with a yellowish tinge to his skin, and the robes of a mage about his scrawny shoulders. Again he was but an image, a half-thing…another memory of these old halls.

"Is it done then?" The elf scowled furiously at Phaedra like a teacher at an errant student. She got the sense that he was seeing something else, or if he saw her it was in some other role of which she had no comprehension. "Has the fool ended himself? Or did the ritual fail entirely?"

"The shade is cycling through events of the past, and perhaps has been ever since his death." Zhjaeve murmured at Phaedra's ear. How terrible…. "I cannot say for certain, but it is likely that he is remembering the Guardian."

"The Guardian yet lives" Phaedra said quietly. "He has returned and he is a threat to us all"

"What a waste" The elf snorted, seeming not to hear what Phaedra said at all, or to hear only the memory of some other distant conversation. "A waste do you hear? And you can tell Annaeus I said as much. I did not tutor that boy for twenty years, only to have him turned into some mindless monstrosity. A waste I say!"

"The Guardian was formerly a man?" Phaedra whispered, here was something to fill in part of the mystery. "Your student?"

"Yes, yes…" The elf spat with impatience. What an unpleasant character.

"And a gifted wizard?" Phaedra went on.

"Gifted?" The elf sneered. "I suppose. For a human." Then he seemed to reconsider, and shook out his head, as if he were forced to concede this and he didn't like it. "Bah...yes, he was gifted, by the hells. A quick mind, a sharp wit, a noble spirit. Have you ever noticed, I wonder, how those who have everything are always the quickest to throw it all away?" So the Guardian had been a man…and somehow had been turned into something else, something which sacrificed his humanity? But why?

"He chose to undergo a ritual to turn him into the Guardian?" Phaedra asked, trying to be oblique.

"Oh, yes." The elf snapped, running his thin fingers over one another. "Chose it himself. Ever the patriot, he was. 'Sacrifices must be made for the good of all.' Illefarn is a great nation, and preserving it is our 'responsibility.' Well I say this; let the weak and the worthless make the sacrifices. The boy had a mind in that thick skull of his; he might have advanced the study of magic, but instead he threw it all away. For 'love of country'."

"Patriotism" Bishop sneered. She ought to have known he would like this cynical view of the world. "Another tool of kings and nobles, used to wring more blood from peasants and fools. But you already know that don't you princess?" She shrugged, unsure of what he wanted her to say.

"As ever you are wrong Bishop" Casavir answered defensively in her stead. "There is nobility in such a sacrifice, though you may find it hard to see." Phaedra thought of their discussion in the tomb, his morbid request…still Casavir was too in love with the idea of sacrifice for her own peace of mind. Nations were distant, remote and often morally ambiguous, as Casavir had discovered…what was precious was the people inside them, their chance to make the ordinary, safe and happy lives that Phaedra herself had never been allowed; that was what she'd decided. But to die for them…she suppressed a shudder. Even now Esmerelle's ghost stirred in her mind, and how her high pride had brought her and Daeghun's companions to ruin and death. She dared not chance that one of her friends would lose their life on account of her mission. But of course Shandra was rapt, her porcelain beauty glowing with rapture as she nodded vigorously at Casavir's retort. Phaedra sighed, she was wasting time, and she didn't like thinking about it at all anyway.

"I heard how it ended for him" The elf went on bitterly, ignoring the discussion in front of him like so much wind in the rafters. "Lying there screaming for near a hundred days with that fool girl at his bedside, as the Weave slowly burned away what was left of him, bit by bit." The Weave, Phaedra's ears pricked up. The raw font of magic…the ritual had somehow involved that most volatile and pure of sources? "But he got his wish, didn't he?" The elf's voice grew soft, almost regretful. "Lost himself and became the Guardian. All that he was, all gone..." He looked mournfully about him, suddenly, as if finally becoming confused as to where he was and what he was doing here.

"Sir" Phaedra felt a breath of pity for the elf, trapped here, forever reliving the terrible fate of his student. She sensed he would not tell them much more. "Will you go to the Communion Tree?" She gestured to the great looming tree beyond. There were traced around it six circles of white marble, ornate, sweeping things with a curving filigree of gold, six circles for six to stand to unlock it and get to the Statue within.

"Yes" The elf whispered, as if he'd only been waiting for the order. "I suppose I will…" And he turned, and walked out toward the tree, and his faded form vanished into the shadows beneath it, though she heard the small, slight echo of light footsteps to the furthest circle and then all was silent again.

"It appears they filled this man with the Weave, made him an embodiment of pure magic" Sand's mind was racing ahead. "I mean…it's possible, theoretically…but to attempt it…" He shook his head. It seemed that not even the Hostower had comprehended that such a thing could truly be attempted. "He would gain incredible power, become the perfect weapon" Sand said softly. "He would be capable of nearly anything…"

"And he lost his mind, his soul, his very self" Elanee whispered mournfully.

"Well yes" Sand conceded, tapping his chin. "But I imagine the rulers of Illefarn cared less for that."

"But how did the Guardian, the embodiment of the Weave, become the King of Shadows?" Phaedra puzzled. It made no sense, not from what she knew of the Weave. It was neither good nor evil, neither creative nor destructive, it was simply pure power, pure light and pure energy, nothing like the enervating corrupting seep of the King of the Shadows, nothing like the fearsome hellish power that she and that warlock both commanded.

"Know that other spirits here may well be able to answer that." Zhjaeve urged. "And we yet have five more to find."

"Gods alone know what horrors they will reveal" Casavir murmured.

Oooo0000000000ooooo

"He burns…he screams" The sad, thin spirit of a young elven girl was crying, sobbing, but her glistening tears made no mark upon the stone at her feet. "Someone must stop this." She begged to voices, faces, that Phaedra could not see. They had cleared the undead from another room, a smaller antechamber off to the side of the library, and she had appeared, in the midst of a grief so deep and painful that Phaedra's heart ached with sympathy. "Why will no one listen?" She wore a rich gown, forest green and scattered with emeralds, and even as a ghost, a half-formed image, her pale skin was striking against her thick black hair, falling away from a formerly ornate hairstyle, and soft green eyes. Grief was written deep into her features, pain and anguish had carved her cheekbones to prominent lines, and she was painfully thin. She had sat in anguish for days, months…was this the 'fool girl' of whom the wizard spoke?

"You're speaking of the Guardian?" Phaedra said, as softly, as compassionately as she could. But the girl went white, and her thin lips parted in protest.

"Guardian! Is it a crime now to call him by his name?" She crowed, in agony. "His real name?" Poor girl, she had been in love with him…was in love with him still, and living his agony over and over again. She was utterly helpless at the side of her beloved, and in agony, feeling every pain of his in her own breast. Phaedra almost wished Nasher or Nevalle could see this. This was the human face of what happened when rulers played dice with the lives of their champions. "That man is gone, they tell me." The woman went on, her voice trembling with horror at the thought. "Gone! If he is 'gone', then who lays in the temple, writhing in agony and calling upon the gods for release? Four tendays have I sat vigil with the... the "Guardian," as they call him now. His pain has only worsened. Worsened, when Annaeus promised it would ease!" Annaeus…that name again. Was this the mastermind behind this scheme?

"Be calm" Phaedra whispered, she felt her own voice cracked with sympathy, trying to offer some small comfort. "Tell us what has happened. Maybe we can help?" But there was no help for her, not now, not ever.

"Please" The elf begged. "If you could only see him, you would understand. He is only a man and they seek to make him some…immortal guardian." Her face strained with incomprehension. "To join him with the Weave."

"Tell us of his pain, child" Sand whispered, his tone ambiguous. Phaedra glanced at him. Was he asking out of concern, or did he thirst to know more of the Ritual which had made his 'perfect weapon'? He had been everywhere during this trip to Arvahn, offering his thoughts at every turn, desirous of the strength of the Ritual, and now desirous of the details that had made this Guardian, this monster who had caused so much suffering. Phaedra liked it less and less, but she kept her mouth shut. Gods she was as sour as Elanee sometimes she thought discontentedly.

"The Weave fills him." The elf girl whispered of his agony, as if merely to speak of it out loud was a horror beyond anything. "It boils in his every vein, day and night, tenday after tenday. Is it not enough that he must sacrifice even his very self?"

"Didn't he offer himself?" Khelgar asked, a little insensitively, but with his usual solid compassion.

"No one warned him of the pain" The elf girl sobbed. "Annaeus spoke of patriotism. He didn't even know this would happen, and he doesn't care." She paused, raised her glistening eyelashes and leaned in as if to confide something unspeakable. "I hate Annaeus." She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You've seen him speak of the ritual. Of the pain. It gives him pleasure. The dwarf tries to hide it, but watch his eyes, and you'll see..." Phaedra wasn't sure who she thought she was speaking to, but then again maybe she wasn't either. She felt…such a load of pity for this girl. Was this, then, love? Burning with the agony of the beloved, losing everything to the careless sacrifices your love made? Hadn't the Guardian thought of her before he had offered himself? Were all men so selfish? She couldn't help but think of Casavir, unthinkingly speaking of death and sacrifice with her. But Casavir and love…it went together oddly, and she flushed at it and looked back into the elf's sad eyes.

"My dear" She said quietly, though since the girl was a full-blooded elf, it was likely that when she had died and left this mirror reflection of herself behind, she had been older than Phaedra was now. "It was such a long time ago now, ages…can't you forget it? Be free…?"

"I don't understand." Her green eyes clouded with confusion. She didn't seem able to think through what Phaedra said. "I've just come from the temple. I can hear his screams, feel the warmth of his hands. We can still save him, I'm... I'm certain..."

"Such reminders will be forgotten, there is nothing that can be done." Zhjaeve said quietly. Yes, Phaedra saw that now. Her attempt had only caused the poor lost spirit pain. She felt a desolate ache of sorrow. "The past surrounds them like a cage, and there is no key that will free them. Come, let us take this shade to the Communion Tree. There, perhaps, she will do more to help the one she loved than she does here."

"Will you come with us?" Phaedra leaned forward to the girl, her hands behind her back with the best smile she could feign under the aching gall of pity, as if she were a friend, a companion, urging the girl to comfort.

"Come…with you?" The girl blinked, pain drawn over her face like a veil. Then suddenly, just like the old mage before her, her face cleared as if she had been waiting an age for this order. Perhaps it would give her a moment's peace in all her anguish and wasted suffering. "Very well." She said, with a slow, graceful nod. "I will…I will…follow" Phaedra turned away, and began to walk, tracing the familiar steps back to the Communion Tree, before the ghost and the rest of the party could see the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

Ooooo00000000000ooooooo

The third spirit which haunted the great halls of Arvahn, freed from another swarm of undead who were scattered, like lurking bats before the rise of the sun, was another elf woman, but as unlike the grieving beloved of the Guardian as a great golden eagle to a slender dove. She was tall, taller than Phaedra, and carried herself with the deadly stillness and straight-backed control of a warrior, with a functional twist of golden hair that ran down her back, and her skin was bronzed by the sun. She wore armour, chainmail, with a green surcoat, a kind of uniform, and bore two long, elegant and deadly sharp blades at her belt. But there was something deeply strange, deeply unsettling about her, even more so than any of the other spirits in this haunted place. She seemed to shift and change under Phaedra's very eyes, the features of her face morphing subtly one way then another as she gazed at Phaedra with first, caution, then mistrust, then suddenly pleading despair. Her eyes seemed deep blue, then suddenly so light to be almost colourless, then…darker again, and her hair was shorter then longer, her features precise and delicate, then harsh and rough, shifting as if underwater.

"Who approaches us, sisters?" She asked, not of Phaedra, but of herself, with a cautious, questioning tone. "Does it look on us? Does it pity us?" Phaedra opened her mouth to answer this strange series of questions, but then a look of pure vindictive fury flashed across the woman's face, she went positively white with it. "Make it leave us sisters!" She snapped, her voice suddenly higher, shriller, vibrating with a mad frenzy. "Of voices we hear plenty!"

"I didn't mean to anger you" Phaedra said softly, somehow her voice came out gentle, pleading, like she might address an infant or a madwoman. Whatever this woman was, whatever had happened to her…it was something terrible. "I am Phaedra Blake, I need your help."

"We were the Silken Sisters." She said in answer, with the same cautious levelness of tone as before, as if the outburst had never happened at all. "The pride of Aelinthaldaar. Sword and spell we wielded, six we were, but now are one." And then her face collapsed, positively collapsed, into a paroxysm of utter grief. "Six!" She wailed, her voice a cracked husk of wasted feeling. "Six we were, and now but one..."

"Gods protect us" Casavir whispered. She saw Shandra make a sign against evil across her chest, an old village superstition. That seemed about right, it was ghastly, something from a nightmare.

"What happened to you?" Phaedra asked, unable to refrain from asking.

"Will it kill us?" The woman snarled like a wounded lynx, that anger again, striking out. And Phaedra quailed at her words. She wanted to be dead? But who wouldn't, in such a situation, she thought with a sudden sickening lurch of comprehension. "Will it free us?" Then she was calm, and collected. "Yes!" She whispered, as if daring to hope for something utterly outside of possibility. "A bargain! A story told, exchanged for peace!" Then she was sad, and her voice a sombre rasp. "An end we crave…an end for true."

"Know that I do not believe it possible to destroy these spirits" Zhjaeve said quietly, always ready with words of advice and her own serene insight. "They are bound to the King of Shadows. As long as he exists, so they shall as well." Phaedra felt a tightening of her resolve. So this hall of horrors…this gallery of pain and agony could only be cleansed by the death of that monster who had made it all. Another reason to end him.

"Destroying the King of Shadows may free you, but I'll need your help" She said with a comforting edge of resolve.

"Does it know the Guardian?" The woman, the thing that was six women, whispered. "Does it know how he fell into Shadow?" Phaedra shook her head mutely. Well that was confirmation, if she'd needed it, that the Guardian had fallen, had become her feared enemy. "He was joined to the Weave, does it see?" She gasped, harshly, as if whispering a secret. "But the Weave failed, we didn't foresee that, with all our clever planning and whispers. It failed and so he took from another place…"

"Mystra's Breath" Sand breathed. "Of course…of course, this is what happened!" Phaedra looked to him quickly, beckoning for an explanation. "You know of Karsus, the Netherese archmage?" Sand asked, and Phaedra nodded. Of course she did, every mage did, he was the ultimate cautionary tale, the ultimate warning against hubris. One evening a sober Tarmas had taken her and Amie aside and explained his story with a heavy voice, as if it were a painful burden to relate, and the wizard had never spoken of him again. "He was a great mage, an impossibly great mage, at the height of the splendid Netherese empire over a thousand years ago." The wizard explained quickly, for the benefit of the others. "That must have been at exactly the same time as the Illefarn were in their ascendency, the moment before they fell by my reckoning. Karsus devised and cast the greatest spell ever spoken, a spell to ascend to divinity, to steal the pantheon of magic from Mystra herself. But the Goddess countered him, she chose to sacrifice herself rather than surrender the Weave of magic to one so unworthy. And in that second, all magic ceased to be, for one brief second but it was enough. The floating cities of Netheril tumbled to the ground, and were broken in their fall. Everything with the power of the Weave was destroyed, dissipated…"

"And the Guardian with them?" Phaedra gasped. For one so linked to the Weave, the ceasing of it would be unbearable, a stopping of his life force at the source. It should have destroyed him! "Except he survived…"

"What if the Guardian saw an alternative?" Sand was flushed, feverish with the understanding rushing through him. "He was created to protect Illefarn, that was his only purpose, the only thing he considered, so he had to make sure he survived at all costs. With the Weave no longer there, he had no choice, so he took life from its dark twin, the Shadow Weave." Suddenly Phaedra understood. Running under and alongside the force of magic, that was neutral, pure energy, was another force, another stream of power, known as the Shadow Weave, a rival and tainted twin. It lurked under all discussions of magic, but few, very few, ever chose to investigate it. It was dark, corrupting, inimical to life, a great void, but it had great power to offer to those who did not fear it, great power to manipulate the substance of shadow, and in the raising and command of the undead. Was it not the perfect fit to explain the nature of the King of Shadows? Except that the warlock had not drawn from the shadows at all, and the Shadow Weave was very different from demonic power. The more she learned about the King of Shadows, the more his manifestations in the caves of the Githyanki and the Moonstone Mask confused her.

"Yes, yes it is all true" The Silken Sister, or Sisters, snapped harshly, impatient at the delay. "He took from the Shadow Weave to live, but it corrupted him, drove him dry and cold. We had to slay him, we had to stop him. We were the first, the first sent against him. Sharpened swords, sharpened spells. Went into the forest where he was strong. Went in six, came out one." She lowered her head, muttering it like an incantation with a hollow intensity. "Went in six came out one."

"The King of Shadows combined you into one?" Phaedra gasped. So this was Illefarn's first salvo against its former defender, turned by the terrible events unleashed by Karsus into an enemy, a shade. Clearly it had failed utterly.

"He spied us in the wood." The Silver Sister nodded, shuddering suddenly as if at the memory. "He fell upon us, drained our lives, and left our spirits naked, helpless" Suddenly she scowled, scornful of her weakness, harsh and vengeful. "Left our souls screaming in the dark!" She snarled. But then she was back to explaining. "But that wasn't all, was it sisters?" She asked herself, muttering, running her fingers over one another. "No... he was angry. He wasn't finished with us. Not yet." She looked up, fixed Phaedra in a terrible glare. Sweet Lathander, she could see more than one consciousness swimming behind those eyes. "He scoured us bare, made us shadow. He can work shadow, shape it as he wills. He worked us like clay, worked us like white hot steel." She retreated back into herself, sad and still, meditating upon her sufferings. "Six blades" She whispered. "Hammered into one"

"Went in six" Phaedra whispered softly, understanding at last. "Came out one."

"Kill him for us" The woman, amalgamation of women, this dead, suffering, tortured abomination in front of her charged firmly, the charge of one warrior to another. "Show him justice." She twisted, became bestial again. "Show him pain!" She howled.

"I must open the Communion Tree" Phaedra murmured. There was nothing more to say. "Will you come with me?"

"Come sisters" She whispered to herself, stirring to follow Phaedra, shifting as she walked. "Its hopes align with ours." As they walked out of that haunted room, silent with the horror of what they had heard, and followed by the silent footfall of the greatest horror of all, only Shandra spoke the thought that came to them all, Phaedra knew.

"By Chauntea" The farmgirl whispered to Phaedra, her voice trembling. "If he did that to them…what chance do we have?"

Ooooooo000000000ooooooooooo

"You must pardon me, my friend. It was not my custom in life to greet visitors with swarms of undead" Counting Balaur, this squat, rather rotund little dwarf smiling pleasantly up at Phaedra, made the fifth of the spirits of Illefarn which wondered this haunted hall. And apart from Balaur he seemed to be the only one wholly in possession of his wits. He wore rich embroidered robes over his stout belly, his beard was thick and plaited elegantly into what might have been some variance of dwarven fashion, and he had a splendid moustache, all steel grey. His countenance, though pale, was welcoming and urbane. He was a man who could afford to be courteous, Phaedra sensed, because in life he must have had a great sense of his own control over circumstances around him. There were no doubts, no regrets, no searing pain or torment, that troubled the serenity of his self-possession, even after having come here to this regretful end. "I am called Annaeus." He said, and Phaedra suddenly flashed back to the pain, the agony and the searing hatred of the elven girl, the lover of the Guardian. It had been this name she'd spoken in her hate, this man she'd blamed. And the old mage had blamed him too. Phaedra's eyes narrowed, ought she also to blame him?

"You seem in remarkably good temper" Sand remarked suavely, oh of course, they seemed well suited. "Compared to the other spirits here."

"Yes I suppose I must" The dwarf shrugged, as though it were a little thing, and these halls were not filled with screams and horrors. "That is because I suffer my torments in good conscience. These others, they are are here for different reasons. Some are held by pain, others by anger, by regret…" He paused, and Phaedra pursed her lips. She found his smugness repellent. "I created the Guardian, you see." Annaeus admitted it, boldly, sensing a challenge, yet completely certain he could answer it. "Yes, me, a silly fat dwarf. I created him, later tried to destroy him, and I would do it all again. I make no apologies."

"The Guardian, the King of Shadows, all this is your fault?" Phaedra whispered coldly, quite unable to process her feelings. All the horrors in this hall, and the man had not the merest whisper of regret about him. And now the King of Shadows returned, and West Harbour was thick with his reek, its people sinking into his corruption, and this silly fat dwarf stood before her and made no apologies for all this.

"Indeed, the fault is mine." Annaeus nodded. "I sense you're not entirely happy with that." Not entirely happy…? Phaedra felt a rush of rage. "If it makes you feel any better, I have been trapped in this foul undeath for more centuries than I dare to count, and I will likely remain here for many more. It's not a pleasant fate, but I would gladly endure my torments a hundred-fold before I took back the decisions I made."

"Even after it destroyed your entire Empire?" Phaedra snarled. "Even after it's come back now, again, and has laid its vile corruption upon my home, my people?"

"I understand your anger" The dwarf said softly. "And I am deeply sorry for your loss. But I cannot regret what I did."

"Of course you cannot" Elanee's voice was a rasp of bitterness, Phaedra glanced at her, feeling a stirring of the long-forgotten connection she'd always felt with Elanee, still there, faint, but there. It was a long time since they had been so united, since Phaedra had felt Elanee spoke her own feelings but now the elf did. "You have not left this ruin in ages; you have not seen the ruinous wars your Creation has caused, the Mere, my home, utterly starved of life, the Circle I once belonged to harried into oblivion…if I could drag you from this comfortable repose and force you to see, then you would know the true torments you deserve. Then you would know the consequences of your hubris…"

"Consequences?" Annaeus echoed her softly, as if she did not truly understand the word at all. "Oh if only you knew the consequences. I saved Illefarn, my creation preserved the only enclave of culture and of tolerance against a canvas of war and hate. Thousands of innocent people were spared the wrath of greedy Netheril. The Guardian encouraged that avaricious empire to look elsewhere for plunder. No I do not regret the consequences. The Guardian saved my people."

"And it has killed many more than thousands" Phaedra spat. "It threatens the very fabric of existence, all civilisation. Your Creation destroyed all of Illefarn, it has plunged my home into darkness, and now it threatens my city with the same fate." She wondered a second at her speaking of Neverwinter as 'her city'. But it seemed right, the only way to speak of her anger, the force of how much the rise of the King of Shadows threatened her. The people of Neverwinter looked to her now, so in a sense it was her city.

"A man can act for good or ill" Annaeus answered, with the cool serenity of an intellectual proposition. As if they were not speaking of the death of thousands…! "But he cannot predict every consequence. How was I to know the Weave would fail? It was impossible, outside of everything we knew, anything we could predict. The Guardian was conceived with a noble purpose. I foresaw no evil in his birth. Once he was corrupted I did my best to end him. My conscience is clear"

"You fool!" Elanee snarled. "You cannot even see the blood drenching your hands!"

"I have said my peace, dear lady" Annaeus inclined his head as if to humour her. "I cannot imagine what more you want from me?"

"I want you to admit you were mistaken!" Elanee screeched like a night owl. "That your folly and your pride has doomed everything I have ever loved…except only…" She paused, caught her breath with a sudden flush, swallowing what she had meant to say. When she spoke again, her voice was low, and filled with poison. "I want you to beg my forgiveness" She hissed.

"Enough Elanee, Phaedra…" Casavir stepped in, calm and collected as always, a sombre force of reason. "This man clearly needs some way to keep himself from falling to the same fate we have seen in the other spirits. If he thinks he can argue away his guilt, nonetheless there will be reckoning for him. That is not ours to give, but the Gods…"

"The Gods!" Elanee muttered, throwing her hands up and turning away from Annaeus with disgust. "Always the Gods!"

"Well, well" Bishop murmured, with an appreciative smirk. "I like this new druidess." Phaedra ignored him, smouldering with anger. If he wanted to flirt with every woman in the party with his characteristic lack of subtleness, if you could even call it flirting when he simply leered and uttered some disgusting remark, about as subtle as a hammer to the face which was exactly what she wanted to give him, she wasn't going to be jealous like he probably wanted and thought he was. No, she wasn't jealous at all. She wasn't even angry, though she wanted to claw out his eyes…oh Gods…focus, Phaedra…

"You tried to destroy the Guardian once he had fallen then?" She said at last, to the waiting Annaeus, who was almost smirking. Somehow venting at Bishop had made her less willing to blast the ghost to nothing where he stood. She should do it more often.

"After his corruption, yes" The dwarf nodded. "We tried twice to destroy him. Oh I'm told they tried again afterward, but I was dead." He spread his one hand out. "First we sent the Silken Sisters against him. Silly and foolish, those elf-girls, but brave too. I warned them not to strike the Guardian. I counselled our leaders to withdraw, to draw all our folk out of the heartland, and to regroup. To make a plan" He shrugged, to say they did not listen. "The Sisters were…destroyed" He closed his hand slowly, another convenient euphemism for the horror they had once been the Sisters. All the easier to evade responsibility that way. "Then our leaders turned to me, and I devised the Ritual... the very Ritual of Purification which you seek to complete." Phaedra started with surprise, she hadn't mentioned the Ritual yet. "Don't be so shocked." Annaeus smiled. "I can sense my own work in you, and besides what possible reason would you be here for, disturbing old ruins and older ghosts, and speaking so righteously of my Creation's evil, if it were not the Statue?"

"How does the Ritual work?" Phaedra asked, deciding to take advantage of the gift to know a little more of the Ritual, even if the messenger was distasteful to her.

"In many ways, it attempts to reverse the processes that created the Guardian." Annaeus answered. "To the extent that such a thing can be done. In truth, it merely allows one to weaken him. A fire burns wood to ash. The process can never be truly reversed and so it is with the Guardian. He is utterly and irrevocably changed."

"But the Ritual failed" Phaedra raised an eyebrow.

"We failed, not the Ritual." Annaues corrected her, without a hint of shame about that. "The ritual functioned as expected, but there was dissent amongst us. Some of the wizards, old friends of his, refused to strike. They tried to reason with the Guardian instead. As friends, and arrogant ones at that, they believed they could change the Guardian when all the power of Illefarn could not." He shook his head, as if to say 'what can you do when those around you are so lacking?'

"What happened to them?" Phaedra whispered, almost too afraid to ask.

"Nothing more than could be expected." Annaeus shrugged. "The Guardian was no longer a man, no matter what his friends believed. We were divided and the Guardian slew us. Drained our lives, every one of us. And with us perished the might of Illefarn." There seemed nothing more to say, in truth Phaedra had no desire to speak any further to this arrogant man. She wasn't sure what she would have wanted or expected, if someone had told her that she would meet the creator of the King of Shadows, but it was not this, the utter denial of responsibility, the intellectual dismissal of everything she had suffered. It seemed she was doomed to be disappointed.

"Come with me to the Communion Tree, Annaeus" She said quietly. "It's time."

"Yes" Annaeus answered simply. "I think it is. Lead on."

Ooooooooooo0000000000000oooo

Beyond the hallways of glinting artifice, they came to rougher places, where the walls were dry uncrafted stone, and not cold and glistening ornament. It seemed these halls had not been fully crafted, or perhaps their dwarven inhabitants had preferred a rougher mode of living. For it was here, having scattered yet more undead, they discovered the second dwarven spirit. He was a broad, muscular dwarf, entirely bald, but with a thickly plaited brown beard. His black eyes were jolly under thick brows and he wore heavy armour. As Phaedra watched, wondering if there were some dark and horrible secret hidden behind his smiling features, he glanced around him with confusion, blinking with surprise.

"Do…I live?" He murmured into the still air.

"No, Spirit" Phaedra answered quietly. "You do not."

"Ha!" To her surprise the dwarf let out a great bellow of laughter. He spoke with a different accent to the pristine elves and Annaeus, his was a rougher, but strangely musical, brogue. "That's all the answer I need. Knew I was dead, anyway. Been stuck in this place too long, feeling like nothing. And these others... angry or hurting, all of them. I don't belong."

"And you are?" Phaedra asked.

"Thunderbelly, they call me" The dwarf inclined his head with the discipline of a military man. "The Iron Arm of Dardath, first dwarf over the walls at Sunstone." He seemed proud to recount his accomplishments, so Phaedra didn't have the heart to tell him she had no idea where or what he was talking about.

"Thunderbelly?" Khelgar leaned in, with clear respect. Phaedra too liked this dwarf a lot better than Annaeus. "There must be a story behind that."

"Ha!" The dwarf laughed again. He was certainly surprisingly jovial considering the circumstances. Perhaps he had never been one to dwell on the darkness or brood. "The name's on account of my appetite, see? Got it from the boys on the field of Delimbiyr. Here I was smiting trolls left and right and my belly's growling louder than me, on account of no breakfast." He smiled fondly. "Good times they were…"

"I'm sorry" Phaedra whispered, wanting to say something to someone more lucid than one of the other trapped spirits. "That you've ended up here."

"Oh, I'm all right." The dwarf shrugged off his terrible fate like it was nothing. "Always half-expected I'd end like this. I like this world too much to leave. I like to eat and wench and belch and fight!" He chuckled, then his features grew slightly more pensive. "I died in the battle, no doubt" He mused. "When all that remained of Illefarn went out to meet the Guardian." Phaedra perked up with interest. This must have been the last great battle, the third of Illefarn's attempts to end its Guardian. Perhaps it was how the Guardian had ended up being kept at bay for so long, only recently being regrettably able to return, first to the Githyanki's Astral plane, as Zhjaeve had recounted, then to her own, sixteen years ago and then again now. "They say we won." Thunderbelly shrugged. "Walled him up in some Plane of Shadow. But I don't call that a victory. Victory's when I swing my axe and split my foeman's skull. That was no victory."

"The Plane of Shadows?" Phaedra whispered, yet another plane to consider. This adventure opened out into impossible realms, impossible distances. And yet by its very name it was a fitting prison, for the so-called King of Shadows.

"One of the transitive planes, the planes that glue things together" Sand murmured. "Coterminous and coexistant with the Material Plane, that's ours, and magically morphic, constantly shifting. Not much else to say really, except it's a dreadful and dreary place according to those who know these things. A good place to imprison someone, until you consider that it leaks a lot onto other planes, especially ours" Phaedra's head ached at the effort of understanding the terminology.

"Do you remember the battle at all?" She glanced back at Thunderbelly, turning back to more simple matters.

"Aye, sure as steel." He nodded firmly. "All the host of Dardath, a thousand banners, and iron... iron everywhere! Shining as far as I could see." His eyes glinted as if he could see it even now. "And me at the head of it all, beside old Gristlebeard and Lady Crowspite." He looked up, glimpsing something other than the roughly hewn ceiling of the place. "Above it all, that crystal wyrm." He said, with a sweep of his hands. A wyrm…a dragon; by Lathander, Illefarn had mustered great forces against the Guardian. How could they hope to equal that in little Crossroad Keep? "Gods, but he was big." The dwarf murmured, marvelling. "Where he came from, who can tell, but he'd come to put an end to the Guardian, and that was enough for the likes of us. Good thing we had him, too. He fought even tougher than he looked. Managed to distract the Guardian while the wizards did their work. Ended bad for him, though."

"What happened to him?" Phaedra whispered.

"The Guardian did it for him, like he did for all of us" Thunderbelly answered regretfully. "We saw him fall. Just dropped out of the sky, all shining, like he was carved from diamond. But the wizards weren't ready yet…so they sent us in next." He straightened proudly, almost as if he were still ready to take that march again, and Phaedra could almost hear the tramp of hundreds of boots on the air. "Last I remember, the whole host of Dardath were marching, me and a few others at their head. Then, all around us, these little shadows…they were everywhere, hundreds of them." His eyes clouded over for a second. "And one of them…was just there in front of me, all of a sudden. So close, so close, and he reaches for me…"

"And you ended up here" Phaedra finished quietly. That was that then, the last salvo of Illefarn against its destroyer, hundreds must have died with Thunderbelly, all the magic and strength of ancient empire, including a dragon, thrown against the King of Shadows, and all it had managed to do was distract him long enough for the wizards to imprison him! And the prison had not even contained him, now it had weakened and he was already abroad! If that was all that an entire empire had availed, what hope did Phaedra have? With her fortress, and her friends, and her magic…it seemed a paltry little compared to a crystal dragon, and all the whole host of Dardath, and whatever else had perished on that field, the flowering of an empire…She felt a sickened weakness rise in her. Did she even have a chance? Or would she lead her friends into the same terrible fate of so many of the ghosts here? If that happened she certainly wouldn't be as cheery as Thunderbelly, she'd have guilt enough to torment her for centuries.

"You have the Ritual as well, Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve murmured to Phaedra, somehow sensing her thoughts and somehow knowing what to say. "And you have the shards of the Sword of Gith…know that these are not small things. We are fore-warned and fore-armed. And remember my words, your will is the greatest force of all. Believe you can defeat him, and you shall." Well Phaedra frankly wasn't entirely sure how that worked, but Zhjaeve's words did have a small effect to raise her courage. The Githzerei was right about the Ritual, she had it, or almost, and there'd be no dissent this time to disrupt it. She had the shards, Gods alone knew what they could do, but as always the thought of them was strangely comforting. And unlike Illefarn they wouldn't be caught by surprise.

"Thunderbelly" She said, newly confident, and turning to the dwarf once again. "Will you help me to defeat the Guardian once and for all?"

"Aye" He nodded vigorously. "Whatever you need, Thunderbelly's your dwarf."

oooo0000000000ooooooo

There was one last spirit, one more dwarf to find to unlock the Statue of Purification and end this wander through the history of their enemy, through the haunted nightmares, wasted hopes and brief flare of glory in Illefarn. But unlike Thunderbelly, there was no comfort or welcome in him, once they'd freed his spirit from the undead, unlike even Anneus there was no argument, no intellectualising, to be found here. Maybe there was only madness, a void into nothing. He was nondescript, anonymous, with his long brown hair, beard and simple tunic…if Phaedra had passed him on the streets of Neverwinter, she would not have looked twice, unless she'd happened to catch the eyes he now chillingly fixed upon her. They were utterly…terrifyingly empty. This was not any form of natural blindness, this was something far worse. His eyes were like an opening into nothingness, a hole into shadow.

"I can smell you plunderer" He said, almost gleefully, as if savouring the smell in some dark way. "I can taste your fire, and hear the rustle of the many you've slain, the swirling and fading screams in your wake." Phaedra stepped back, chilled to the bone. She could almost hear it herself…was that Lorne's dying howl…she shook her head, she'd drive herself mad like that. She almost sensed that would have pleased this spirit.

"What happened to you?" She gasped.

"My eyes he took" The dwarf recited like it was a nursery rhyme. "My eyes and my name, my future and my past. Names?" He cocked his head, as if hearing a question she hadn't asked yet. "You won't find names in this place, plunderer, only questions. He's drained us all of names, just like we took his"

"You speak of the Guardian" Phaedra surmised.

"Yes, our Guardian" The dwarf grinned, a rictus that was as empty of happiness as it was of anything else but madness. "I wonder, have you asked the question yet? Have you seen past the ramblings of priests, past the sobs and sighs of broken minds, and spied the real conundrum?" He turned his head, looking at her sideways, still grinning that death-mask grin.

"That which the Guardian was created to protect, he ultimately destroyed" Phaedra whispered. What a dark irony…it haunted these halls as surely as these cursed ghosts.

"Yes" The nameless dwarf seemed pleased. "Think of him…the perfect protector. They stripped him of his name, so he had no pride. They stripped him of his self, so he had no ambition. His purpose was as pure as it was simple: to protect his nation and destroy its enemies. He wasn't flawed, he was perfect. And yet still he was our doom."

"He destroyed your people, turned on you…" Phaedra argued. "Something went wrong, he certainly wasn't perfect." And yet something, a small doubt began to intrude upon her…some echo of something half-said by Annaeus, and left unsaid by the thing that had once been the Silken Sisters…what had Illefarn really done?

"But here's the dirty little secret" The dwarf leaned in, slyly. "The one that the others won't tell you. We struck first. We never bothered to learn his intentions." And there it was. The Silken Sisters had said that the Guardian was corrupted by the Shadow Weave, but how had they truly known that before they attacked him? All they truly had known was that the Guardian had drawn from the Shadow Weave, and it had changed him, maybe for the worse, but how to know that for sure? And Annaeus had urged his leaders not to send the Sisters. Had he had the same doubts? "Think of it from his perspective." The dwarf was clearly savouring the horrified understanding drawing over Phaedra's face. "He is the Guardian, the prime defender of his nation. Then he is attacked by Illefarn's soldiers and wizards. No one is more devoted to Illefarn than he... therefore his attackers must be enemies, even if they do wear Illefarn's colors."

"This is nonsense!" Elanee tugged at Phaedra's sleeve insistently, her vehemence flushed across her face. She absolutely refused to believe this. "You've felt the influence of this so-called Guardian, you've seen what it does, corruption, using the dead and darkness as tools. You know Illefarn was right to strike first! The only pity was that they could not end it there and then"

"The Guardian was no mere construct, he was able to adapt, to work with what tools he could find, which was the problem in the end" The dwarf murmured with a cynical smile, untouched by Elanee's passion. "And so he has. He works the Shadow Weave just as he worked the Weave before it, what you speak of is simply the natural consequence of that. But, ask yourself this if you can, what are his motivations? What does he really want? Revenge? The life we took from him? Simply to feed? The blood-drunk elf girls swooped in before we could ask, before we could think. Yes the Guardian's nature had changed, but what did that mean? As for me, though, I don't think it changed very much at all. I don't think his motives were any different than they ever were, and I think that's the way it's stayed."

"You think he's still trying to defend Illefarn?" Phaedra gasped, she'd pondered the motives of the King of Shadows before…could this be the answer? It seemed impossible, that so much destruction could simply have come about because the Guardian was trying to protect a long-dead empire…and yet…

"Perhaps." The dwarf shrugged. "Or perhaps, lacking an Illefarn to defend, he is simply trying to destroy her enemies, wherever he perceives them to be." There was a long silence, into which the mad dwarf stared sightlessly, his words still heavy in the air. Phaedra tried to fit this into the story of the King of Shadows that they had pieced together in their journey through these halls. Could it be that the Guardian had not fallen to evil at all? Could it be that Illefarn's instinctive fear, their assumption that the Shadow Weave had corrupted him, was truly to blame here? Had the Empire fallen on a misunderstanding? She shook her head, trying to clear it of the dwarf's poison. It was useless even thinking about that. There were no answers to those questions, not here at least. And she thought, feeling Zhjaeve's gaze, if she let doubts about the King of Shadow's nature grow too strong what hope did she have of finding the will to destroy him?

"It doesn't change anything" She said at last. "He still has to be destroyed"

"But what if it does, Phaedra?" Sand darted excitedly in front of her. "Maybe he can be changed? Turned aside? Surely it's worth a try?" No, this was one of those doubts. After everything the King of Shadows had done, she couldn't risk thinking he could be saved. He didn't deserve to be either.

"He can't, he's the perfect protector, remember?" Phaedra answered bitterly. Had Sand even heard and seen the same things she had here? Or had he only seen the power of the King of Shadows, the Guardian that was? Only heard what that power might do if it were recovered? "Even if what this…" She paused, and felt the dwarf's eyes on her as she tried to think of a word to speak of his peculiar madness. "dwarf says is true, he didn't even turn aside from his own people, and he won't turn aside for us."

"Perhaps it's all merely the ramblings of a shattered and nameless mind" The dwarf murmured. "But make of it what you will."

"I need you to come with me" Phaedra said quietly. Slowly the dwarf nodded, he would say no more.

ooooo000000oooooo

They returned to the first great hall, to the strange Communion Tree, and found it aglow with a whispering werelight, surrounded by spirits. In the shimmering light the Tree was shedding, they were all visible standing there around it. There the creature that had once been the Silken Sisters, twitching and shuddering with its uncontrollable impulses, there Thunderbelly, still grinning as if this were some high game of war, there the sad elf girl, whispering pleas to no one who could hear, there Annaeus, standing firm in his awareness even surrounded by the dark fruits of his work, and there the Guardian's former master, scowling as if deeply unimpressed by his company. The blind horror, the nameless dwarf, moved out from his silent passage behind the party, and glided over to take his place in the last of the six circles carved into the ground beneath the unfurling branches of the stone tree. Phaedra held her breath, after everything she'd gone through to get here, this had better work. All the spirits seemed to somehow know what they were doing, as if were murmured by the very air of the hall, that was gelid with magic and the whispers of ghosts. Together they came to the centre of each circle, and golden light shone forth suddenly over the floor at their feet. First the circles were traced in a shimmering glow, and a hum began to rise in the air of the room, then the light shot suddenly from Annaeus' circle to the circle of the Guardian's master, and thenceforth onwards around the entire tree, until it was surrounded by a glimmering wall of golden radiance. The Tree gave out a great groan, like a sleeping giant awakening to the world after centuries, and then began to rotate on its axis. The light ran up it, diving through the whorls and markings in its stone-like bark, and shining through every crack in its surface until the Tree was blazing with an almost unbearable shining of golden illumination, so pure and powerful it seared under Phaedra's rapidly shut eyelids. She heard the scrape of stone against stone, heard the Tree pull apart on itself, and heard the rough rasp as it sank into the floor, where grooves filled with that same unbearable light opened to receive every piece of the strange sculpture. And then a sudden cold gale tore through the hall, whipping Phaedra's hair and dress about her, until she clutched them to her with shock, but on the wind she thought she heard the whispers of spirits as they swept past her in the swell of the squall…the aching sob of the Guardian's Beloved, the peevish rasp of his master, the pompous pontificating of his creator, Annaeus, the whispered howling of his twisted creation, the Silken Sisters, the war cry of his foe, Thunderbelly, and lastly the poisoned murmur of the one who had perhaps explained him, the nameless blind dwarf. All the actors in this one terrible drama that had now become her own. And then just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The room was silent, still…and dark save for a single ray of sunlight through the ceiling. The spirits had dissipated, their dark miasma had parted.

Phaedra opened her eyes, unconsciously smoothing out her dress and hair as she looked out into the room. The Communion Tree was gone entirely. During that paroxysm of light and magic, it had cracked apart and slid down into the stone floor which had now sealed itself over. Phaedra could only marvel at the skilled magic that had conceived such a thing. But of far greater interest now was the Statue of Purification that had been left behind, formerly concealed within it. It was the same form, familiar to her now, and welcoming in a way, different only in that this one carried tucked under her arm a representation of what seemed to be a bushel of grain, carved from gold. She knew what to do now. She stepped forward, not forgetting to be reverent, but perhaps a little hastier than before. It was the fourth statue she had stood before now, after all. And then it seized her in the rush of its magic, and the aching enormity of its power opened out beyond her.

"In ancient times, the Guardian was protected to create Illefarn" It intoned its ritual formula, a piece she at last understood fully now. Annaues himself must have written these spells, or they had been crafted under his direction. And yet she could not carry the disgust she felt at the Guardian's Creator to this, the Ritual he had sanctified. "If the time has come to dismantle our Great Instrument, you will be the agent of its destruction." The light swam around it once again, in sweeping rays of prismatic enchantment, and Phaedra felt it play over her skin and hair, felt it sink far deeper beneath her flesh. "Take this blessing of Communion" The Statue went on, and the light rose to a sparkling filigree about it. "May its soothing light comfort you on your travels"

"The fourth part of the Ritual is complete" Zhjaeve said, as always taking her prerogative as the first to speak of the Ritual's blessings. "Focus your will upon the statue…" The Ritual was singing again, glorious, beautiful within her soul…and she heard the new note to it, ecstatically whispering its name into the vaults of her mind again and again. It was the Soothing Light. Clasping her hands, she drew out that note within her mind, like the conductor of a symphony, gesturing to a single instrument to rise above the orchestra, and let it swell within her, until its song was all around. Coils of white light shimmered, ghost-like, in the air above her head, and a rainbow glory spilled out from her hands, her feet. Gods…she felt in inside her, and it was drawing from her all exhaustion, all tiredness, the remnants of wounds and fears of body and mind. Even her muscles suddenly felt gloriously free and light, she hadn't even realised how stretched tight they were. The ritual wrapped her in an embrace of light, and poured healing and peace through her veins. She glanced around her, saw her friends embraced in the same gentle light, saw them stand straighter, saw the pallor and strain drain even from Elanee's cheeks until the elf for a moment resembled again the young and beautiful druidess she had been in those first days, saw the slight bruise Neeshka had sustained from an unlucky blow on her neck fade to nothing. Even Bishop seemed tempted to relax for a second, not that he did, of course. And then it was done, and the light drew back, quietening in Phaedra's heart until she heard only the merest hum of it. "Know that though the King of Shadows may wound you countless times" Zhjaeve murmured, she too hadn't relaxed at all, and again Phaedra heard the echo of her voice deep inside herself. "You have the power to undo the damage he does to you, and to others…"

"That's what I call magic" Shandra marvelled, tensing and untensing her shoulders and spreading her fingers experimentally. "It's incredible. I feel as fresh as a spring chicken!" Phaedra couldn't help but giggle at the pastoral simile.

"Annaeus certainly knew what he was doing" Sand nodded with admiration. There was something to be admired in Annaues' work here, Phaedra had to agree, not that she liked it of course. "But there have to be consequences to the release of this kind of energy." He turned to Phaedra, with another warning on his lips. "It's not going to come from nothing. I'd recommend caution, until we've thoroughly probed the limits of this Ritual." That made sense. Phaedra did feel a little light-headed in fact, her power was smouldering embers, as if she'd expended tremendous energy, and she certainly couldn't imagine summoning any part of the Ritual again any time soon yet. It was best saved for emergencies, she saw, kept in reserve for the direst situations. She'd remember that from now on.

"Only one more, then" Khelgar was pleased. "Told you this was a piece of cake." Phaedra nodded, yes it was time to leave. As they departed the baleful halls, which somehow seemed a little less menacing now, less thick with shadow and malice, they passed the spirit of the old librarian Balaur, who glided forth to meet them.

"You have returned a measure of peace to this place" He said softly, his voice like the whisper of turning pages. "For that I am grateful. Should you defeat the Guardian at last, I believe that the silence that the ages demand shall finally settle over these halls once and for all." Yes, it was past time that the torments of the shades within were ended, past time that Annaeus and Thunderbelly and all the rest were free to go to whatever awaited them. It was just another reason that the Guardian had to be ended, whatever it took. Having learned his story, heard the stories from the shattered remnants of those who had stood along the path that had led to his rebirth as the King of Shadows, having learned of his terrible power and his terrible, senseless cruelty, Phaedra knew she had to be more determined than ever to end him.


	70. Chapter 70

_Yay I'm back! Sorry about the long wait, and the long chapter! It's also probably the heaviest one in terms of angst so far (WHAT? Even after Garius/Ember/Cormick and everything?! I believe calls this break the cutie), which I hope you'll see is justified. I'm continuing with Zhjaeve not being a cleric in the usual sense. After all her faithlessness is one of her defining characteristics, or will come to be, and we already have a healer in Elanee (or do we?). But I show her having some kind of mental power (psionics?) which will continue to develop. As for Elanee, I moved the dramatic reveal of Elanee's lack of power from chapter 68 in the fight in front of Riverguard Keep to an even more dramatic setting here so kindly forget about Elanee not being able to heal Casavir in Arvahn if you can! _

_As always thanks for reading, and thanks to XxDreamersWishXx for reviewing all the way back and for alerts and favourites (if you've got this far). And as always feel free to share thoughts and criticisms! I do eventually get around to changing things (if I agree with you ;)_

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Elanee was waning, waning as surely as the moon now waned in the tides of the cycles that were written upon her soul. As the land died, as the streams of power beneath the surface of nature were stopped and slowed, the slowly dying veins of the dying body of the Mere, she felt her own magic, drawn from those streams, slowly drain away. She couldn't stop it, she couldn't slow it. But she could use what small pockets of it remained, desperately putting off the day she had to tell Phaedra the truth. Meanwhile she found she was a cipher to herself, her only justification for her actions was the growing tide of desperation not to lose Phaedra, not to lose anything else. But the closer she tried to grasp to the few small things she loved that were left, the more they slipped from her, and to the knee of that creature, the Githzerei.

As they walked again through the ruins of Arvahn, following Phaedra's unconscious directions, the free air a mercy after the pressing darkness of that haunted hall of spirits and shadows, Elanee risked another glance at Zhjaeve. She was never sure if the Githzerei was aware of her suspicious scrutiny. She wouldn't be surprised, the creature's preternatural awareness had already dazzled Casavir and Phaedra. Elanee knew her feelings stemmed from jealousy, she hated seeing Zhjave at Phaedra's shoulder all the time, always ready to answer questions and offer observations, slowly shaping Phaedra's conclusions and thoughts, but in her more lucid moments she told herself that there was some firmer foundation for her suspicion, although it left her feeling more alone than ever in the group. She couldn't stop herself asking questions no one else seemed to be asking. Why was Zhjaeve helping them at all, what was her motivation? It was not her world, her people at stake, her Mere that was sinking into death. She doubted that Zhjaeve ever acted out of benevolence, or pity, she doubted the Githzerei was even capable of that. Which left…what? Why was she here? What was her real interest in Phaedra? Deep in her heart, Elanee knew there could only be one answer…the Silver Sword, the shards, and the shard in Phaedra's chest, a relic of some sort to the Githzerei. All along Zhjaeve had addressed Phaedra only as 'Kalach-cha' which meant Shard-bearer or something like that. Elanee couldn't see it as anything other than a betrayal of Zhjaeve's true interest. So, when Phaedra had enough of the shards to reforge the damned Blade, what then? Would Zhjaeve seek to claim them, would she even seek to claim the one in Phaedra's chest? Elanee felt her fingers clench at her sides at the thought…focus, she told herself, focus.

They'd been winding their way up the hill in the centre of the ruins, following Phaedra's meandering path along what seemed to be ancient roads, long-forgotten by the tread of man, and now they stood at its crown. Old Arvahn opened out beneath them. From here, the tracings of the ancient city were suddenly revealed, like a tapestry suddenly unfurled, with the lines of long-collapsed buildings glimpsed through the green flourishing of nature that had taken once-great Arvahn to her breast. There was the Temple of Seasons with its great cracked dome, where Casavir had spoken of sacrifice and she had thought how terrible a nonsense all this talk was, when life was the most precious gift we had, and worth far more than any city or God or ideal, and there Riverguard Keep. The old nameless halls where they'd heard the story of the King of Shadows were not visible, and Elanee was profoundly glad of it.

"I was sure a statue was here…" Phaedra whispered absently. "I felt it…so strongly…" Elanee glanced back up the hill, to the very crest of it, and though there no statue for certain, there was something here, something very strange. It appeared to be a doorway, a doorway to nothing, simply a slender archway carved of white marble standing completely on its own, utterly empty, a shell. It was an exquisite thing, Elanee thought, as she walked closer, following Phaedra who began to walk up to slowly, as if transfixed, its white glistening surface was carved with a lattice of tiny patterns, so delicate that they barely seemed to be the work of hands at all. Did Elanee hear an echo of a song about it…no, was that just the wind? Through it the sky, clear, crisp blue, and cloudless, opened out, and strangest of all, there was no sign of any old building this door could have been part of, no foundations, no remnants of walls, nothing…just this single, beautiful doorway. "What is this?" Phaedra whispered, inclining her head towards it, as if she were hearing something Elanee could not.

"I believe it is a song portal of ancient Illefarn" Sand answered, with his usual crisp scientific analysis, that somehow seemed not to even scratch the surface of the thing's beauty, or Phaedra's reaction to it. "The Illefarn used them to travel long distances in the blink of an eye."

"Then the Statue must be through it" Phaedra surmised instantly, and instantly she straightened with practicality. "We've got to use it"

"I'm afraid that may not be so easy" Sand shook his head. Elanee glared at him. Just because Zhjaeve occupied her these days, didn't mean she'd forgotten Sand. They were two sides of the same coin, both wanted Phaedra: for her power, for the shard inside her, neither of them cared about her, not like Elanee did. No one did, no one cared about her quite like Elanee did…silently she stopped that thought, aghast at the feverish madness of it. "The Illefarn didn't use keys, not for sacred objects like the song portal. Instead, as the name suggests, all it took was a song." He shrugged elegantly, as if to say, 'what a ridiculous conceit'.

"A song?" Phaedra repeated, baffled.

"Yes" Sand confirmed. "The people of Illefarn got together, sang something ancient and sacred in elvish…and lo, the portal opened. It was all terribly inefficient and deeply otiose but that's Illefarn for you."

"What can we do then?" Phaedra touched her hair, sighing with frustration. Sand only shrugged, unhelpfully, but then Zhjaeve glided forward. Instantly Elanee found herself tensing.

"The portal merely requires the song of one of Illefarn, does it not?" She repeated what had already been said as if it were some new, dazzling insight. Honestly all this Githzerei mysticism was just smoke and mirrors. "Know that we have one of the old blood of Illefarn amongst us, to sing this stone to life."

"Who?" Phaedra turned, her hair shining in a wave of gold. Her features, blank and cool, told Elanee that she already knew the answer.

"You, Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve answered, and Elanee felt her heart sink inexorably. Was it not enough that Phaedra had the shard in her chest, thus binding her to the Githzerei and to the defeat of the King of Shadows, was it not enough that she was a warlock, was it not enough that her mother had been involved with that dark mage, Garius, in some manner she had yet to explain fully and it had brought her under his shadow? Now she had to be the descendent of this sad, ancient and proud empire whose hubris had brought them all to this juncture. Fate had cast Phaedra such a testing hand, and those who loved her were caught up in the throw of the dice. "Have you not felt a great connection to these ruins already, have your footsteps not already been guided by the ancient lines beneath this place? And these are not the first Illefarn ruins your path has led to…"

"No they're not" Phaedra whispered. She absorbed this new information, this new blow, easily. Perhaps she had half-suspected it already. Given that Illefarn had dominated much of this area long ago, including the Mere of Dead Men, it was possible she wasn't the only one with their blood anyway. Had not Elanee herself felt at home in so many of the old ruins in the Mere of Dead Men, places no person save the Circle had touched for centuries? "So you really think I can sing this portal into activation?" Phaedra glanced between Sand and Zhjaeve, but her gaze lingered on the Githzerei, waiting for a validation Elanee would have longed to have been able to provide. Zhjaeve nodded slowly. "I suppose it's worth a try" She turned back to the portal, her gaze travelled up its slender curve again, as if expecting some sign from it. But it was silent.

"Now she can sing portals to life too?" Neeshka sneered, just quietly enough that Phaedra could ignore it. "Next you'll be telling me she combs damn rainbows out of her hair or something." Elanee shot the tiefling a glance, and was met with fiery defiance smoking in her red eyes. Poor Neeshka, Elanee felt a certain kinship for her these days, but she knew the tiefling still regarded her with suspicion. They'd both joined so early on, yet maybe there was no place for either of them in Phaedra's quest anymore. But like Elanee, Neeshka would hang on as long as she could, not quite sure why she did, but unable to leave Phaedra, for good or ill. Phaedra had that power over people, and she didn't even know it.

"Should I sing something elvish?" Phaedra said loudly, allowing her to ignore Neeshka's comment. But Elanee doubted Daeghun had ever taught her any of the old songs, she had nothing to work with. She looked lost for a second, staring through the open portal, an expression coming to her face so resonant of her uncertain youth, before all the burdens had fallen upon her, that Elanee felt a sudden deep and undeniable impulse. Before she could stop herself, before fear and doubt intruded, before her desperation could master her again, she stepped forward to take her place by Phaedra, opened her mouth and began to sing in her stead.

Elvish still came as naturally as breathing to her lips, even after being so long dormant in her, and an old nameless lullaby flowed from her tongue, in her rather rough, untrained alto voice, stirring long-buried memories in its wake. It had been the song her father had sung to her as she lay in her bed, a child thrilling with love, before the orcs had sunk the village and his dear body beneath the swamp. She barely remembered his face these days, a tragedy that had been as slow and gradual as the brutal loss of him had been sudden and unexpected, but the lullaby still came to her mind in his voice, a sweet lilting tenor. She had sung it to herself at night, wrapped up in her arms with tears on her cheeks, in those hard days afterwards, once the Circle had found her, a lost orphan alone in the Mere, and resolved to train her in their ways, apprentice her to their dogma of radical self-sufficiency and survival. The masters had been old, cold, merciless as the Mere, even friends like Kalil and Naevan had been awkward around the girl-child she had been, and treated her exactly like an adult, fully-formed, needing no love or guidance save the harsh discipline of the druid's life. She had survived as best she could, burying herself in the Mere, turning her face from the memories of love like some low-lying Mere fern burrowing in the soggy soil, but she had never been able to rid her heart of the yearning that the mere memory of this song could bring. That discontent, that longing, had sometimes been so strong and unrelenting, that she had aimlessly wandered the Mere at night, desperately unsure what exactly she wanted but knowing that something was missing from her life, something bound up in the memory of her father's love. And unsure she had remained, until that day eleven years ago that the Circle had ordered her to one last assignment…She opened her eyes, scattering the flow of memories, and her gaze found Phaedra. The girl was looking at her so strangely that she almost faltered, Phaedra's eyes were swimming in confusion, shock, regret…and something of the same feelings that the old lullaby brought to Elanee. She almost saw a mirror in those green eyes, to the girl she had been, the woman she had become, the daughter she might have had. She paused, overcome for a second, and then Phaedra's lips parted, and the song continued on from her lips, rising to new heights on Phaedra's voice, which was as untrained as Elanee's and rather thin, but high and sweet. Elanee faltered, hearing Phaedra singing parts of the song that she had not given an example of just now, and knowing that Phaedra was right now remembering the lullaby as much as she was, out of a miasma of time, remembering a night of torrential rain on the Mere, water over her head, a hand around her wrist, a child's body across Elanee's lap, half-dead, but the words caught her up in them and Phaedra's soft features were turned to hers, a well of feeling playing across them, and she joined her voice to the girl who was never her daughter, who was now her leader, who would always be her beloved. Together Elanee found their voices harmonised to something far more precious than they were apart, her lower, richer rasp layered Phaedra's breathy tremble, giving it strength, and receiving in return honey sweetness. The rest of the party fell away, even Zhjaeve, even Casavir, and she saw only Phaedra, heard only Phaedra, and loved only Phaedra, her darling Phaedra. And then another tone joined the duet, the sound of the Song Portal, a sweet and glorious pitch as if a hundred voices were joined as one and bound within the stone, as it vibrated with their song like a tuning fork. Faint white light glowed in the minute tracings on its surface Elanee had noticed earlier, and even as the magic of Illefarn shimmered across the surface in response to their song, she still sang with Phaedra, caught up in the far subtler magic of the music, and of the connection they shared. The Song Portal hummed, as she and Phaedra's voices rose in strength, and suddenly it fell across the surface of the empty doorway, a curtain of light. It was like a watery, faint aurora, a shifting pulsing flow of colour, shimmering like water under the sun. The drone of the Song Portal rose to a higher pitch and intensity, and then fell silent all at once. It was done, and it seemed that this shining glow of light was the portal they required. Phaedra too fell silent, her gaze drawn to the doorway of light as if she saw something in it, and Elanee could not continue without her and was quiet too.

"By the Gods, that actually worked" Khelgar shook his head, disbelievingly. "You can bet an elf came up with this nonsense, wouldn't see a dwarf joining hands in a circle to sing some damned door open." He seemed disgusted at the thought.

"Of course, we all know dwarves use their heads" Neeshka muttered, a sudden flash of the old guileless mischief in her eyes. "To batter the whole door down though, it's about the only use they've found for them!" She cackled, and Khelgar gave her a good-natured glare.

"Are you alright?" Casavir murmured solicitously, appearing behind Elanee as if to catch her if she chose this moment to faint into his arms. She nodded slowly, silently. He must have seen something of the emotional swell in her during the song but how could he possibly understand what that moment had been to her, to Phaedra? She couldn't begin to explain it. He was just a man, she thought dismissively, what did he know of true love with his sacrifices and his deities, but then the thought appalled her and she ached for his arms all over again.

"Who's going through first?" Sand leaned forward, curiously blinking at the shimmering fall of light. Not him, that was obvious. Silence answered him.

"Bishop, would you?" Phaedra surprised them all by saying. She'd torn her gaze away from the portal, but instead of looking at Elanee, she was looking at Bishop, with a curious pleading in her gaze. He tensed, irritably, was this some kind of test from her?

"Fine" He shrugged, shouldering his bow, as if it meant nothing to him either way. "But if anything moves in there, I'm putting an arrow through its eyes." He moved towards the portal with a casual loping stride, but as he passed Phaedra, she took his arm with one hand, catching him before he went through. At her touch, he turned inscrutably to her, and he looked down at her, she looked at him, and Elanee knew what it was to be excluded entirely from the world, the scope, of Phaedra's existence. This was something far more complete than anything Zhjaeve could have done. At that moment, Phaedra had eyes only for Bishop. The rest of them may not even have been there, it was like a private moment.

"Be careful" Phaedra whispered. She was completely still, but Elanee wondered how much effort kept her that way. Her lashes trembled, the only sign of strain. "Anything could be through there." The words of a leader, a Captain but how much more were they as well?

"Remind me again why I do these things for you" Bishop was leaning towards her, enclosing her, perhaps not even knowing he was doing it, perhaps entirely conscious of his every movement. What was contained in these tiny motions on his part? It could be nothing, it could be everything in the world.

"I have no idea" Phaedra answered quietly. "Someday you're going to have to tell me". A secret smirk passed over Bishop's lips at that, something challenging and sensual all at once. Elanee felt again like the intruder, the spy, she had been that morning on the mountain just before the trial.

"Someday" He answered, with the low rumble of a roguish laugh in his voice, intimate as a kiss. And then suddenly he was pulling away from her, as cruel, as aloof, as cool as always, and Elanee wondered if she'd seen anything at all, except him toying with Phaedra and her meeting him with disregard. And then he was walking through the light of the portal, utterly fearlessly, as if he cared not one whit if death met him on the other side, and one long stride took him through the watery glow and into the unknown. Casavir followed quickly, not to be outdone by Bishop, and Shandra next. One by one the rest filed in after them, but Phaedra hung back, and Elanee sensed that it was her whom the girl was waiting to see, and lingered herself. Sand went in last, and then it was just them, facing each other in front of the portal, and Phaedra was looking at Elanee again, this time with a veiled gaze, as impenetrable as a wall of emerald. Was the love she longed for, which she'd seen, pained and hurt but still flickering, during their song, there somewhere underneath? Elanee herself couldn't speak, she had no words for it. And so they were silent, and looked at one another, and the weight of the unspoken hung heavily on the air.

"Elanee" Phaedra said at last, emotionlessly. "When we get back to Crossroad Keep, you and I are going to have a long talk" Elanee opened her mouth, tried to protest…she knew what Phaedra would ask, and it was the question she had dreaded since the first desperate lie. But now time was running out, as she'd always known it must, and Phaedra left her no more time to plead her case, for with a quick, graceful swirl she turned away and glided through the shimmering Song Portal. She left Elanee alone, and the druidess gathered her robes around herself, feeling a chill descend on her soul. Gods help her, now. But there was no help in the heavens, not after her mistakes and her sins. And so, with a trembling step, she stepped through the glow after Phaedra, and felt it seal behind her. There was no turning back.

Ooooo0000000000oooooooooo

"What is this place?" Shandra's words echoed in the silent air. "It looks like a ruined village…but…" Phaedra stepped forward slowly, feeling the dead weight of the air, so still, so unnaturally still, part before her passage. The Mere lay wrapped in a dread shadow, a cold thick and grey gloom, though back through the Song Portal the ruins of Arvahn had been shining in the early afternoon. They had stepped through the portal and found themselves here, though there was no exit portal for them to have passed through. Here a dense curling mist coiled malevolently in the village, possessively around the few sparse trees and played amongst the silent, shadowed buildings. Underfoot the mud was a thick, black and cloying slime, although there ought to have been a well-trod path here, there should have been footsteps passing by. Anything healthy and living that had once grown here had died back, replaced by a thick, slippery mass of moss and voracious weeds, all primeval and hungry things, birthed in dark, wet, dank holes, now let loose to cannibalise what remained of what had been a living, thriving place only…only…a month ago. "Gods, doesn't it seem familiar?" Shandra whispered. No one was listening, Phaedra was not listening. "It looks like…" And then she fell silent, suddenly realising, and Phaedra felt the pinprick touch of her gaze upon her shoulders, and knew if she turned back she would see Shandra's face swimming in horror and pity, would see the whole party looking at her. She did not look back. Instead she slowly stepped forward again, ignoring the mud clinging to her boots and to the hem of her gown. She was trembling, she noticed abstractly, and each step was a tremendous effort, and yet she couldn't stop moving. She knew that if she stopped moving she would fall.

"Phaedra, wait…" Casavir appeared at her side, his voice unnaturally quiet and strained, offering his hand or his arms or offering her something she didn't quite know what, she wasn't sure if he knew either. She shrugged him off, walking onwards along the path that was no path anymore, but a slick stream of slime. Outside the walls the Mere was a silent, dark malevolent smudge of thick, poisonous green, its pools gone stagnant, its trees choked in weeds and thick coiling vines, its solid paths sunken into muck. She saw the stretch of it into the distance distorted, swimming in water as if there tears in her eyes. Were there tears in her eyes? She raised a hand, shaking beyond her power to still, to one of her cheeks, and found it wet. Then slowly she turned and saw the Starling barn, half-cloaked in a thick covering of green moss, and there just before the front porch a body lying in the mud, a body draped in a gown…Retta. That moment, giving a name to the building and to the corpse she had tried not to see, and being forced to concede finally that she stood in West Harbour, and it was deserted, and empty, save for the unnaturally white corpses that lay here and there on the path and in the mud and amidst the ruined buildings, undid her. She fell to her knees in the mud, unable to support herself. Kneeling there in the dead mud, she found she was trembling all over, shaking as if she were having a fit. There was a howling thing in her chest, a howling void, and it was as if her heart had been torn out, and there was nothing there now but a searing emptiness. She choked, and then began to sob, huge, suffocating sobs that racked her whole body, until she could only threw back her head and scream, a ragged, hoarse, scream that seared her throat on its way out. It seemed the only way to let out some of the sickening agony, so powerful that it seemed like some parasite feeding on her innards, claws in her stomach, jaws around her throat, but the more she screamed the more painful it grew, rising and swelling inside her. Her thoughts were an impotent howl, a snarling blur. No names, no faces, she saw nothing, heard nothing…but the grief swirled around her and inside her and she felt her own self carried away on its swell. And then she burst into flames. The Hellfire, so long dormant, exploded outwards in a burst of her grief and pain, it coiled and curled around her like the hands of a comforter that could not come, enfolding her, embracing her, in a wildness that was beyond control, just like she was. Her tears burst into sizzling smoke as they left her eyes, but still she wept, like an animal, utterly wild, utterly without thought. And the fire roared out her agony, and fed upon it, growing and swelling, until it sent a pillar of coiling flame some metres high into the still, hitherto entirely undisturbed, air.

"Phaedra!" They were screaming her name, her friends, she suddenly heard it, having been deaf to everything for minutes, hours…she did not know now how long. They were gathered outside the borders of the flames that surrounded her, shielding themselves from the extreme heat but still darting in as close as they could to try and reach her. "Phaedra!" But she didn't want it, any of it. If the fire could have burned her to a cinder there in that moment, to be scattered on the air over what had once been West Harbour, it would have seemed a blessing, she would never have to look beyond it, see her village, her home, a ruin and see the bodies…Retta's face flashed before her face again, a dead corpse, or as she had seen it last, pallid with madness, she wasn't sure which, she wasn't sure which was worse, and she screamed again, trying to drive it from her head, clamping her eyes tight against this new indignity. And then suddenly someone seized her hand in a grasp so tight it hurt, and the sharp ache of it surprised her so that she opened her eyes, and for a moment the madness of grief fell away. Her gaze met the pale blue eyes of Shandra, tearful and horrified and regretful and full of a terrible pity, and she saw all of a sudden that the fires around her had vanished, and that Shandra had reached her unscathed, impossible though that seemed. And then she remembered, equally as impossible that she should be able to at such a moment, and yet she did, had not the same thing happened during the trial, that Shandra had stopped the Hellfire about her? And here Shandra was again, and again the girl threw herself forward, and took Phaedra in her arms. The farmer was trembling, and Phaedra lay back, achingly numb, in her arms. The sudden shock of Shandra's closeness had driven the madness of all-consuming agony from her, though she yearned for its self-obliteration all over again, for she knew what would come next, what had to come next. Pain and grief beyond endurance would possess her as the truth of West Harbour's true and final destruction found its place in her heart, as she found each of the bodies of her friends and the goodbyes mounted up into a great blur of agony, but for now, for a second, she felt only a terrible painful numbness, utterly beyond her strength, but better than what was to come.

"Phaedra, oh Gods…I'm so sorry" Shandra murmured into her hair. "Oh Chauntea, how could this happen?" That question…she already knew the answer, the King of Shadows. She felt a vicious swell of hate for him, and then another unstoppable surge of grief that sent her tumbling against Shandra. The two girls clung to one another, pressed close so tight that it hurt, but still grief swam around Phaedra, clung to her even closer than Shandra did, and its touch was unbearable.

"I smell…the traces of demonic energies, it's thick, on the earth and recent" Sand sniffed the air extravagantly, Phaedra barely heard him but a cold and vengeful part of her was listening, and filed it away for when she faced that warlock, undoubtedly the King of Shadows, and slowly set about burning him away for what he had done here. "Undoubtedly our friend was here." He confirmed. "Not more than day ago"

"We already can see that" Neeshka hissed. She kicked a stone on the ground, deeply disturbed despite the pitilessness of her words. "Everything's dead." Phaedra keened again, a cracked howl of pain, she quickly swallowed it, yet the tears kept leaking from her hot, itching eyes. Everyone dead…everyone dead…Bevil, Daeghun…? She sobbed emptily, retching with pain, into Shandra's shoulder.

"Kalach-cha, look to me" Then Zhjaeve slowly knelt beside Shandra, inexorably drawing Phaedra's gaze despite it all. "What has happened here is terrible beyond reason, and it is the work of the King of Shadows for certain. His corruption has grown strong in this place, we cannot linger. There will be time to grieve, but for now you must master yourself." Phaedra turned away, looking down over Shandra's shoulder into the mud, as Shandra held her tightly. She wasn't sure if she would simply collapse into the earth without the farmer's help. How could she move? How could she breathe? It was too much, too much to endure. She clung to Shandra's shoulders, clamping her eyes shut, and begging for something, anything, that after everything she had been forced to go through, that she might not have to see this, to know this, that when she opened her eyes she might find West Harbour safe and happy. She wasn't sure who she entreated, for the thick atmosphere of the corrupted Mere was all she felt, clinging to her skin like a film of moisture. "Kalach-cha" Again Zhjaeve spoke, and though she closed eyes and ears to the Githzerei still she heard Zhjaeve to the depths of her soul. "Somehow you must find the strength to rise, to fight, again. Lose yourself and all else is lost with you, and many more will come to the same fate as your people."

"No one here would want to see that" Shandra murmured into Phaedra's hair, trying to help her rise. "No one would want to see you die with them. They loved you, they taught you to fight on, do it for them. Come on, Phaedra, you can do it…get up with me…"

"I'm not letting myself die here" Neeshka whispered. Callous as was what she said, somehow it struck Phaedra deep, as she remembered her terror, her resolve not to lose any of her friends, not to lead them into death as Esmerelle had done. She had lost her village, how could she lose anything else? Perhaps it was that, or Zhjaeve's meditations, or Shandra's soothing, but somehow she mastered her shaking knees, and pushing her hands down into the slime of the Mere, tried to draw herself to her feet. She was helpless, weak, like a child, shattered by grief, and she had to lean almost all her weight on the staggering Shandra. But somehow, together, they managed it, and Phaedra stood again amidst the ruins of her village, coated in thick black mud and trembling with aftershocks of desolation. She couldn't bear to look around her, but her eyes betrayed her. They would not cease to see, rather than take in every horrific sight, the utterly empty houses, terribly vacant of life and light under the shadows, all intact except for those wounds inflicted in the very first attack by the Githyanki, and the bodies…scattered here and there randomly across the village green. There was something infinitely terrible about the carelessness of it, as if they had just fallen down where they had stood. None were close enough to be identified yet, except Retta…Retta, she staggered again, retching emptily but Shandra held her up. And next to Retta, something even worse, one of the Starling children, Bevil's little brother, sprawled out in the mud, face-down.

"Know that our arrival in this village was not intended" Zhjaeve said, as they stood for a moment on the decline beneath the village. "Some hostile influence diverted our path through the portal and we have ended up here instead." She turned to Phaedra. "Are there any ancient Illefarn ruins near this place?"

"Yes" Elanee answered for the incapable Phaedra, speaking without hostility to Zhjaeve. The elf was parchment white, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears. She had wept too, while Phaedra had been insensible with anguish, wept with true tears of honest grief for West Harbour, and Phaedra felt her heart stir in response. "To the north, deeper in the Mere, where Phaedra found the first shard." Yes, she remembered that journey, abstractly as if it had happened to someone else, with Bevil at her side. Bevil…where was Bevil? She did not see his body near his mother's, yet he could never have abandoned her or his brothers.

"Then that was the intended destination of the portal, without a doubt" Zhjaeve nodded slowly. "Only an influence of great power could have turned away our arrival. We must be on our guard." Then Zhjaeve cocked her head to the side, perceiving some new object of interest on the still, silent air. Unwillingly Phaedra listened too… "Do you hear something?" Zhjaeve murmured. "It is like the sound of a child…wailing…" Phaedra heard nothing, a terrible nothing, or maybe she didn't? Maybe she heard a faint echo of what Zhjaeve's honed senses picked up, the faintest half-shadow of a child's cry? She couldn't tell what she heard; she couldn't think, she felt withered, worn to the bone. Grief had gutted her. But Zhjaeve's words…they should have set a spark of hope in her, the hope of finding a survivor, yet she felt nothing at all but the terrible ache of emptiness. She couldn't resist the truth now, she knew it even without thinking it, that West Harbour was gone. That brute fact was enough…she was felled.

"We should search the area, find if there are any survivors" Casavir said the words that should have been her own. "Phaedra, if you wish to stay here…" Vehemently she shook her head, shocked that she'd found the strength from somewhere. She had to see this. However unbearable it was, they all deserved that from her, they all deserved…a…final farewell.

"Yes, I agree." Zhjaeve inclined her head respectfully to Casavir. "Though I do not believe anyone lives, still to search is the right choice. A witness to the events here would be of value. Let us see where our path takes us... but no matter what, we must soon make our way to the ruins you spoke of. Our passage, I wager, will not be unnoticed." And so they moved on into the village, and Phaedra walked dumbly behind them, with Shandra carefully leading her steps. As they passed Retta, she collapsed again into Shandra, dry-eyed now, but shaking with horror. There was nothing to be seen here, no survivors, just Retta, white as a sheet, her familiar features twisted into a ghoulish expression of utter terror, lying there sprawled across the porch of the house she had kept so well and proudly, and her young son dead beside her, even their three fearsome dogs felled on the lawn before the house. Phaedra shuddered, the woman who had been as much a mother as she'd ever had…deserved far better than this, lying here like this. Oh Gods, Retta, she keeled over, as another spasm of pain shook through her. The next thing she knew she was retching up bile, spitting brown gobbets of acidic harshness into the putrid soil. Where was Bevil? Had he gotten away in time? She couldn't hope, she wasn't capable of it, but she wondered.

"They aren't marked" Bishop noted suddenly, with complete coolness, ignoring her outburst. He'd been about death so much, not even the ruined village shocked him, as Ember had not stirred him. "Not a wound on any of them."

"You're right" Sand moved over, with a sweep of his robes. Phaedra flashed back to Ember again for a second. But there was a limit to what anyone could endure, and clamping her eyes tight, she bit her lips until she tasted blood, trying to drive the thought back out. "And I've never seen such pallor in a corpse, but there's no reason to suspect they were drained of blood." Still closing her eyes, Phaedra heard Sand kneel by the corpse, examine it. She heard the flick of a knife, a swish, and then smelt blood on the thick, dank air. "Yes, definitely not drained of blood" Sand had cut into her body. Phaedra's eyes snapped open, she felt a towering rage at this final indignity burn through her, but it was instantly drowned in another unstoppable surge of grief. What did it matter anymore? Retta was already dead…already gone. She sagged against Shandra, feeling sickened to the core. "Now this is a conundrum" Sand stood, shaking his head. "There's nothing to explain why this poor woman died. It's…as if her heart just stopped. Normally if demons were involved, I'd expect there to be a lot more mess…but here…there's nothing"

"Except the fear on her face." Neeshka noted darkly. "She was terrified."

"My dear, surely you can't expect me to believe she died of fear?" Sand said, but his voice wasn't as disbelieving as it should have been, and once he had finished speaking, a cold silence fell over the rest of the party. Neeshka was not the only one who suspected just that…Phaedra staggered and coughed up another harsh, acidic glob of bile from her empty stomach. She couldn't think of Retta's last moments, the fear that must have marked her, whatever dread thing had approached her across the lawn and stopped her heart, and that of her dogs, and her son, without mercy. And yet the images flashed through her head nonetheless, even when Shandra tacitly turned her away from the bodies and they moved on through the dead village, quietly, surreptitiously, yet quickly. But not quick enough, she saw bodies, more bodies, far too many bodies. Petra Harmann and Sarah Lannon, the two girls she'd last seen flirting with Bishop at that ill-fated dinner, the three Mossfield brothers, Wyl, Webb and Ward lying dead in the dirt, and Pitney Lannon just by them, his pathetic blunted sword held tight in white fingers against a foe he could not stop. It was a ghastly parade of the dead, and it went on and on and on, until Phaedra thought her heart could not take anymore, and yet with each new body she felt a new spasm of agony deepen the fierce tumult within her. And then there, Phaedra let out a strangled cry, Georg. Shaking off Shandra, she leapt to him, cradled his shaven head in her lap. He too was unnaturally pale, bleached of all colour underneath his bronze tan, and there was no blood, no wounds, nothing to mark his body. Georg would never have gone down without fighting, and she saw that, by the position of his body and the closeness of the other militia members, that he'd been trying to rally the militia one last time. But it hadn't been enough, not against this foe. She remembered that Georg could have chosen to leave, like she had, abandoning everyone, but he had taken a stand. Kneeling over him, she dissolved into wild, hysterical sobs, gulping great gasps of air between the shuddering tremors of grief. Oh Georg…

"Come on Phaedra" Shandra was sobbing with her, and tugged at her shoulders wildly, trying to get her to move. "Come on…you've got to go on."

"We shouldn't have let her come through the village" Casavir murmured pityingly, to whom, she couldn't see. "She needn't have seen this." Leaping up Phaedra screamed a fierce denial at that, how dare he! He gave no answer to her rage, simply looked gently at her with nothing but a deep, abiding compassion on his face. No, this was Casavir…her mind struggled to think, this was Casavir…she fell back into Shandra, turned into the rough hard corner of the girl's armour and wept desolately against her, as Shandra cradled her in her arms. Slowly, at a halting pace, they continued to move through the dead village. Women, children…no-one had been spared. Every little corpse sent Phaedra spiralling, if it hadn't been for Shandra, she would have fallen prostrate on the earth and screamed to heaven until her voice failed. If she could have died with them, if she could have fought…if she could have saved them…she didn't know what she would have done, what she could have done…but she knew one thing, they had died and she had not been here. They passed Daeghun's house, and Tarmas'…both were empty, and neither of their occupants were visible amongst the dead. Yet again the hope that Phaedra should have felt for the fates of her foster-father and mentor amidst the ruins of all their neighbours did not lift or light the agonising emptiness that voided her entirely, leaving her but a shell, a nothing. She wondered that she did not simply dissolve.

And there…Brother Merring, his white hands clutched tight around a holy symbol of Lathander, the unnatural pallor of his skin in stark contrast to the glory of his golden and red ceremonial robes. The horror on his face was just as terrible as on the faces of everyone else's…there was none of the serenity of the martyred, none of the consolation of faith, nothing he had taught her. Only a dead man…

"Lathander…" She screamed to the pitiless sky, heedless of the horrified glances of her friends. "Why…?" But there was nothing more she could say, nothing would speak of her rage and horror at the God she had learnt at Merring's knee. If he would not even save Brother Merring, his servent…his cleric, from this terrible fate that had struck the village…was he then nothing but a capricious monster, or did he cower from the King of Shadows like the merest mortal coward? She had done far more than Lathander to stop the King of Shadows, and despite Merring's assurances, never had the God ever aided her, not even in the slightest way. Now he had not even stretched out his hand for Merring, for any of the innocents of West Harbour, just as neither he nor any of the Gods had chosen to save Ember or Cormick anyone else. All her prayers, all useless, all those words, wasted. A part of her still quailed at her insolence to the Gods, but her grieving rage dared them to smite her. There was no answer, nothing, nothing just like always, nothing but the cold, still, grey sky, under the pall of the King of Shadows. And so she turned away from Merring, dry-eyed now, but trembling with rage and grief, and, shrugging off Shandra's help, walked on her own strength, alone, as she had been for so long.

Near to where Merring had fallen was his dilapidated half-constructed shrine to Lathander. Phaedra felt a sudden, overpowering urge to topple the damned thing, but she didn't have the strength, or maybe she felt still a lingering reverence. She didn't care. But Zhjaeve saw something to interest her, the Githzerei walked quickly, purposefully, like a hound on the scent, and came to the thick black scar on the earth near the shrine, that baleful relic from the war. Phaedra's bones and teeth ached with a strange sensation of magic as she came nearer to it. The wrongness about it…was stronger than ever. She felt her heart beat faster, almost as if in chime with the shard in her chest as it began to vibrate with a strange, new resonance.

"This is where the sound is coming from" Zhjaeve said meditatively, her yellow eyes seemed to glint in the twilight gloom of the dead village. "The wailing of the child is strong here. What is this place?" Phaedra could hear it now, a thin warbling whine, so soft it was barely an echo, as if it had passed through impossible distances in space or time to reach them as a half-remembered thing. Whatever it was, this was no true child's cry, no one had survived. That hope was useless. And without it, she didn't care how it was that an impossible child's voice could sound over the empty village.

"It was the site of a battle" Elanee again answered for Phaedra, her voice a quiet chime. "Long ago."

"There is a familiar sensation about it" Zhjaeve noted. "It's not the sound. The vibration is in the air around it... almost metallic. It is powerful. Very powerful." Phaedra barely heard her, she barely cared. The shards, the Sword of Gith, it all seemed useless, worthless, now, all this magic, these supposedly holy powers, all for nothing. She had done this to save West Harbour, and she had failed. "This is a sacred place" Zhjaeve continued, a note of reverence in her voice. "It seems as though we may return here"

"Return here?" Khelgar spluttered. "Are you mad? This is a place for the dead now. We shouldn't linger, let alone think about coming back."

"Khelgar's right" Sand chimed in. "That we shouldn't linger. Whatever did this cannot be far, and I, for one, do not wish to be caught in its inevitable return." Phaedra started, realising suddenly what they were talking about…leaving, no…leaving…no she couldn't leave. This was her home. She couldn't leave it.

"Surely we can't leave all these bodies like this?" Shandra pleaded, looking sick.

"The last Statue of Purification is nearby" Zhjaeve said, reasonably. "It may be under threat from the same enemy. Our first priority has to be to uncover it." Oh Gods, they were all so reasonable, so reasonable it set Phaedra's teeth on edge. But they missed a crucial point…Phaedra wasn't leaving. Not again, not another time. Not for another damned Statue of Purification…not for anything.

"I think…we may have to bow to necessity, as painful as it is" Casavir agreed, looking pained. "The souls of these brave men and women have gone to the Gods, nothing more can harm them now. Better that we do not waste their sacrifice, and move quickly to secure the last part of the Ritual." Even Casavir, who had been so solicitous in Ember, even Casavir chose this path, to simply leave as if the village had never been here at all. But Phaedra remembered and Phaedra knew…West Harbour was here, and the bodies of her neighbours and friends deserved better than to be left to rot. They deserved her to stay with them, as she should have done from the start.

"Come on Phaedra" Pale and gentle, Shandra moved to Phaedra, speaking to her as if she was a child. The farmgirl took her arm with a comforting clasp. "Come on, we'd better leave." No, she tore from Shandra's grasp, suddenly erupting, white with horror.

"I'm not going…" She cried, stepping back towards the village. "I can't…" But instead of anger she was shaking with grief again, a new flood of it swept her away, and white hot tears poured from her eyes, and her voice was a strangled rasp. "I have to stay, can't you see that? I have to stay." She sobbed. "It's too late for them, for me, but I have to stay…I have to bury them…" Bury them, one by one, on the strength of her own back on the ridge as Harbourmen deserved, or burn them…and burn with them, until she too was nothing but cinders. Nothing else mattered. What was the Statue of Purification to her anymore? She couldn't leave her friends to rot. She couldn't…

"Oh Gods, Phaedra" Shandra whispered, stopping in place. She turned away, burying her head in her hands to weep. But even she didn't understand. Phaedra was a Harbourman. She was, she was…and Harbourmen didn't just leave the village, go out into the world. They stayed, they helped…to defend the village…Phaedra wailed hopelessly, a short, sharp staccato scream, punctuated by choked sobs. She had left…oh Gods she had left twice…and she had left them to their fate. She had always wanted to leave in truth, just like Bevil had said. And she had got what she wanted, and she had left them all to die…to die like this, alone in the dark of the corrupted Mere…

"By the Hells, she's going to get us all killed" Bishop snarled. The ranger strode forward brutishly, and Phaedra threw her hands forward in warning. No one would make her leave a third time. She would rot here too, rot in her guilt.

"Stay back!" She cried, the words cracking in her throat. "I'll…stop you…"

"You couldn't, princess" Bishop shrugged, stepping up to her relentlessly, and seizing both her wrists in an impossibly firm grip despite her fevered attempts to strike him. "Sorry." He didn't sound even remotely sorry. Enraged, hysterical, she screamed, struggled, kicked, at him, but nothing had even the smallest effect. He didn't even wince and he began to tug her away from the village with brute practicality. The rest of the party watched, horrified, but none of them did anything to stop it. Of course they didn't, she thought, with the searing clarity of hysteria…they were happy to preach their own brands of morality to her when it suited them to do one thing, or not to do another, but as soon as it came down to it, they were happy to do just about anything to control her. At least Bishop was honest.

"No…" She howled, trying to turn back, digging her heels in the mud, anything…to mean she didn't escape her grim atonement. "No…"

"Stop it" Bishop warned. "There's nothing left here for you, just let it go."

"I've got to stay" She begged, pleaded to his hard-faced realism. "Please let me stay…I can't leave them again."

"You're not staying princess" Bishop answered bluntly. "They're dead, you're alive, nothing you can do can change that now. But I'm getting out of here, and so are you."

"You've never cared about anything in your life, how would you understand?" She shrieked. "You're just an unfeeling monster, a brute!" With a sigh of frustration, he pinned both her flailing wrists in the grasp of one of his brute hands. The other arm encircled her waist, and pulled her bodily from the earth so he could lift her away from the mud and begin to carry her away. His strength was incredible. She struggled as fiercely as she could, but he held fast.

"Let's get the Hells out of here" He said grimly to the others, and Phaedra let out another wretched wail that quickly died to nothing. Abruptly all the fight went out of her as Bishop bore her away from the village, her legs and her gown trailing behind him, slick with mud and the muck of the Mere. She had passed through everything, every singeing share of grief, guilt and rage and from them thence into a great nothing. She smelled the dead, she heard only the silence of death, saw only death…and she felt…like death itself. West Harbour was dead…and so was her heart, her soul…only her stubborn body and the single sliver of self that yet called itself Phaedra Blake refused to surrender to the inevitable and die with the rest. Tears flowed silently down her cheeks…she had not even said goodbye…she had not even said goodbye to them, and then the village passed from her sight and they entered the dark, brooding umbral immensity of the Mere. The shadow closed around them, and West Harbour was lost from sight, sinking back as the darkness swallowed it again into the dead maw of the haunted swamps. It was over…all her hopes, all her prayers, all over…

Oooo000000000ooooooooo

Phaedra quietened once they were in the Mere, a Mere that was silent and eerie beyond anything Shandra had ever experienced before. She even began to walk for herself, like a doll or a puppet, jerkily, as if was not herself directing the movements of her legs. Not that Bishop let her go quite yet, he hovered by her, like a hawk stalking its prey, and held her to him possessively when she stumbled like a child over the muddy path. It didn't seem like solicitude, more an expression of ownership. None of them dared to say anything to him, after the monstrous thing he had done, dragging Phaedra from her dead village like a trussed-up deer, well…strictly the monstrous thing they had all let him do, as none of them had protested back then either. What choice did they have? She'd been maddened by grief in those moments, and who could blame her? West Harbour…Shandra knew she would never forget their walk through the dead village no matter how long she lived. And for Phaedra, that place, wrapped deep in shadow, carpeted with the dead, had been her home, those bleached corpses riddled with fear had been her friends and neighbours. She'd been driven to death and back herself. If they hadn't stopped her, in her torment of grief, she might have hurt herself, or done far worse. Who could say what dark madness had lurked behind her insistence that she had to stay with her fellow Harbourmen, stay forever if need be? But only Bishop had the courage, the ruthlessness, to do what they all knew they'd had to do, and now thanks to him Phaedra was here with them, and by the Gods she hoped they could find a way out of this swamp and back to somewhere healthy and hale where she could start to discover some impossible way to heal. Shandra had never seen her look like this, utterly chalk-white, her eyes scoured with the redness of tears and terribly half-dead, the glint of their emerald fineness had dulled to a swampy mire, her whole posture was bent over as if she were clutching herself in a constant agony. She didn't seem to see anything around her, let alone hear or perceive the Mere that she had once known, turned into some haunted landscape of nightmares. It was worse than grief, it was like something fundamental had broken inside her, like her mind had snapped. Every other blow…Ember, Cormick, even Garius, she'd come back stronger, a little sadder perhaps, but even more beautiful for it, but this time…Shandra shuddered. She doubted Phaedra would ever fully recover, how could she, from something like this? There were no words for the horror of it…

"The ruins are just ahead" Elanee whispered, as if unwilling to disturb the unnaturally quiescent air, which was heavy with a foul reek of decay. The brooding menace of the Mere now was deeply palpable, every hollow was thick with shadows, the ground a slime-riddled sludge, every plant a gnarled horror that had the edge of something unnatural to Shandra farmer's eyes. Gods alone knew what horrors lurked in the coiling mists, thick and foul as spoiled milk and almost impenetrable, so that they could only see some metres around. As Elanee's thin, bony finger pointed ahead Shandra saw the outline of buildings emerging from the mist, dark shadows amidst the fog, shapes quite unlike the organic welter of the Mere. Quickly, furtively, they moved into the complex of ancient buildings, staggering and stumbling over the voracious morass of the Mere. These ruins were carved to the same lines as the ones in Arvahn, with the particular genius of the Ilefarn shimmering in every detail. They were less intact generally than the ruins in Arvahn, pillars sunken deep into the waters, or half-cracked apart by the growth of some tree in their midst, yet they seemed oddly serene in the dreadful remains of the tainted, dead Mere.

"Know that the statue is close" Zhjaeve confirmed suddenly. Well, at least, they hadn't come here for nothing. "Ah…" The Githzerei exhaled. "That hall ahead." It rose out of the mists, a great circular building of shimmering stone, along its walls were a series of gentle alcoves and lightly curving buttresses that created a pleasing symmetry. At its crown it rose to a large flat dome, ribbed with delicate stonework. The dome had cracked in places, and had been colonised by a tumult of vines, roots and mosses, and yet the whole building seemed to be slightly set apart from the rest of the diseased Mere that enfolded it in gloomy darkness. But then Zhjaeve tensed suddenly. "The entrance…it is not sealed" The Githzerei remarked quietly, and Shandra felt her heart begin to beat faster at the uncommon note of caution in the Githzerei's usually serene voice. The door did stand open, right open to the deathly air of the Mere, but this place was a ruin? Surely that wasn't unremarkable, was it? She couldn't tell if it was Zhjaeve's words or the reaction of the rest of the party, but she felt tension thud through her veins as they approached the ruined building. It's great doorway, empty as the mouth of a skull, loomed before them, and she saw a strange light within it, an eerie blueish phosphorescence that threw flickering shadows up the stone walls. It looked wrong, watery in the sickly sheen of it, but wavering like the glow cast by a fire, rippling up the walls…right away it sent Shandra's stomach churning.

Cautiously, silently, they stepped through the open doorway, almost as if by unspoken agreement. Only Phaedra seemed unaware of the undercurrents of tension, but Bishop was shadowing her…despite herself Shandra knew she was in good hands. Whatever his reasons, Bishop wasn't about to let her get harmed. The doorway gave way into a long, slender hallway, almost entirely unornamented save only by the grace of the stonework that had built it. Above, the rounded ceiling was delicately vaulted, slender bays and ribs of stone hung in the air like unfurling wings. On the other side of the hall, set against the opposite wall was an open Song Portal, exactly like the one back in Arvahn, and shimmering with the life of magic that Phaedra and Elanee's haunting melody had breathed into it. Its doorway was drawn in light, ready to be used. Shandra knew right away that, had all gone as planned, they should have stepped through this portal from Arvahn, and they would never have seen the ruin of West Harbour at all. How long before Phaedra would have known of its fate then?

But something had diverted them, and Shandra had more than a hunch that the creature that stood between them and the portal, its back to them, was behind it. She saw that it wore long sumptuous robes, thick and black, with a high shoulder that was scattered with a fluttering of black feathers, but stitched with a design in cold golden thread that spiralled up its back in a way that seemed…terribly wrong to the eye, like grasping tentacles. Even its hands were gloved in dark silk, its boots of the finest black leather and shining in the werelight that played through the chamber. Such an ensemble would have looked fearsome on any normal mage, Sand it would have suited perhaps, but this was no man. She almost thought it was for a second, seeing the shining globe of the back of its head and thinking stupidly that it must be a bald man, like the King of Shadows himself, she remembered, as he'd appeared in the Moonstone Mask. But then she realised, with a terrible shudder, that what she was seeing was the gleaming back of a skull, picked entirely clean of flesh, pure bone. Worse even than that, the skull was on fire, impossibly aflame. And this was a fire that gave no smoke, that did not consume its sumptuous robes. It just hovered there about the bone curve of the skull, flickering, dancing, in a hauntingly mesmerising way, like the lights that floated on the swamps in the old legends and led travellers astray to their deaths. This was no natural flame either, as if that would have made anything better. It was a cold, smoky blue, a terrible evil shade. The creature had its hand raised and a ghastly play of dark magic danced about the bulk of its robes, shadows shifting and coiling in streams of liquid darkness. Even Shandra could sense the terrible power the thing was channelling. It made her head ache, she saw dark spots flash before her vision. And then…she started with shock, seeing suddenly the Statue of Purification looming in front of the creature, all wreathed in the same awful penumbra of searing magic that the creature commanded. It had the design of the others back in Arvahn as far as Shandra could tell, but little could be glimpsed through the howling storm of shadowy magic that enveloped it. Shandra gasped hoarsely, what was the creature doing to it? She hesitated for a second, not sure of what she could do to defend the Statue they had come here for, shot a glance at Phaedra, waiting for orders…and then remembered that Phaedra was incapable of giving orders right now. And so she hesitated, and they all hesitated, and the moment they might have used to stop the desecration of the Statue was lost. For in the next instant, the swell of dark magic in the room rose to a fever pitch, and the Statue suddenly blazed with a light, rich pure and so brilliant that Shandra had to throw her hand in front of her face to shield her eyes. She felt, really felt, despite her lack of magical instincts…the terrible battle between the Statue's protective charms and the sheer raw, awful corrupting power that the creature had brought to bear fall toward the triumphant darkness that raked over her faltering consciousness. And then the light failed, and the room was filled with a terrible gloom, save for the flickering evil gleam of the creature's flame. Shandra's eyes fluttered open. And she let out a little cry of horror, seeing the Statue of Purification, the reason they had come all this way…blackened with a slick sheen of corruption, and crumbling before their very eyes. That beautiful sculpted head fell from its shoulders, slipping away into a fine grey sand that scattered, glistening like sparks, over the stone floor. Shandra felt a wave of desolation, after everything, everything…they were too late. And then the creature turned…

"You…" The thing said as if it recognised them. It's terrible skull face, frozen in the macabre grin of death, had eyes of blue fire, and moved, with no muscle to aid it, no tongue to speak, to form impossible words. Its voice was cold and oddly inflected, and it echoed unnaturally as if overlaid with power. Its gaze was fixed on Phaedra, it knew her right away, and Shandra saw her flinch, terribly, from that awful stare. "Have you returned here to die? The Statue's power was already spent, but you shall have no more use from it regardless. If it was you who took it, then your swift death will make the failure of the Ritual of Purification complete."

"The Statue had already been used?" Zhjaeve strode forward, blazing with an almost palpable glory of purpose, her spear shining at her side. She wasn't supposed to have magic, really, but Shandra sometimes wondered. Right now she entirely eclipsed Phaedra. "Another has taken its power? You speak lies!" The creature's bone teeth parted in a hiss, realising that it had accidently revealed something that would have been best kept hidden.

"It is of no consequence" The creature jeered, recovering itself. "This thief has only one part of the Ritual, and your pathetic little girl leader bears the rest." It knew Phaedra, Shandra couldn't help but wonder how. But Phaedra only stared back at it, frozen in place, her face a mask of horror. She looked nothing like the leader she always was, courageous in the face of unimaginable terrors, brave and full of resolve enough to carry not only herself but the rest of the party too. She looked like a girl, lost, facing a nightmare. Which was what she was. "Once we rip the location of the other Statues from your mind and topple them as well, this pathetic magic no longer has any power to hurt us. We are unstoppable"

"No" Zhjaeve challenged, showing none of the shock of this new revelation or dismay at the creature's words that Shandra felt. "As long as this one who completed the part of the Ritual yet lives, we can stop you and your master. All that is left to us, is to defeat you, thrall of the Shadows."

"Thrall?" The creature repeated mockingly and then terribly it laughed, an awful grating sound of pure malice that echoed over and over, filling the hall until it seemed like there were a hundred voices all cackling mercilessly at the party's meagre chances. "Oh, even now thraldom sits so easily in your mind, slave-creature, as though the chains were never broken at all. Why the illithids used you is beyond us, but we suppose you were a cheap enough amusement to them. We are no thrall, Gith…zerei…we are Shadow Reaver and we are your death." Shandra shuddered, chilled. She knew that together they had defeated many who had this being's same terrible confidence. But with Phaedra in her state…and this thing…she saw right away that it was evil embodied in a way nothing else they had seen before was…did they really have a chance here?

"You are nothing" Zhjaeve answered with a terrible calm. "And you will know it soon enough."

"Fool" The creature, named a Shadow Reaver, and such a fearsome moniker it was, suiting the thing's dread presence, hissed. "Do your worst, with your blades and your puny magics…our master's power is greater than you all, a hundredfold. This time, no human weakness shall blight us. You will fall, as you should have done from the beginning, and we will bring your blighted husks back to our master to be raised again and tortured evermore unto enternity." It turned again to Phaedra, and his those eyes, swimming in blue fire, narrowed with malice. "But you, little girl leader, we will have alive" It said. "There is one in our number who has longed to meet you again." Shandra flinched with horror, as Phaedra trembled visibly, white as a sheet. What dark horror did this creature mean? And then the Shadow Reaver raised its gloved hands, and its magic tore forth into the still silence of the ruins, a tower of shadows roared up above it, threads of darkness streaked through the air. The bone of the Reaver's maw, filled with fire, drew back in a cold smile. It was so arrogant, so sure of its power, that attacking with surprise did not even occur to it. And then it moved, a wave of roaring horror raced towards them, slick evil coils of shadow rising and falling with the sea of darkness like tentacles raised from some forbidden depths. Sand met it instantly and with his usual artistry, raising shields that shimmered like crystal, drawn like a curtain in front of the party, his elegant features strained with concentration. The darkness rose and fell like the tide beyond it, sending visible cracks of shining light racing through the surface of the shield, and across Sand's taut features. Under the cover, Casavir began to move, whispered prayers sending a faint shimmering of golden light streaking behind him, protection, glory of the Gods, a potent defence before he braved the darkness beyond Sand's faltering barriers. Quickly, twirling her sword experimentally in her hand, Shandra moved to follow him into the fray, trusting in the strength of his faith and his prayers to shield her as well. The darkness parted before Casavir, and in two quick strides he reached the Reaver, which stood amidst a storm of corruption like a tower in a storm, its black robes whipping about it in the tides of power. He attacked, hammer whirling, and Shandra leapt in after him, shadowing his movements, taking advantage of the hole in the defences as the creature threw up an arm which somehow stopped Casavir's blow mid-strike. Her sword went through the Reaver's robes, tearing apart sumptuous swirls of silk…and hit bone. Hard, unyielding bone and nothing else; no vital organs, no weaknesses, no possible way to kill this thing. Through the ragged threads of silk the terrible blue fire glinted like a mocking eye, the only animating force in this thing, and it was something no sword could pierce. Gasping with a sudden sick realisation, she tried to pull the sword up, tried to tear through the rest of the Reaver's body, but the thing's other arm seized her shoulder and, with terrible strength, held her in place, wrenching her upwards. Casavir tried to reach her, fought to save her, but the Reaver nonchalantly swept its hand back, and Casavir fell back in a whirling coil of shadow. Shandra screamed, and then it turned to her, and she saw her death in its terrible face. She'd listened to Casavir's words of sacrifice with a rapt heart, half in love with the idea that her inconsequential farmer's life could have some great meaning, half in love with the man. But now the death he had spoken of, honourable death in battle, faced her…and all she could think was…not like this, not like this. "Fool!" The creature laughed again, with a manical edge, and it shook her as it did, like a rag doll. "You truly think blades can harm us? Us? The chosen of the King of Shadows, the heirs of immortality?"

"Then try this out for size, you smug bastard" Bishop's voice crowed through the din of the howling storm of power that streaked around Shandra and her captor, and suddenly the creature reared back, its hand pinioned by an arrow that had struck, amazingly enough, between the joints in the wrist, enough of a distraction to make it drop Shandra. Freed, instinct took over, and she rolled over on the floor to escape the Reaver, finding herself staggering by Casavir, who was just recovering himself. She gazed in horror at the looming Reaver, whose body trailed a smoky penumbra of darkness as it shook Bishop's arrow from its fingers, nonchalantly, as if the blow had not harmed it all. But of course, Shandra thought with a rising panic, of course it had not harmed it. How could they harm something like this? But then Sand moved forward, trailing skeins of light, webs of glistening magic, and with a whirling gesture that sent his sleeves whipping forward he threw the pale gleaming loops straight for the Reaver. Shandra gasped. Would magic work? Could it even, when they had only Sand, and maybe Elanee, who were capable of fighting with magic, and Phaedra was shrinking back like she was? They needed her fire, but Shandra saw her standing there behind Sand, pale and trembling, her white face alight with horror. She couldn't find the will for it, not now, not after West Harbour. Sand's spell caught the Reaver in a bind, coiling around him with quick, serpentine movements in cords of arcane radiance. The creature hissed, the noise echoing horrifically, and then drew its own hands back into its chest, clenching its bony fingers together, so that its horrifying power splayed out in a smoky burst of shadow. With a shuddering shattering of light, Sand's spell burst apart, snapping away in a shining whiplash and dissipating in the air as the elf staggered back as if hit by a physical blow, wincing with agony and suddenly white with panic. The Shadow Reaver raised its hands and an agonising screech filled the room, sending Shandra staggering to her knees, clutching her fingers to her ears, tasting, feeling, corruption on the very air as the howl of dark power reached a terrible crescendo. Her eyes blurred, she felt a dark haze descend over her sight…her mind was pulled, stretched tight…and she felt a deep dark sense of violation slip in through the cracks.

_Give in_, it seemed to whisper, _Let go, there is no hope…surrender yourself to the shadow_. She gasped, clutching at her head with sharp fingers, trying to drive the voice, the foul stain, out. But it pushed deeper, raking over her memories, pulling pieces from her life and staining them black with its reek. _Your home is destroyed, you have no family left, Shandra Jerro once of Highcliff, now belonging to nowhere and nothing save those who would use you for your blood, the blood of your grandfather. Don't you see that's the only reason they've kept you around_… A vision of Phaedra flashed through her mind, but it was the younger girl as she had never seen her, icily pale, a smile of avarice on her lips and her green eyes glinting with guile. _The Haven_…And then a rippling milieu of the old nightmares she'd had about her ancestor's Haven in her childhood, the dark corners, the labyrinthine passages, trapped, hunted, in the darkness. She felt a staggering sense of fear, cold sweat ran down her arms, her back, a child again, waking at night grasping at her sheets, too terrified even to scream. _That is where it ends for you Shandra Jerro, in the shadows, where everything ends. Give in now and save yourself the pain of betrayal_. Staggering with pain, Shandra realised that this, this, was exactly what the King of Shadows had done to the people of West Harbour before killing them, using their weaknesses, their doubts to slip into their minds and poison them from within.

"Focus your will!" Came the cry of Zhjaeve suddenly, rising above the tumult of dark power like the tolling of a bell. "None of this is real, it is a toy of the guile of the King of Shadows. Do not surrender to it." Shandra clenched her fists together, using the words of the Githzerei as an anchor, she found herself clinging to them for dear life. Zhjaeve's will seemed to rise in the room, a physical, palpable thing, a shield and a haven in which Shandra's quailing soul found refuge. She wondered at its power. "The mind is the strongest fortress of all, and the will is its walls." The Githzerei intoned, speaking to them all, for Shandra, as the baleful influence receded a little, saw that every other member of the party was prey to the same assault as she was, sweeping coils of shadow raked around them in clawing threads, toying in their clothes and hair. She saw Sand, his eyes widening with sudden understanding as if he saw some puzzle unlocked in front of him, Elanee was on her knees, half-frenzied with horror, screaming silently to the pitiless air, Casavir stoically clenched his shoulders to face the shadow, his face white with strain, Phaedra's face was turned to the wall, she leaned in, shaking like a child, her fists on the stone, clasped tight, so tight that her nails pressed into her palms. Each of them, she understood, was being attacked through their own weaknesses. "And your will is always your own unless you allow it to be taken." Zhjaeve continued, as Shandra fought, raising every modicum of her willpower to drive the influence aside. "Use your own self as a weapon, as Gith did against the illithids, driving their taint from her mind from within, with courage and force of will alone." With one almighty effort, spurred by the force of the Githzerei's proclamations, and some real sense that Zhjaeve was lending her strength, Shandra forced it away. And then she was free, and breathed freely again, and slowly she saw the others each rise from the nest of horror; Khelgar was next to free himself, she doubted he had much that would keep him down, for even now he looked belligerently to their foe, adjusting his gauntlets ready for the next blow, Casavir came then, whispering prayers of thanks, and then Neeshka, running her hands along her thin arms, then swiftly Bishop, his eyes flashing golden. She wondered what weakness the Reaver had attacked in him, whatever it was, he didn't like it one bit. "Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve turned to her quivering helpless pupil next, as the Shadow Reaver brooded in his swirling storm of darkness watching with amusement as the Githzerei undid its work. It did not attack yet, as if it hardly cared what Zhjaeve did, as if their fate would be the same regardless. "Kalach-cha, find your strength, find it. You were not the one who destroyed your village, this power did, and you must fight it, you must find the strength to fight it, or let the tragedy of West Harbour and the foul triumph of our foe be complete." Phaedra stirred, briefly, racked by turmoil, her face screwed up with agony.

"What's the point in fighting on anymore?" The Reaver obscenely spoke, seemingly echoing Phaedra's thoughts, gleefully. "Everything dies, you've lost your home, you killed the Marshal with your love…you lost your innocence, your childhood, your purity, your faith, all spent, wasted, in this hopeless quest like the blood you have spilt. It will end here, as it did for West Harbour…"

"That's enough out of you!" Khelgar bellowed, racing forward, swinging his fists and the Gauntlets of Ironfist with all his strength. Smiling coldly, the creature nonchalantly swept up its hand, and the dwarf was sent tumbling in another cold blast of dark power, into the wall. Shandra screamed terribly, but the dwarf was still okay, stirring from where he'd fallen, blinking with shock to be so easily defeated. The Reaver could have killed him, but still it toyed with them all. It was supremely arrogant, and it had reason to be. What possible way could they harm it? And without Phaedra to direct them they were hopeless.

"Is anyone else going to risk themselves to save your darling leader from herself?" The Reaver whispered, its cold flaming blue eyes travelled across the group. "Maybe I'll kill the next one." It extended its hand, and a blade of shadow formed within its fingers, a long, lethal sword born out of the howling darkness itself that swept around him. Shandra watched with horror, unable to move, unable to ignore the challenge. She had to save Phaedra, but there was no way to harm this thing, no blade, no magic had dented it. "What about you ranger?" Slowly, obscenely it turned to Bishop who met it with a fierce smoky glare of defiance. He despised its efforts to put chains on his soul. "Shall we speak of our whispers to you, Bishop, the burning flames of your past, your present…your future. We know what's plotted in the shadows, what thoughts and feelings are spent in the darkness of your soul, those which you hide even from her and those which you hide from yourself, feelings for her…" Suddenly Bishop pounced forward, leaping from complete stillness to a furious blur in barely a second, the short sword and the skinning dagger he always carried but rarely chose to use leaping into his hands. The dagger went through the Reaver's eye, the sword through where its heart should have been, and all without giving the creature even a second to use the dark blade it bore. It was extraordinary, but it was useless. The creature only laughed a short sharp bark, and suddenly it swept the blade down with amazing speed, to split Bishop's skull. Shandra screamed, starting forward, unsure what she could do, but Bishop moved almost fast enough to avoid it. He sprang back, in a whirl of his blades as they withdrew from the creature's body, but the sword of shadows still swept down and as he leapt to avoid it its tip pierced the chest of his armour, and tore down. Blood exploded outwards as his armour ripped apart, and he fell back, still managing to spring on the remaining tension in his muscles far enough away from the Reaver to avoid its next finishing strike, and he landed at Shandra's feet against the stone floor with not even a cry of pain, though there was a great gouge in his chest from just below his neck down to his stomach. Without knowing what she was doing still, Shandra swept down to catch him, pressing into the wound with her fingers, trying to stop the bleeding. All she caught for her pains was a shower of Bishop's blood…and a nasty swearword from the ranger.

"Don't waste your time farmgirl" She thought she heard him say, through a harsh breath, but that was impossible. Why wouldn't he want her to save him if she could do something? Where was Elanee? Where was their healer, and then she looked up and saw that Elanee was still kneeling, clutched tight around herself with agony, still wracked by the horror of the Shadow Reaver, and beside her Sand stood utterly still, his gaze fixed on a distant point as if on some marvellous portrait that mesmerised him. Neither of them had obeyed Zhjaeve when she had, Shandra realised suddenly with horror! They were still in thrall to the Shadow Reaver!

"No!" Suddenly Phaedra's scream, harsh, discordant, rang through the room, so loud, so harsh, so utterly anguished, that Shandra felt her heart skip a beat in horror. She'd never heard a scream like that…except only once, in the arena when Phaedra had almost been killed by Lorne and Elanee had screamed out one harsh note of agony that had contained in one terrible syllable all her pain and fear and love. Then as now hearing such a noise from the usually sweet and melodic elven throat sounded far more awful than anything Shandra could ever have imagined. Pulling Bishop up across her knee, she glanced behind her and saw Phaedra striding forward, finally having shaken off the enervating corruption of the Reaver, flushed with emotion, suddenly animated, suddenly alive after the deathly half-slumber that had possessed her since West Harbour. Anguish and horror played across her face, that face that had just been a mask of nothingness was now a theatre of agony as she swept up to Shandra and Bishop almost as fast as Bishop had moved, her muddy robes flicking about her. "No, Gods no…" She whispered, falling to her knees beside him. Shandra might as well not have been there, Phaedra looked utterly consumed by Bishop, she reached for him, and his blood flowered over her white hands in thick red streaks. Her face flushed with agony, her eyes burned with feeling. Shandra fell back in shock at the sheer depth of her pain, as if the sword had cleaved her too. "Don't…don't…" She gasped.

"Shut up princess" Bishop coughed, sending more blood streaming over Shandra's lap and Phaedra's hands. "And kill that fucking thing."

"You can't save him either…" The Reaver chuckled harshly, savouring the scene. "You can't, no matter that you feel for…"

"Shut up!" Phaedra screamed, throwing her head back, and leapt to her feet, bursting into sudden flame. She thrust her hands forward like blades, and a sheer pillar of blazing fire blasted out from her with an explosive cannoning force that sent the entire ruin shaking on its foundations. The Reaver drew back, sudden shock somehow visible in its skull-face, and threw forward defences traced in darkness with confident expertise. But the fire cannoned through them like they were nothing, sending streaking strands of shadow whipping back up against the walls and ceilings in streaming coils. Phaedra burned, her face set with rage, her eyes and hair traced in sparks of power that blazed as they were fed into the raging inferno that swept over the ground, sending tiles flying up into the air, and hit the Shadow Reaver. Instantly it was consumed in fire, and its robes went up in smoke in seconds, so that Shandra suddenly saw nothing but a skeleton rearing back surrounded by the blazing hellfire of Phaedra's power, the blue flames that animated it sputtering feebly as its bones were scorched black by the sheer heat. A howl, echoing, vibrating with its unnatural reverberation, filled the room from the creature's throat. But still it tried to fight.

"You cannot vanquish me" It cried. "I am unstoppable."

"Die!" Phaedra howled with a ragged voice, pumping another surge of power into her outstretched hands and out into the roaring sheet of fire. The sheer force cannoning into the Reaver forced it to take a step back, and another, back towards the portal, trailing dust and ashes that were stripped off its bones by the blistering heat into the towering flames that roared about it. Shandra pulled back from the horrid scene, dragging Bishop along the ground with her, the heat was unbearable. Eventually the Reaver was forced back against the Song Portal, cowering almost, from the sheer agonising hurricane force of Phaedra's power.

"Your village is dead because of us…" It screeched, the vibrations of its voice suddenly discordant with useless defiance. "And you will join it soon enough." And then it reached back, and touched with splayed, bony fingers the glowing surface that was drawn between the portal's edges, the doorway back into Arvahn. The light fell away for a brief second, and suddenly all that was there in the Song Portal was a great void, a dark curtain of shadow, the exact opposite of the Illefarn magic's comforting glow. Shandra thought she caught a glimpse of shapes behind it, architecture of some kind, stretching back into vaulted ceilings, but then it stepped back through the portal, and was gone. The shadow it had drawn over the portal passed instantly, and the normal glow replaced it, like dawn spilling over night. And Phaedra fell to her knees, in a sweep of her robes, and the roaring inferno she had summoned winked back into nothing. She was trembling, as if in the aftermath of a fit, but she was lucid, conscious, and she knew everything, understood everything. Slowly, leaning back on one hand, she turned back to Bishop and Shandra, and her eyes widened with anguish again to see the ranger's injury again. This time, though the pain was confined to her gaze, and her normal stature of leadership was drawn back over her shoulders like a cloak. Bishop, still conscious himself, looked back at her across his wounded chest, yet Shandra could not see what was in his eyes.

"Elanee…" Phaedra rasped, her voice a dry croak, trembling with pain. "Heal him." Elanee looked about her with dawning confusion…the Reaver's spell had passed now, not by her own strength, but by the creature's escape, which struck Shandra as extremely ominous. She looked ravaged, withered, drawn halfway to death and back. Sand, by contrast, was as fastidious as always, brushing away his failure to escape the mind control with the dust from his robes. He skulked back, allowing the drama to unfold. "Elanee!" Phaedra screamed, suddenly leaping to her feet, her eyes flashing at the stunned elf. "Do something!"

"Phaedra…" Elanee whispered, but the deadly glint in Phaedra's eyes silenced her and she moved over to Bishop, who was bleeding sluggishly, and looked pale, his features drawn with pain, but his eyes were still burning with defiance, daring Elanee to come closer. The injury hadn't touched any major organs, Shandra saw, it was just a flesh wound, or else he would be in far worse shape, but still…he was losing blood, and he needed help. Shandra had gotten so used to seeing instant healing that she barely knew what to do now that somehow Elanee still hesitated. But then the elf uncertainly knelt, laid her hands on Bishop's chest, ignoring his stirring and the growl in his throat, just as Shandra did, and the elf murmured something soft under her breath, her eyes screwed up tight as if she were trying desperately to meditate or centre herself, but no peace would come in the depths of her mind. And yet, despite all her effort, nothing happened, no movement of power, no sense of nature, no healing, even as Elanee visibly strained her every fibre in front of Shandra. Seconds passed, agonisingly slowly, and nothing, not even the merest stir of power disturbed the silence, except Bishop's rough, drawn breathing. Horrified Shandra remembered what she'd seen on the way here, the conversation she'd eavesdropped on. Elanee had claimed then to be losing her power. Now in the Mere, in the heart of the domain of the creature that had drained her of life…had she lost touch with nature entirely?

"What are you doing?" Phaedra stared at the elf, her voice was a dangerous, threatening hiss Shandra had never heard before. "Heal him"

"Phaedra…" Elanee whispered, and Shandra saw the fear in her face, pure terror that her deception would be discovered. She was like a cornered animal, desperately looking for a way out. But there was none, and Phaedra stared down at her, and the girl's eyes flashed like fire in her face. "I…can't…"

"You can't?" Phaedra's features were drawn back into the hardest lines, crystalline and angular, there was no pity here for Elanee, no relief. She looked alien, elvish, she looked like the portrait of her mother.

"My power is all but exhausted" Casavir volunteered, trying to distract Phaedra. "But I could try…"

"I don't want anything from you" Bishop spat contemptously. "I'm not your damned good deed for the day."

"Don't be so stubborn Bishop" Shandra snapped.

"Why do you care?" Bishop sneered. Shandra started back. Well, why did she? Why did she even bother? He had saved her life back then, fired an arrow to stop the Shadow Reaver. Maybe it was for Phaedra's sake. But why Phaedra cared…

"Casavir, we'll rather get him back through the portal" Phaedra still didn't look away from Elanee, and Shandra saw utter contempt in her eyes. Seeing West Harbour dead had indeed changed her. "I'll see about doing something to save him, despite himself if I have to, once we're through."

Oooo0000000000ooooo

"Hells princess, if I'd known you wanted me out of my tunic this badly…" Bishop grinned lasciviously, as Phaedra tore the ragged strips of his forest-green under-tunic, thick and sticky with his blood, from his wounded chest. For that she ripped a particularly stubborn thread from the wound with renewed determination and more than a little viciousness. He didn't even flinch, only continued to smile that disgusting smile up at her as she knelt over him, trying to clean him up. The leather chestplate of his armour, split in two and practically useless, she'd laid aside. Now she had water from the nearby stream ready to clean the blood, a needle and thread to sew it up, and strips of one of her old white cotton gowns ready to bandage the wound. She was doing it alone, she didn't want anyone else to interfere and frankly in the end no one else had volunteered. It was twilight, they were camping here beneath the old city, and the rest of the party had left her to it.

"Don't" She said quietly. "Or else I'll be tempted to leave you to bleed out."

"Even if you wanted to, you couldn't." Bishop shrugged. "You don't have the stomach for it." He lay back against the walls of the hollow beneath Arvahn where she'd asked Casavir to lay him, disgustedly self-satisfied. Somehow they'd struggled through the Song Portal from those haunted ruins back into the old Illefarn city, Bishop carried between her and Casavir's shoulders, and since then it had been a flurry of activity to stop the bleeding, try to get the wound cleaned and to shut Bishop up before she killed him herself if the bleeding didn't do it for him. Phaedra had thrown herself into it wholesale, she knew it looked like she was desperate to save Bishop, desperate beyond all reason, and maybe she was, she couldn't even read her own mind, but also when it was only him in her thoughts and this struggle with her meagre medical expertise, she couldn't think of West Harbour anymore. She thought she was mad, she'd been mad since Bishop's wounding had torn her out of that terrible darkness the Shadow Reaver had visited upon her, and from the sea of despair that had preceded it, maybe she'd been mad even long before that, mad to leave West Harbour at all, mad to trust anything to the goodness of the world or the rightness of her cause. But here she was, and this man…who she, most insanely of all, had some kind of feelings for, she realised with caustic clarity, was bleeding in front of her, and she had to heal him if she could, since Elanee could not. Carefully she examined his wound, laying gentle fingers along the ragged, bloody edges of skin…trying to ignore the sensation of muscle pulsing beneath her touch. And trying not to examine Bishop's lean, hard chest at the same time. She had so little experience of men, never had she imagined that someone's body could be so hardened, smooth and taut, stripped back to fierce tense lines, by deprivation and a life spent running. His pelt of dark chest hair fascinated her, she wondered what it would feel like beneath her fingers. Even matted with blood and stained with sweat, he was fiercely alluring. And even her grief, her exhaustion, didn't stop the troubling response of her own body, which stubbornly clung to life though her mind wanted her to simply lie down in the grass and sob helplessly. First…she had to help heal Bishop, she had to find the strength to do this, no matter how ungrateful he was. She couldn't lose him…she corrected herself, she couldn't lose anyone, anyone else.

"You're lucky to be alive" Her snappish tone, part a reaction to the frustration she couldn't explain, belied her attempt to be gentle with his injury. Cleaned of blood it wasn't as bad as she'd suspected, still it was bad enough. It had cut him from neck to just above his stomach, but it had only gone through flesh and had blunted on his ribs, so it was not as serious as it could have been, as it should have been, considering his recklessness. There, concentrate on that, the cool puzzle of diagnosis, and, if necessary, on her annoyance at Bishop…she could stay here, keep thinking, moving…if she did that.

"You think so?" Bishop sneered. He was making it easy to be annoyed at him, was that on purpose?

"Yes I do" She said haughtily. "What in the Hells were you doing?"

"At least I did something" He answered, with his usual brute callousness. "We couldn't all sit around uselessly while that thing played with our heads." He spat disgustedly. "Ain't nothing and no one who controls me."

"Gods you are so stubborn" She scolded, dabbing water over the wound with relish, hoping it hurt to the Hells. But she found her hand slowing, straying, and her thoughts doing the same, as the water made his lean muscles glisten under the gentle strokes of the cloth…her eye found it mesmerising. Suddenly she recoiled…with her village dead, how dare she think such things? How could she? But somehow, having been through death and back as she had, having seen everything she had, the waste of all her hopes and prayers and faith, having plunged the depths of despair and been pulled back from them, she now knew she had to live, somehow. And if Bishop helped her live, kept the thoughts of death at bay, well then she would take him, maddening mass of contradictions that he was, and her confused, desperate feelings for him too. Maybe she was mad. But Gods she'd been through enough….

"Something on your mind, princess?" Bishop muttered deviously. She glanced up, saw his tawny eyes glittering, fixed on her, and flushed furiously. Probably he'd been watching her like that the whole time, probably he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.

"Yes actually" She said primly, lifting the damp cloth and squeezing his blood out into the grass with strict professionalism. "I was wondering about your scars." They had shocked her from the start…how could they not? Almost every inch of his chest was covered in them, pale glistening stains across his skin. Some were cuts and gouges from blades, from arrows, within which the gaping wound in his chest fitted well enough…it probably would scar too, but it would hardly make any difference. Others were more troubling, she wondered what could have caused the great skeins of scarring over his neck and the upper part of his chest…maybe burns. And others didn't seem like the wounds of combat, even from a life as violent as his. They seemed far more deliberate than that, far more sinister.

"You have been looking close, princess" He said hoarsely, as she bent over him, lifting the needle and thread to sew the wound up. "But there's more…scars if you ever want to look closer." Phaedra paused, tools in hand, and blood rose in her cheeks, scalding her, at the brutish invitation in his words. The distance between them burned with potential. A stray thought wondered what this would look to those across the grove, her friends, what they'd see, if they could sense the haze of…desire she did, how could they not? But Bishop filled her mind. She couldn't pull back, feeling his muscles clench beneath her hands, and wondering what her closeness was doing to him. What was she doing? All she knew was that the smell of him, his sweat and the tang of leather, burned her in a feverish searing, and while she was this close to him, she didn't think of anything but him. Something had changed between them, the attraction she'd played with as an innocent was primal now, fierce, and far more adult than she'd admitted to herself before she'd been ripped apart and it had been his hands that had pulled her from her dead village.

"How…did you get them?" She whispered, trying to control herself. The only way to stay in control of this situation, the volatile tumult inside her as well, was to pretend that he didn't affect her as he knew he did. "Who did this to you?" He paused, regarding her, laying back as if he was well satisfied under her scrutiny and under her touch, considering whether she deserved to know or not. Gods, he was such a bastard, how had he got under her skin like this? She was so muddled up in Bishop, tangled up around him…he had pulled her from West Harbour, was that saving her again or simply more cruelty?

"I don't see why that should interest you at all" He said at last. "Aren't I just an unfeeling monster, a brute?" His thoughts were running parallel to hers, that was what she'd screamed at him.

"I'm sorry" She said as reasonably as he deserved, as she thrust the heated needle through his flesh, gently pulling it taut before threading it again. Through it all he gave not a breath in pain, Phaedra was very grateful for her lessons in knitting…and embroidery…from Retta…she closed that thought down, leaning closer to Bishop again, concentrating on her work. She'd never done this before, but someone had to, and she'd do her best. That was what she had to do, keep working, keep talking, keep thinking about anything, anything but that…"That I said that. You were right back there, I had to leave West Harbour…there was no hope there, no sense in staying." Her voice grew soft, a mere rasp, as she admitted it for the first time. She wondered why she was punishing herself by saying these things. She needed to punish herself some way, she supposed, as she swooned over Bishop's half-naked body with the ashes of West Harbour still clinging to her.

"I never looked back at Redfallow's Watch" Bishop said, with his usual harsh realism, if it was an attempt at comfort she wasn't sure, but it always did comfort her in some strange, savage way. Then she started, realising he'd just told her the name of his village…Redfallow's Watch. Had she ever even heard of it? "Never needed to, you should learn to do the same. No sense in dwelling on the past…you warned them, they chose not to listen…and that's the end of it."

"It will never be the end of it" Phaedra shook her head desolately. "There'll never be an end to all the killing…" So many dead…so many…and few in Neverwinter would ever care more than Bishop did about Georg, Retta, Merring. They'd had small lives, but their lives had still been precious, infinitely precious. And yet it had ended so quickly, so suddenly. She hadn't even begun to grieve.

"That's the way of the world" Bishop shrugged again, the ghosts of West Harbour as inconsequential to him as dust in the wind. Had he ever loved anything at all? Surely someone in his village had mattered more than this? "As for my scars" He wheeled back to their earlier discussion, was he trying to distract her again, keep her mind off West Harbour? She was grateful to him if he was. "Don't think that any fool could hit me with an arrow or a dagger whenever he wanted to…most of them are souvenirs of my time in Luskan." His voice grew bitter, dark…was it a shield from the pain or simply his usual aspect when considering his past?

"What?" If he'd wanted to distract her, he certainly succeeded. "You were in Luskan? How is that possible…you hate Luskan?"

"It wasn't by choice" Bishop scowled. Now her naivety annoyed him. What answer did he expect?

"You were captured?" Phaedra stared down at him. "You were a prisoner?"

"I never surrendered" Bishop answered harshly, suddenly seeming angry. But it wasn't an answer, not really, not to her question. She knew better than to press him however. "And I got my revenge for every mark they made on me. Or…I will, when I've killed every Luskan I come across as slowly as I can." He turned his head away, smouldering in anger, and she remembered his torture of Luskans. Was that before or after they tortured him? Why had he brought any of it up at all if his reaction was so dark? There was more to the story, and she would uncover it…she vowed, she would unlock this man. The rest of it, the finishing of the sewing up of the wound as best she could, and then bandaging it with the strips of clean white linen ripped from the old gown, they did in sullen silence. Phaedra felt the dull ache of loss rise and fall as she worked, and in response concentrated harder simply on the functionality of the task, the repetitiveness, the tedious care it needed and tried not to think about Bishop or about West Harbour, or about anything at all. Bishop smouldered silently beneath her ministrations, giving not a gasp of pain or a word of thanks. Then it was done, soon, too soon, and she leant back on her knees and examined her work, the bandage wrapped tight about his torso in folds of white linen. It would need to be changed, the wound washed again, and it would probably take a few weeks to heal, but once they were back in Crossroad Keep there'd be proper medics to see to it. For now, she'd done all she could. But without the task at hand, immediately the great yawning emptiness in her mind opened again, and she closed her eyes, trembling suddenly with the power of it. Bishop had forced her to live again, by getting hurt he'd tugged her back into the world, just as forcibly as he'd pulled her out of West Harbour and their simmering interplay had kept her in herself for a little while, but now she faced the reality of the destruction of West Harbour without the veil of grief's cold numbness between her and it. It was an overwhelming ache, a pain beyond all reason…loss beyond all hope. West Harbour was gone, never again would she see the village in spring with the wildflowers in bloom, or ripe with corn under the autumn sky…never again to see Brother Merring's golden smile, or hear Georg's rough musical brogue lifted in one of his ridiculous stories, or feel Retta's withered hands on her own…never, ever again…how could she ever go on without the hope that things might be better for them? She felt helpless before the sea of everything she'd lost…her home was gone. Her home was gone, even those desolate hopeless words could not begin to give voice to the void that was left in her now, without the place, the people, for which she had fought for so long. Her trembling hand suddenly felt a warm, rough touch, a moment's clasp, quickly withdrawn…and she opened her eyes, blurry with tears, and saw that Bishop had reached forward and brushed her hand with his own. She shuddered, swallowing down a sob, wondering that he had touched her… "You'll learn to cope" He said, roughly, with brute practicality, that belied the strangeness of the gesture that had preceded them, strange from this most perverse and perplexing man. "You'll fight on, like you did after that Marshal died, or after you learned you were a warlock…you'll fight on, or you'll die like they did. Your choice, princess…" He leaned back, and she sprang up on her feet, staring down at him...quite unable to process his words. Fight on, how could she? When every spare moment all she felt was a staggering tumult of grief and guilt and anger, more than she could bear? She doubted if she was capable of even surviving this loss, each moment might well be a battle for that, let alone fighting on for the certainties she'd once possessed.

Trembling helplessly she staggered away from him, but she never had been able to shut Bishop out and his words still rang in her mind as she walked back towards the others. They were discussing the Shadow Reaver, the eerie familiarity it had shown to them, its power to give voice to doubts and fears not even spoken. Phaedra couldn't begin to consider the terrifying implications of what the thing had said, the horrifying memories that the rustle of silken robes across stone had roused…what they implied was a darkness too great to face. But the moment they saw that she had moved away from Bishop, they parted and instantly Shandra and Casavir were by her, solicitous, full of questions for her well-being. She answered numbly, in unfeeling one-word answers. Neither of them were in any way convinced, but how did they expect her to express the desolation she felt? She wondered briefly, how she could find it still so easy to talk, even to flirt and bicker, with Bishop when she was nothing but an empty vessel of grief now before Casavir and Shandra. Maybe because Bishop didn't pity her. He gave no sympathy, and he expected none. And as perverse, as cruel, as that was, it gave her a gulp of air above the sea of grief, enough to stop herself drowning…for now. When they were don, she moved away, and they let her go helplessly. They knew they couldn't help her. But turning she caught sight of Karnwyr standing at the the edge of the grove, watching her from amidst the shadows, and found she wasn't even shocked to see the wolf. Fiercely independent, just like his master, he hadn't joined them on their exploration of Arvahn, but it was no surprise to know that he'd been stalking around the party, just as, strangely, there was no surprise in that he was here, now, when she was in the midst of her grief. He'd been there before when Cormick had died too. And now, as then, she moved over to him, and knelt beside him, laid her head in the midst of his fur and let him support her. She did not weep, there'd been enough tears. But his warmth, his stoic stillness…there was some small comfort to it, and she clung to it like an anchor and clung to him. He was an animal, he knew nothing of her grief, he simply endured her clinging indifferently…but somehow that was enough. Grief drew back for a moment in the animal calm of Karnwyr's presence, like the tide retreating from the shore, and, thinking clearly for the first time free of the fogging swell of grief, she saw that Bishop was right…she had to keep fighting, whatever it cost her. She'd lost too much to give up now. She'd promised herself that she would fight for ordinary people, innocent defenceless people who deserved a chance for a normal life. West Harbour had lost that chance, because she had been too slow, too late, but…there were still so many under threat from the King of Shadows…and if she could defend them she had to do it. She had to stop the horror of West Harbour being visited on anyone else. They'd have expected no less from her. There was Crossroad Keep too, her young soldiers there…she'd made so many promises to herself about the good she'd do, the people she'd save…what would Retta, Georg…Merring…say if they knew that she'd abandoned her vows now? As she was, with despair and devastation lurking just at the edge of her mind, circling like vultures, she couldn't do it alone, nor dared she rely on the volatile tempest of her relationship with Bishop that somehow had kept her alive so far. She dared not give Bishop that kind of power over her, though somehow some part of her thrilled at the thought with a fierce ache. Bishop was too unpredictable, too dangerous, but there was another path she'd been offered, and one which she knew would not let her down. It never could, and like Zhjaeve had promised, it now was the only path before her. It was the only one way she knew she could go on.

Only one way…and so, once she had calmed herself down sufficiently, to walk and to speak freely, she let go of Karnwyr, giving him a gentle stroke in thanks under which he tossed his head tolerantly… she let him leave and walked back across the grove toward the rest of the party. She was aware of Elanee's gaze, like a burn on her back, but ignored it. Somehow Elanee's failure to save Bishop, the moment Phaedra had somehow needed her more than ever, had all gotten mixed up in the rage and grief of West Harbour and she wasn't sure if she could look at the elf now. But her feelings were still so confused, considering their heart-wrenching duet at the Song Portal still, the words that had been somehow, impossibly as familiar to Phaedra as to Elanee. She knew the elf was hiding something, still hiding the truth, just as she'd hidden that her powers were lost in the Mere, putting them all in danger. But it wasn't Elanee she needed right now. Slowly she came to Zhjaeve, where the Githzerei sat at the edge of the party, completely still, meditating upon a rug. Zhjaeve's cat-like eyes opened slowly, without the slightest hint of surprise, as if she'd known all along that Phaedra would come.

"Teach me" Phaedra said abruptly, without preamble. "Teach me what you promised me, Zerthimon's words…his will, anything that will keep me fighting."

"Know that you have come at the right time" Zhjaeve nodded slowly. "It is time for you to know…sit by me and hear me, Kalach-cha. Let us begin…" And so she surrendered herself into the Githzerei's keeping. Freedom…she'd fought for it so long, freedom to be herself. But, who was Phaedra Blake without West Harbour? All she had left was her mission, Crossroad Keep…the King of Shadows.


	71. Chapter 71

_So sorry about the long wait (again!) but thank you so much for coming to this regardless. I promise you that things are getting really interesting (not that they weren't before) in this chapter and the next few. Yes, we're moving towards the Haven and I have some quite special things planned. But more on that later. _

_Thanks so much onion926 for your lovely review, if you've managed to make it this far. And everyone else! _

_Lastly sorry, the story has gotten so heavy lately, and it's just going to continue. I couldn't avoid this really, with what's happened to Phaedra. I find it impossible to write anything other than what I think it would really feel like to go through what she and everyone else has. Rest assured this is not an accurate representation of my life or mental state! This story has really taken on a character all its own. I'm really excited to see where things go next, we're getting onto the last stretch, ACT III soon, I can't believe it. I hope you're excited too. For now, just read on, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! :)_

_x_

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Crossroad Keep rose up upon the crags of its defensive position, floating above the pale, uncertain mists of the morning, like a ship looming over a white sea…a lone ship, tossed about in the storm-racked ocean; that was about right, thought Phaedra, considering what was coming. And yet instead of filling her with dread, the image only made her resolve stronger. If Crossroad Keep was like that lone ship in danger of foundering, she was its captain, and every life on board was her responsibility. Zhjaeve had told her to think like this, meditating always on the necessity of her strength and courage never faltering until it became a habit, until it was inconceivable that it should falter. The will made its own inner reality. Neat aphorisims like that one were helpful in focusing her for a moment, they kept her thoughts and her mind busy sorting them through and resolving to follow them, kept it from straying down a dark road back into the Mere. In truth she wasn't sure how much she believed of it all, this talk of will and resolution being the most powerful thing of all, Zerthimon's strange godless mysticism, but she acted as if she did, and thought as if she did, and that was enough to keep her on course, most of the time. Sometimes she veered off, she still caught herself crying every morning when she woke, and whenever she was alone for more than a second she became a shuddering wreck, but somehow Zhjaeve always seemed to know exactly when she was needed, and would find Phaedra in those moments and they would meditate together, except now it was Phaedra who would be silent, drained and hollowed-out by grief, and Zhjaeve would speak, of Zerthimon's words, his will, this strange philosophy of the Githzerei, temporarily for a few moments easing the void in Phaedra's heart. But grief was endless, she bore a depth of agony too great to be filled, and if at any moment her focus wandered it would be West Harbour that flashed before her eyes. But she could function, she could walk, talk and think, and so far that was enough. If Crossroad Keep was as busy as it had been before she'd left for Arvahn, she'd have plenty of duties to focus on with the laser-like precision as Zhjaeve counselled. But first she needed to settle what exactly came next in what was most important of all, the struggle against the King of Shadows. Exact goals, exact plans, helped the will to focus…uncertainty was deadly. It led to doubt. It gave time to grief. Both were fatal right now. She simply could not afford either.

"Know that we must find the one the Reaver spoke of next" Zhjaeve appeared at her shoulder as she looked up at her fortress against the overcast sky, with her usual uncanny trick of sensing what was on Phaedra's mind. "The one who completed the ritual. We will need their aid to defeat the King of Shadows."

"That could be anyone!" Shandra floated anxiously at the edge, anxious to speak of something, anything, as she had been the whole journey back from Arvahn. Just like everyone else, except Zhjaeve and Bishop, she couldn't look at Phaedra without thinking about West Harbour, even though she desperately avoided actually talking about it. She'd become brittle in her struggle not to speak of it. Well how did anyone really deal with something like what had happened? Phaedra didn't know. "We don't know anything about them…they could even want us dead for all we know!"

"Half the world seems to" Sand muttered dryly. Even he'd been uncharacteristically quiet lately. But Phaedra was sure it wasn't trauma at what had happened, he seemed to be thinking hard about something. Well, no doubt she'd hear about it soon enough.

"I can't believe we did everything…we saw…" Shandra paused and her ivory cheeks flushed as she realised what she'd been about to say. "And it was all for nothing…"

"Nothing?" Zhjaeve turned to Shandra in an elegant sweep, and Phaedra found her own body echoing the Githzerei's movement, fixing Shandra in an identical gaze. "Know that we have completed four parts of the ritual, we have learned another holds the fifth, and most importantly, we know that our enemy fears our plans". Shandra flushed again under the dual intensity of Zhjaeve and Phaedra, presenting a united front.

"I know..." She said quietly. "I just wish we could do something more than just wait around for some wild goose chase to start. After what we saw…what he did…it feels like…like if I do nothing, I'm allowing it to happen."

"You're not" answered Phaedra, letting her voice ring with conviction. "We're the only ones doing something, the only ones who can do something." It was so easy to just let Zhjaeve's dogma speak through her, so much easier than to deal with the truth in what Shandra was saying, and so she let it, and her shell grew harder, tighter, around the core of desolation. "At the very least we can help fortify the Keep in the time ahead. He's coming, and he'll come here…I just know it. We have to be ready, we're the only hope these people have." She felt Bishop gaze on her, and she knew that he saw through the lie, that really if she was brutally honest, as the awareness of him always forced her to be, she felt no true conviction, only emptiness, and that she was acting, playing a role for her benefit as much as for the benefit of the others. But he must know too that she had no choice. This was the only way to keep going, not to fall back into darkness. She had to live as though Zhjaeve's words had convinced her, to speak them like she believed them.

"The road of the Ritual of Purification is at an end" Zhjaeve conceded. "But there are other roads yet open to us. Know that we have two weapons against the King of Shadows. The ritual in all its parts and a fully-forged silver sword of the Githyanki." Of course, she ought to have known things would return to that. The shards had hung idle at her belt for a while now, but they always were there, always humming their silvery dirge, reminding her that they were waiting, expecting…but for what? "We will need the Sword whatever transpires." Zhjaeve continued. "And whoever completed the ritual did so for a reason. Whoever has done this, has done so to hurt the King of Shadows. And to do that, they will need a Silver Sword, just as we do. In so doing, they have set foot upon a path that must cross ours. And if we have a Silver Sword, the time of that intersection will come quickly, indeed."

"So how do we make a damned Silver Sword then?" Neeshka asked stridently.

"The Haven…" Shandra whispered the only answer, suddenly going wanly white with fear. Phaedra glanced at her, remembering the Haven had been a thing of her childhood nightmares, but also remembering how the reason that she had found Shandra in the first place was because she had looked for the last descendant of Ammon Jerro in order to find the Haven and Ammon Jerros' knowledge of the Silver Sword. Like it or not, and Phaedra hated the thought of putting her friend in such a situation, all paths had always led to that place. Shandra surely understood that…by the Gods that was a ruthless thought. But it could not be un-thought.

"It seems this Ammon Jerro, your ancestor, had an impossible knowledge of the Silver Swords" Zhjaeve answered, remembering what Phaedra had told her. "I would very much like to know how exactly he uncovered one." Shandra nodded sickly, and Phaedra knew she still needed reassurance. She'd find a moment to speak to Shandra in private, maybe Casavir would as well. She was stronger than she knew, she had the courage to face her childhood nightmare. Necessity brought out depths we hardly knew we had, who knew that better than Phaedra?

"Aldanon and I will take over the efforts of locating the Haven" Sand leaned in quickly. "I'm most intrigued by the possibilities of uncovering the research of this court wizard as well."

"Then it's settled" Phaedra turned, back to the fortress. Crossroad Keep…this was her home now, the only place she had left. And she was its commander. Already the walls looked better than when she had left, more secure, most of the holes had been filled in now and despite the early hour workers were busy about reinforcing the main body of the fortifications. Kana had kept things running smoothly, but Gods knows what Master Veedle had done if she'd let him loose on the inside of the Keep as well. She'd have a massive backlog of reports, data and intelligence to look over from the last week too but she knew she would leave nothing to be told to her second-hand, she'd go through everything with a fine tooth comb. Everything was important, everything was significant. The cost of not being vigilant was too high, and the cost of allowing herself a moment to think would be too much. Crossroad Keep awaited and it needed her to be focused only a little less than she needed it.

Oooo000000000000ooooooooooo

Crossroad Keep was humming with the crisp business of the well-trained soldiery, but the buzz of anticipation in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled to see their leader return unharmed, you could see the reverence in the soldiers, the relief, as Phaedra strode up the hill through the walls dressed all in white, her pale features set with a certain arch determination, golden and stunning, that to any of the other soldiers who leaned in to catch a glimpse of her, to cheer and crow her triumph, must have seemed natural and right. She had come back from her quest, more resolute than ever to end the threat of the King of Shadows. Everything was right in the world. Well that was all bullshit. Phaedra was a wreck. She could pretend otherwise, with her Gith meditations, but anyone who really knew her, like Bishop did, could see that she was way past the verge of breaking. What the soldiers saw as determination was really a kind of grim fatalism and resignation, the very last tiny shred of the excruciating innocent she'd been when she'd first walked into Duncan's bar, glowing with childish joy. Bishop had held her in contempt then, he remembered. Now it was the soldiers he scorned. Slavering over a swamp girl…forcing her to bear the burden of all their pathetic lives, their pathetic hopes and dreams, it was feeble. She didn't need any of it.

They all followed her up to the keep, as Bishop considered where he stood now, glaring into Phaedra's slender back, as if the cling of her white linen gown to her shoulders and hips could somehow give him answers. She was getting scrawnier these days, the bones jutted out in her shoulders and back visibly. At least when she was that desperately naïve swamp girl flouncing around the Flagon she'd had an appealing flush of life to her. Now she was corpse-white and she barely ate anything as they camped around the fire. He wondered if she'd be worth all the waiting after all, as he'd started to wonder for a while now…he must have been mad to think that a skinny virgin was prize enough to traipse up and down the Sword Coast, putting up with a bunch of self-righteous sniveling scum, and now to find himself a grunt in the military machine of a half-baked fortress that probably didn't have a chance in the Hells…he'd sworn on the blood of the men who'd tried to command him last time that he wouldn't end up in this situation again. This time it was different, it was his choice to be here, he told himself, he could leave anytime he wanted to…so why hadn't he? Phaedra, Phaedra…it came back to Phaedra. She'd been broken down, down to depths he'd never suspected he'd ever see her fall…she'd lost everything she'd loved, seen her village laid waste…now, surely she was his to build up again as he willed, as suited him best? He could make her need him, even more than she did now, make her thirst for him, pant for him…Gods, why did the thought of that give him such a stirring? He remembered her hands on his chest, seeing the desire in her eyes, feeling the trembling in her body as if it were his own…she was ripe for it now. He just needed to pry her away from Zhjaeve, who was keeping her suspended in a fragile limbo, so that it was only him she relied on, only him she could trust to keep her from falling away entirely. The thought had a greedy thrill, after so many others had tried to lay claim upon her, that she would be his and his alone. Like a quarry he'd claimed, of course, not anything more than that. And then he would have her, and then leave her…and she'd topple all on her own like her fortress probably would against this King of Shadows. He just had to make sure he had it done and was long gone by the time that happened.

It was so very simple, just like it had been from the beginning, but somehow it wasn't. Back in the Flagon he'd been certain it would be clear-cut, done and dusted in a few weeks if he had his way. Now it had been months and he wasn't so sure. Even if he took the last of her innocence, would she find some damned way, some last feeble strength she wasn't supposed to have, to keep going, keep fighting, like she was still doing now even after seeing so much death and destruction? It was formidable, Hells it was worthy of respect. He'd seen his village laid to waste too…and he'd spent the next few months stuck in the Flagon drinking piss-poor ale, though if it had been his choice he would have gone out into the Duskwood or further. He'd never have thought that Phaedra would survive the same thing as he had. But here she was coming back to this place, to lead these fools to die again, still fighting. He'd never thought there'd be so much that was alike between them. He glared back into Phaedra's back…he had to destroy this fragile, tenacious survivor, he had to drive her to despair, he had to make her sick with love and make her choke on it. Nothing less would do for Duncan. And there, the first time he'd even thought of Duncan for days, though the old sot had followed them to Crossroad Keep, still deviling Bishop's footsteps, still smirking that self-satisfied smile that spoke of what he knew. Somehow Duncan was starting to matter less, and humbling Phaedra was an end in itself. He swore under his breath…that was stupid, a senseless half-thought. Why would humbling Phaedra even matter without Duncan, what possible reason could there be for him to give a shit about all this without the drunken half-elf's secrets clinging to him like a noose? This was still all about Duncan, and what Duncan knew. Phaedra didn't matter, she could be anyone and he'd still do this. But considering who she was, and how she'd survived even West Harbour, he maybe had to think seriously about the possibility that breaking her heart and taking her virginity wouldn't be the revenge Duncan deserved. Maybe, just maybe, he'd have to kill Phaedra too.

And then they passed through the threshold of the keep, her keep, and into the plush audience chamber where they would have her keep court, dressed up like a painted doll. And there waiting was Kana, the reed-thin exotic woman with a flavour of spice in her dusky skin but as cold as the frigid North in her demeanor and probably in those loins as well. She gave Phaedra a pinched look which told Bishop she wasn't fooled like the soldiers by the girl's show of outward composure, but she held her tongue. Instead the language of the Keep, of their business together, flowed form her lips and Bishop tuned out…examining the rich tapestries now hanging on the walls of the Keep and wondering idly how his investment with Neeshka was turning out. He wasn't really doing it because he needed gold, just to secretly undermine the Keep and Phaedra. They thought he was a lapdog, a trained hound, they'd learn better. He'd probably blow it all on one night of debauchery once the Keep was nothing more than a speck on the horizon behind him, somewhere new though, not Neverwinter. He didn't need coin to make his way in the world. He didn't need anything. And then Kana stepped aside, and his dark thoughts ceased as he was tugged back into the lurching now to see a figure emerge from the shadows behind the pillars, escorted by two Greycloaks, a figure he knew all too well, well enough to set his fingers itching for his bow…Torio Claven. The once pristine ambassador wore a ragged grey mantle, her hair flopped limply over her forehead, and without make-up she was even less of a catch than she had been. Why had Phaedra brought her here…what possible reason could there be not to slit her throat and be done with it?

"So you are rebuilding Garius' fortress" The former ambassador smirked smugly at Phaedra, just as if she wasn't imprisoned. The bitch knew Phaedra too well to fear she was in any real danger…she'd better learn to be more wary with Bishop here too though. "The irony is sharp indeed…"

"Best not test the edge" Sand answered her with the same oily politeness, veiled with threat. "Or else it could cause a nasty scratch indeed."

"Sand, come now…let's not start" Torio flourished elegantly, fluttering her eyelashes in a cheap whoreish trick. Please that wasn't about to work on Sand of all people. "We both have such a disdain for personal politics, no reason for us to get on each other's bad sides."

"Oh?" Sand murmured dryly. "There's another side to you?"

"Still, being here is preferable to rotting in Neverwinter's cells" The ambassador examined her wrists, where the marks of chains were red and raw. "Unless you have some other plans for me…" She raised her head and looked directly into Phaedra's eyes, mocking her, baiting her. "That shall make me long for prison walls?"

"For what happened in Ember and your words at the trial you deserve far worse" Phaedra said coldly. She wasn't taken in. "But I've decided what information you can provide will serve us far better than your death. Lorne did not take the second chance I offered him, and he died on that field…see that you are wiser, Torio Claven." Gods she was even speaking like a pretentious noble, or like Zhjaeve. If Zhjaeve ever threatened anyone, it would be in this oblique cold way…so inhuman, so unlike Phaedra.

"I'll be cooperative" Torio nodded, sensing that this was no time for jest. Still she was not cowed enough to satisfy Bishop. He wondered if she recognised him. "I have no reason to remain loyal to Garius' madness any longer, and Luskan has made it clear it wants nothing to do with me. Any secrets I once hoarded are your's, Captain."

"Forgive me…I cannot trust your words alone" Phaedra was still, utterly motionless, a statue of icy white. "I do hope you can yield some useful information we can corroborate"

"Ask and I will do my best to answer, Captain" Torio was wise enough not to push Phaedra any further…a pity. Grovelling was clearly a habit to her, how she had ever had a shred of self-respect was beyond him.

"Tell me everything you know about Garius" Phaedra said stridently, masking the tremble in her voice as she spoke his name. She still feared his shadow, but the world didn't need to know that. Only Bishop needed to know. "And the ritual he was attempting here."

"I met him on the streets of Luskan, when I was just a girl" Torio shrugged…oh Gods, they were getting the life story. How tedious. "I…worked the docks, is one way of putting it, as long as I can remember." Phaedra's features remained still, but Bishop saw the childish blush touch her cheeks as she realised what Torio meant. She couldn't control everything, she was still the trembling, weak girl underneath. Bishop could see through her. "He called me from his litter one night…a pale man all in black, like a white spider in the darkness. I knew him for what he was, a Hostower mage, and he scared me half to death. To refuse them means execution. But I could feel his power, and I wanted it…" She spread her hands slowly, fingers unfurling as if she were still that child grasping at magics. "He took me in, and into his bed, like the others did." Phaedra's blush spread to her neck, Bishop watched the glow fire her ice-white skin intently. Was she wondering how Torio could have borne the touch of Garius? Or was she remembering how he'd almost had her in the same way? Either way this would re-open the wound, the vulnerability, he'd left in her. That could only be to Bishop's advantage. "But once it was done he did not cast me back out." Torio was oblivious, staring back into the past. "I never quite understood why. Instead he began to teach me, an amusing cantrip or two at first, casting me crumbs of power, like the men that used to throw coppers as I danced in the taverns. It was never enough so I could be a real mage, just enough so my playing could amuse his perversity."

"You reminded him of his wife" Phaedra said softly, the whisper a mere ghost in the still air. "For a moment." Had he ever said that to her? Or had she plucked it from his mind in their dark communication?

"He never told me that" Torio blinked away shock as well she should, that any relation of Phaedra should resemble her. "She was the ghost I always felt at his shoulders, it was her name he'd whisper in bed. Fool that I was, I thought I might take her place simply by acting the part I did for other men, but as it turned out he never really gave me anything of value. And the price he extracted was steep indeed…" She shuddered. "I had never before seen anyone of Garius's raw ambition. I suspect that it was his hunger for power that led to his alliance with the King of Shadows, and thus to his downfall. He became obsessed with the ritual you witnessed, and it led him here."

"And the ritual?" Phaedra pressed. "What did he plan to accomplish?"

"That…he kept from me" Torio rubbed a hand down her mantle, uncomfortable at having to admit that. "I…was not in his favour when the preparations were underway. But I know this, his alliance with the King of Shadows was delicate, and the scale was heavily against him. The thought tormented him, he was obsessed with discovering the means to usurp the King's power for himself, though to what purpose I cannot guess." Phaedra pursed her lips, she knew. "The ritual was tied to the very nature of the King of Shadows…a way of channeling his essence into the conjurer"

"Is that even possible?" Sand leaned in. "The normal consequence of such an exchange would be to lose one's autonomy, one's very self…become little more than a thrall like the other undead we've seen. But if it could be accomplished without that…" He stopped, the hunger in his voice just a little too evident.

"I can't say" Torio shrugged "But I believe Garius had an agent in Old Owl Well, researching how the arcane might keep their abilities intact even in a state of undeath. Of course you killed him, along with other agent secreted up the Sword Coast to spread chaos and mask our presence here in this Keep. Another ingredient Garius deemed essential was the Tome of Iltkazer that was stolen from Ruathym, causing the war that has been such a convenient smokescreen for his activities."

"We know of that" Phaedra said softly. "Luskan's new ambassador, Sydney Natale, was eager to inform us just how little Luskan had really to do with Garius' plans."

"Sydney Natale?" Torio's eyes widened with shock, and more than a little fear. Interesting. "She is a powerful witch, Captain, and a very dangerous one. That she would deign to be an ambassador…it's clear she has some ulterior motive."

"Tell us something we don't know" Shandra murmured. "She gave me the creeps"

"I don't need to tell you that she is lying, I'm sure" Torio continued. "Garius had some help from inside the Hostower, elements that wanted the chaos he provided, others who were intrigued by the possibilities of his research…but even if I had proof my testimony would be less than worthless. The Hostower is not held accountable to anyone, least of all to Neverwinter." She shrugged. "It's over now, regardless. You disrupted the ritual, and whatever it was intended to accomplish failed. Despite the circumstances I find myself in now, I think I am grateful for that. What little clues I could uncover about it…hinted at something fearful."

"Is it possible that killing Garius was not enough to stop it?" Phaedra could have been carved by ice as she asked that fateful question, that had been haunting her since the bastard Shador Reaver had dropped his dark hints. "Is it possible that the ritual's power could have raised him, and the other Luskans mages…in some new form?"

"Phaedra…" Shandra gasped. "Have you felt something…from him?" Slowly, mutely Phaedra shook her head, her hair stirring across ashen cheeks. She was still expressionless. Even Bishop could barely see the strain in her, but it was there…the slight tightening of her fingers, the tension in her jaw. He was attuned to her, as much as he'd been to any prey he'd ever hunted.

"Killing Garius was actually a part of the ritual, that much I knew" Torio looked at Phaedra with new horror dawning in her eyes. "But…you have the bodies don't you?" A dread silence followed her words. They'd burned the bodies, supposedly. But had anyone bothered to check the ashes of that bonfire, or gather up the bones?

"My lady" Casavir stepped forward. "Garius is dead, we all saw him die, and his shadow has passed from you. He has gone to his judgement. Even if the King of Shadows has somehow raised some mockery, some mimicry, we can't allow it to torment us. It is a thing of undeath, and like all of them, it will be weak, powerless, a mere shadow."

"And we can put it in the ground all over again." Khelgar put in with satisfaction. Except they couldn't actually kill the last damned thing, as the raw wound up Bishop's chest, itching under his armour, testified. But no need to shit on the parade by reminding them of that. Let them find it out again on their own. Next time Bishop wasn't throwing himself in the way of it.

"Thank you for being so forthcoming, Torio Claven" Phaedra returned, woodenly, to business, but Bishop doubted she could shed the thought of Garius so easily. "Kana, see that our prisoner is taken up the tower room…and make sure she is not mistreated. I think she can continue to advise us about Garius' plans." The girl turned away, brushing out her hair absently with one hand as Torio bowed out, and was taken away by the silent Greycloaks and Kana. "Zhjaeve…would you mind accompanying me for a minute?" She said quietly, without looking even at the Githzerei. "I think I need to meditate." Silently, with reptilian grace, the alien woman glided from her place in the group to Phaedra's side, protective, possessive. This was how Phaedra survived the tragedy that had afflicted her, it was Zhjaeve who gave her the thin shell of self-possession they'd seen as she'd had her worst fears realised by Torio's words. It was the Githzerei who made her a statue even Bishop found harder to read than ever before. He had to strip that shell away. Turning over the thought in his mind, as first Zhjaeve and Phaedra, then the rest of the party drifted away, he couldn't help but wonder if Torio would be a problem. He didn't like the bitch being here, or how uncowed she'd been as she'd stood before Phaedra. Someone needed to remind her that there were no friends of Luskans here. If Phaedra didn't have the guts, he'd do it, get that Luskan bitch on her toes. Quickly he headed up to the tower room, unconsciously his gait becoming that of a stalker after his prey, just as he'd been in the days he'd hunted Torio's country men in the woods. She deserved the same thing they'd got, as far as he was concerned.

In the end getting the guards out of the way was easy, convincing them to head off on some fool's errand while he 'took charge of the prisoner'. Most of the Keep's garrison knew him by now, he'd made sure of that…and they knew not to cross him. He had a couple of minutes before they cottoned on to it, he'd be gone before then.

"Well, well" The ambassador smirked, turning from the window as he'd entered. The tower room was still a burnt-out husk, from Phaedra's struggle with Garius. Putting Torio here wasn't meant as a favour. "Look who it is" Torio turned, sauntering over. She was well pleased with herself, delusional bitch…she was in chains and he wasn't. He was free. "I'd heard of the rumours that Phaedra had a wild dog on the leash, but I never thought of you, of our fiery night back in the slums of Neverwinter. Then I'm dragged here and, lo and behold, I see you skulking around her skirts…how amusing. Almost makes one think of signs, and portents, doesn't it?"

"I knew I'd fucked a crazy bitch that night" Bishop sneered. "But I didn't realise you were this stupid. Bear in mind my threats aren't as empty as your's were"

"Charming as ever" Torio laughed, throatily. Gods she was like a vixen in heat. Did she really think she could lead every man by the scent of her musk…? "I always did have a talent for sniffing out cold bastards, a shame we couldn't have come to an arrangement. I would have given you a great deal more satisfaction than she ever will." She shifted, deliberately allowing part of her mantle to slip down her shoulder. She was toying with him, or trying at least. He wasn't so easily played.

"If we'd come to an arrangement, I'd be eating dirt just like your last thick-headed grunt" Bishop answered cooly.

"Lorne was useful in his own way, but he was thick-headed." She conceded "Yet I think you are a different kind of man from him." She examined him thoughtfully, those cold needle-point eyes glinting like daggers. "You know…I would never have thought that Phaedra was capable of yoking a man like you to her little crusade. It gives me a great deal more respect for her that she has."

"No woman's ever put a yoke on me, Luskan bitch" Bishop shook his head. "You'd have learnt that soon if you'd tried any harder, and so will she."

"Playing your own game, are you?" Torio grinned, as if she had the first idea about what his game really was. "But who's really being played I wonder?" Hells he was really tired of that question being asked. Phaedra was smart, he had to admit that, but she wasn't that smart. She had no idea what he was doing. No one did.

"You know, I could kill you" Bishop observed, leaning in casually, the words as conversational as a threat should be, when it wasn't false bravado. Let Torio, let Casavir, let any of them cross him once he was done playing with Phaedra…he'd enjoy that all the more for his restraint now. But he didn't let Torio see any of that. "And she wouldn't lift a finger to stop me"

"You could" Torio shrugged. "But you're not going to; I don't think you want her to know how ruthless you really are" She looked pleased with herself, like she'd unlocked a puzzle.

"She already knows that, or most of it" Bishop argued, like it mattered to him, when it really didn't either way. She'd seen him murder the dryad, she knew from Malin how he'd tortured Luskans, they'd argued in circles about every little moral ambiguity she agonised over uselessly, she even knew a little about Luskan, a little, not all of it…in the end, strange as it was to think, Phaedra knew him better than any other woman ever had. Far better than this jumped-up whore did. She just didn't know one thing, that one central thing, the only reason he was really here. "And she still…" He fell quiet, knowing that Torio did not need to know any more of that. He wasn't really sure what he'd been about to say anyway. She still did seek him out though, she still trembled with desire when she was near him, like the girl she was under her captain's fancy title, she still was slowly finding herself needing him and more. Just as he'd planned it. But that was between him and Phaedra, and them alone.

"Well, things at this Keep may be more interesting than I thought they would be" Torio smiled glibly. "But if teasing Phaedra's girlhood is ever…hard on you, do remember that I'm here, and I could use a diversion" She rolled each word sensuously on her tongue…please, that might have worked on a withered old mage, Garius, but he could do far better than her. He would too, Phaedra herself for instance…even scrawny and listless as she was these days, probably as dull in bed as she was in conversation…still he thought she'd be better than Torio. Maybe even a scrawny virgin could give him a bit of satisfaction on the way, nothing wrong with that. She did still have that precious sweetness that always promised a good lay. Besides with her the shrinking virgin he'd be the one in control, the one on top. After all these weeks of taking her damned girlish orders that promised to be satisfying. He started suddenly, realising Torio was watching him…fantasising about Phaedra. The ambassador had a sly smile on thin lips, no doubt she thought he was thinking about her. Stupid, to be distracted even for a second by a woman, by a girl, by Phaedra. If he was that desperate, he might as well just have Torio and work it all off. Otherwise he had to get back to work, meet with Neeshka again, and maybe, just maybe work out some way to get Zhjaeve off Phaedra's back. That was what he was here for, and he wasn't about to forget it. So, without another word, not caring what she thought, he turned his back on Torio and walked out of the Tower Room, making sure to lock the room on her as he left. Couldn't risk the thought that Phaedra might get too fond of her, she seemed to like crazy bitches like Elanee…Elanee…Bishop paused on the stairway…of course, Elanee. He smiled with satisfaction. Hells, he was good.

Oooo00000000000000oooooooooo oooo

Days passed, and the business of the Keep closed tighter around Phaedra like a vice, slowly choking the parts of her that were too weak to fight on. Each day, just before dawn, she rose from the bed in which she spent sleepless hours desperately trying to fight the dark thoughts that lurked just beyond the candlelight…but she did not pray as she'd used to in the old days. Instead, before her mind could even shake the buzz of extreme tiredness, she'd get to work right away on the paperwork she'd strictly demanded be left on her desk every morning, so she'd have something to occupy every hour. Papers would pour through her fingers, figures through her head…recruitment, expenditure, taxation, reports from her scouts on the state of her land. And she never left a spare moment of thought for anything else, for West Harbour. The past could not be changed, said Zhjaeve, but in the present and the future everything, everything and everyone in this fortress, stood upon the will. Upon her will. Every tiny detail became imbued with infinite significance, the more the Githzerei's sibilant words sunk into her soul. A part of her still resisted the urge to give in entirely to Zhjaeve and the serenity of obedience, a bitter, stubborn core of anguish that clung to the grief and horror that ought to be her's. But its dull scream only had any power in the dark; during the day she was the Githzerei's obedient puppet, the consummate leader of Crossroad Keep that fate, and Zhjaeve, demanded. She almost doubted if most of the soldiers in the Keep even knew something was wrong. Kana might suspect, and her friends certainly knew, but the words would never cross Phaedra's lips to answer.

It helped that things were going rather well in the Keep, as the second week since her return there passed and she returned to her customary perusal of the fortress' affairs, her patrols had begun to clear the outside lands, so that she'd had a request from a sprightly older gentleman farmer named Ziffer to found a new village on her bounds. His migrant population had since yielded a number of new Greycloak volunteers, an example she hoped the young men of the other hamlets might follow. Of course Ziffer's village was a ripe target for bandits, which was another headache, but the enthusiasm of his recruits, though they were far from professional yet, more than made up for it. Katriona's training reports lay amidst the paperwork and the men seemed to gel well together, better, the sergeant reported, when Phaedra herself attended their sessions, though she had spoken barely a word to them since returning. Her weaponsmith and armourer were hard at work, and demanded a constant drain of funds, but the rent from the kobold Deekin as well as the reasonable taxes on the farms and villages, Ziffer's included, were keeping her coffers relatively well-stocked if not entirely worry-free. Sometimes the accounts would simply not yield the expected sum, though Phaedra puzzled over them into the early hours of the morning. It was a frustration, but one over which she had little control. Kana bleakly informed her that an element of corruption was a simple reality in a place like this. That didn't mean, of course, that any who were caught in the act wouldn't be punished to the full extent of the law, Phaedra had grimly resolved. Discipline was utterly essential, especially with the Greycloaks still lacking in that department, though they had as always plenty of eagerness. They didn't quite understand the seriousness of the situation, they hadn't seen West Harbour laid to waste, they hadn't seen the bodies white amidst the black Mere mud…Phaedra clamped her hands on the desk, the papers crackling in her fists and clamped her eyes shut against the pressing vision. No…not here, not now…not ever again, at least until this was over. If it would ever be over. Lately it seemed that it had all gone on so long…she couldn't imagine it ever being over. Maybe she'd never be free. Zhjaeve would say that we never were free of our responsibility, that we always had duties. Bishop, no doubt, would think differently. Again he'd abstained himself of his responsibility to her; the more the Keep occupied her thoughts, the more he avoided her again, slipping like a shadow into the dark places of the Keep with Karnwyr trotting by his side, that frustratingly enigmatic smile of ambiguous cruelty on his lips. It only told her that she had been right not to give in to the temptation to let their volatile relationship with its strange burning anaesthetic effect on her wounds dictate the terms of her recovery from her grief, instead to lean on Zhjaeve's cool philosophy. But…still sometimes…in the dead of the night she thought of that smile, the glint of his tawny eyes, and his warm chest beneath her hands…and she ached to her core. The struggle left her in those moments, and she yielded herself to the thought of him with shocking ease. But she could not give anything like that to the troublesome, cruel, intoxicating contradiction that was the true reality of Bishop.

"Phaedra…" Elanee's voice shocked her into awareness suddenly, and her eyes snapped open. She was shocked to see the elf standing in her doorway, leaning in like she was being drawn almost against her own will towards Phaedra. "Phaedra, I…I…needed to see you" The elf's delicate neck trembled as she fluttered in, cautiously, like a doe sensing a predator. Phaedra blinked. She'd barely seen Elanee in the last two weeks, and the elf did not look any better than she had in the Mere. Her skin was sallow, drawn tight across the sharp bones of her face, accentuating her elvishness unfortunately, and making her eyes seem huge in her face, and they were like two wells of barely suppressed pain. Phaedra felt a twinge of guilt, she knew Elanee was suffering from the effects of the Mere's corruption, but she no longer had the words to speak to the elf, not after Elanee had failed to save Bishop in the Mere. That still burned between them. So it both surprised her and draw her guard up that Elanee was here now. She did not speak, or stand, and Elanee squirmed under her relentless gaze. "I…" The elf struggled. "I fear I have not approached this in the best way in the past, but you have to understand…my…" She paused and paled, swallowing whatever endearment had been about to pass her thin, bloodless lips. "I have always wanted what was best for you…always…"

"What you thought was best for me" Phaedra corrected quietly. They'd been over this before.

"I did…" Elanee nodded slowly, her pain, her regret, naked and vulnerable in her face. "And I was wrong for that, because you, Phaedra, have done so much more than I could ever have imagined…you are brilliant, Phaedra" She breathed, and Phaedra flushed under the praise, deeply uncomfortable. "You are strong, and wise beyond your years…and I should have known that from the first, I should have known that better than anyone." Again she paused, letting go of some words that nonetheless played across her gaze, glistening shards of pain amidst the green. Phaedra had never seen her less in control. Might she finally be intending to reveal the truth? Phaedra resolved to give her a chance, fighting back her bitterness. She had loved Elanee once, with an intensity that belied how brief had been their relationship compared to people she'd known all her life and yet with whom she did not feel this strange connection. "I have seen you make your own journey on your own terms, and you have done so well" Elanee whispered, her voice was rough with unshed tears. "You have done more than anyone had the right to expect of you, you've fought so hard, so long."

"Why are you saying this?" Phaedra stood, her own voice sounded strange to her ears, rasping with sudden feeling. She had, oh Gods, she had…but she was no child, not anymore, to swoon at Elanee's words. "Why now?" When it's too late, she almost added…

"You did all this yourself, despite me…despite my attempts to make you into what I wanted, to make you more like…me" Elanee continued, clasping her hands in front of her gown. Something in her seemed to be playing the repentant parent, but what did that make Phaedra? The rebellious daughter…? Where in the Gods' name did these thoughts come from? "But now I see you…making the same mistake I so desperately wanted you to make. Except now I understand how wrong it all is."

"What do you mean Elanee?" Phaedra asked, feeling the stirrings of bitterness return as she realised Elanee was actually lecturing her again. And not very coherently either…

"Zhjaeve…" Elanee closed her eyes briefly, as if in pain. She knew the reaction she'd rouse in Phaedra by saying this, but she was still here. "She is dangerous, Phaedra, these words she speaks…they seem like they're the solution, but they are not meant for human ears."

"Don't do this again, Elanee" Phaedra shook her head, trying to keep her voice calm.

"I have to" Elanee's hands worked frantically in the front of her gown. "I can't let you destroy yourself, I won't."

"That isn't your choice to make" Phaedra answered coldly.

"Please, Phaedra…forget everything else, for one moment, and just hear me out" The elf gasped, and the intensity of her entreaty weakened Phaedra for a second. "I know you feel like this is the only way, but that's just what Zhjaeve wants. She's trying to mould you, trying to make you into some perfect killer, single-minded and utterly merciless just like she is herself. That's where all this talk of 'will' really ends."

"I trust Zhjaeve" Phaedra argued "She's never lied to me." Elanee winced visibly, there was the confirmation, as if she'd needed it. Elanee had lied to her. And yet still there was no truth forthcoming from the elf. "Listen Elanee, I know you can't see it, but I need her." Phaedra went on quickly, resolving to restrain the impulse to ask Elanee to leave, and resolving to tell the truth to her, which was far more than she deserved. It would make one of them at least. "I need this talk of will, and whatever her intentions are I have to risk it."

"That's just what she wants you to think." Elanee's knees trembled, as if she was barely restraining the urge to throw herself at Phaedra's feet and cling to her. Unconsciously Phaedra took a step back. "But you do have a choice…"

"I've never had a choice!" Phaedra cried, all pretence of control and restraint leaving her. She didn't owe Elanee anything, let alone this. "I finally see that now! Do you want to know what'll happen if I stop listening to Zhjaeve…do you really want to know…?" She paused, taking in a deep, shuddering breath, she'd come too close…too close to speaking of it.

"I do know" Elanee whispered, not even flinching from Phaedra's wrath. She was still strong. "My own village died before my eyes when I was but a child, laid to waste by orcs. I know the battle you're facing…" The words died in Phaedra's throat, as she gazed into Elanee's green eyes, and saw the agony of a human lifetime there. Her own wrath softened somewhat.

"Then you know I cannot keep going alone" Phaedra answered hoarsely. "I need to have some way to survive…"

"But you are not letting your grief run its course, Phaedra, darling" Elanee murmured, infinite pity in her eyes. "It is not natural to live like this and it will destroy you if you continue."

"I said I don't have a choice" Phaedra answered, but more gently this time. If only, if only…she could grieve. But if she gave them all the mourning that each of them had deserved, and Cormick…and Lorne even, and the half a dozen soldiers who had died under her command thus far and all the rest that would die before this was done…she would be drowned in it. She would never move again. "The Keep needs me, these people need me…and I cannot fail them."

"I only ask this because so much is at stake, because you are destroying yourself like this" Elanee reached for her. "But Phaedra…perhaps if you left this Keep…" Instantly Phaedra flinched back, no, not this, not this. Elanee looked pained, but still she went on. "If you left with me, we could find somewhere safe, where we could both grieve what we have lost. Leave it all behind…" Her voice trembled, and then she fell quiet, as she quailed under Phaedra's gaze, which held there upon her for a moment, as a deafening silence roared through Phaedra's head. She remembered Bishop offering the same thing to her, an escape, a way out, only a month, a lifetime, ago. That time…she had wanted it, Elanee knew that. Now it seemed the druidess meant to take advantage of the weakness she knew had made Phaedra consider giving in to Bishop, but without the savage honesty that had made Bishop's proposal so enticing, she couldn't see past the desperation in Elanee's words. It seemed petty, grasping, and above all selfish. Maybe…maybe with Bishop she had been free to leave, she wanted desperately to believe she'd had that chance to escape at least, but regardless it made no difference now. She had the Keep, everyone was relying on her…Elanee's proposal was nothing more than to abandon them all.

"Enough" She said, deadly quiet, and Elanee closed her eyes, pain fluttering across her face. "How dare you say that to me now?"

"Listen to me, my darling" Elanee murmured. "I…"

"I am not your darling" Phaedra seethed, interrupting her. She saw every word wound Elanee deep, and yet found the same words a balm to her own agony. So long as she raged against Elanee, she could not feel anything else. She wasn't sure if she even believed what she was saying or not, but somehow it didn't matter. "And I will not abandon these men who are relying to fight alongside them…" Like she did West Harbour, she almost snapped, but caught herself again. Elanee was not the only one straying from the knife edge of control.

"Please don't do this, I beg you" Elanee cried and suddenly all the pent up emotion erupted in a shuddering gasp, tears flowing freely down her hollow cheeks. "Phaedra…the King of Shadows is too strong. We both know that now, we've both seen what he's capable of doing. The Mere is laid to waste, my Circle lies dead in the swamps. And Illefarn, you heard the stories like all of us, in your heart you know it's true that nothing can stand against him." So that was it then, the truth of all this. Elanee did not believe they could win. "If you stay you'll die." The elf begged, weeping. She seemed manic suddenly. "I cannot…Phaedra…your life is the most precious thing in the world…more precious than honour or justice or duty. What are those things to any of us when we lie cold in the ground, never to smile or laugh, never to love or loved in return? This Keep is doomed, Neverwinter is doomed, all of it…like the Mere, like West Harbour."

"Enough!" Phaedra screamed, and her voice vibrated in the air for a second, high, shrill, resonant with hysteria. Catching hold of herself, she breathed heavily…once, twice…as Elanee retreated towards the opposite wall, suddenly seeming utterly dismayed at what she had just been saying. "You had no right to ask that of me." She said, keeping her voice calm now and all the more devastating to the elf for it. "Not of the Captain of Crossroad Keep. The Phaedra who wept in the dark, who quailed over every kill she made, who believed people were good, who still had a village to fight for, and who trusted you completely, Elanee, that Phaedra is gone, utterly gone. Honour and duty and justice are all I have left" She turned away, caught herself in the mirror set up against the wall, and saw her mother's face glaring back, icy cold and proud. A low keening moan left Elanee's trembling lips, in the mirror's cold, cruel surface, she saw the elf stagger back, shaking like a leaf.

"But Bishop…" She whispered.

"Enough about Bishop! Enough warnings, enough lectures, Elanee, I've heard far more than enough from you" Phaedra snapped, raising her hands to her head in frustration. "Get out, Elanee." She whispered. "Never come back here, never speak to me in that familiar tone again." And then Elanee was gone, slipping out into the shadows in a flutter of her robes. The mirror drew the lines of Phaedra's face unforgivably, as the harsh light of another crisp winter morning spread shadows over her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered a moment, eyelashes trembling…she watched, almost cooly, as though it were someone else she were observing and not her own reflection, the tremor run through her face, threatening to crack into a sob, but then she reigned it back in, and her face became as cool as the glass, as flat and cold as the portrait of her mother. The Keep needed her to be strong. She would pay the price for that strength…even if it was to cause pain to Elanee…whom she had loved…but she had to survive. This was the only way.

Oooooooo00000000000000oooooo oo

Neeshka tapped the stone of the gate's keystone impatiently, her nails clicking on the smooth hard granite. They'd improved things here since last time she'd wondered the walls in the evening, before everything had gone to the Hells in West Harbour. The Keep was pulling itself up from the ruins rather well these days, expanding now the old ruined buildings had been filled in, a few more Greycloak volunteers or recruits arrived every other day to swell the ranks, now numbering probably just under one hundred and fifty able soldiers, and potential marks, if it came to that. That should have been good for business, although most of the bunch were self-righteous prigs dazzled by their glorious Captain Phaedra. Neeshka had a few contacts here and there these days, and was skimming off gold with her usual deft touch, but it was harder than it should have been, and not as satisfying either. Why shouldn't it have been as simple as it was in the Docks, where even a crazy witch like Moire had had every Watch soldier by the balls? Her partner didn't help of course. Bishop didn't care about any of her troubles, he wasn't doing it for the money, as it turned out, but for some twisted scheme all his own, and he didn't understand the subtlety of it either. Since they'd got back from Arvahn, he'd been pushing her to go further than was wise, strip more and more from the Keep, more than she'd have dared otherwise. She did her best to keep things clean and easy, but he was putting everything at risk, threatening her just as much as the merchants he sometimes shook down for an extra fee, disguised of course, just to keep Phaedra on her toes as much as anything else. She'd known she'd be gripping the bull by the horns, allying with him on this, but she hadn't thought he'd be such a liability. He should have been smarter than that. He was supposed to be meeting her here, for a start, and he was late.

"Well, druidess, sounds like you messed up" And there was his voice, coming from just downstairs, on the tower. Talking…to Elanee? Neeshka instantly flattened herself against the wall, making not a sound…something told her she wanted to hear this. Anything to learn more about Bishop…and what he was doing talking to that half-crazy elf. "What did you do to get her going like that?"

"I…I asked her to leave the Keep." Elanee's voice was a trembling murmur, Neeshka barely heard it but her honed senses caught the gist. About Phaedra, of course. And Elanee had begged her to leave the Keep? She'd known things had started falling apart in their little group, but were they that far gone already?

"Now that wasn't very smart was it?" Bishop's voice had a palpable sneer. "I didn't tell you to do that." These two were working together? No…she doubted things were equal between them, Bishop was straight up manipulating Elanee probably.

"Well you asked her once let us not forget" Elanee muttered hoarsely, with a flash of her old prissiness. "Though I doubt we wanted the same thing out of it."

"True" Bishop laughed coolly, as if he found Elanee endlessly amusing. "I wanted to fuck her" Neeshka could only imagine Elanee wincing at that, she certainly did. She hadn't known that Bishop had asked Phaedra to run away with him…another betrayal. "And you wanted to save her. But were you really any better than me? She certainly doesn't think so."

"It was Zhjaeve" Elanee's gowns rustled, the elf was turning away, growing shriller and more strident. Lately that, and whining, seemed to be the only two modes she could operate in. "It's all that Githzerei's fault, she's turning Phaedra against me."

"You're as jealous as a lover, elf" Bishop's voice rumbled with glee. "Must be tough to be replaced. Lucky that's never going to happen to me."

"Zhjaeve's making her into a tool." Elanee ranted, oblivious to the dark promise in Bishop's voice, that made Neeshka tremble even though it wasn't about her. "That's why she's always with her, she wants the shards, and she doesn't care how she gets them. She'll throw Phaedra against the King of Shadows until she has them. I've got to help her, I've got to get through to her"

"Yeah well, let me know when that works out for you" Bishop answered coldly. "I suggested you talk to her about Zhjaeve because your own attempts are just so damn pathetic and I don't much like the Gith either, I didn't mean that you should go crazy possessive on her. Should have learnt by now that that's one thing she just doesn't appreciate."

"It wasn't my fault." Elanee murmured, suddenly quiet again and almost dreamily, as if she had forgotten to whom she was speaking "Lately I haven't been seeing things straight…. I can't keep my thoughts in order. My mind constantly wanders away from me. I feel so sure of it, of everything…then suddenly I doubt…oh…I doubt so much."

"Would it shock you to know I don't give a damn?" Bishop sneered. "You failed and now you're finished elf. She's never going to trust you, not ever again. And around here that makes you just about worthless. So I'd scurry away, and find some new swamp wench to obsess over, this one's finally growing out of you" Elanee let out a low, animal moan, pure agony…as always Bishop's words were as true and as devastating as his arrows. Neeshka still couldn't work out why he'd got involved with Elanee at all, though. Except to sow seeds of distrust in Zhjaeve with Phaedra, without getting his own hands dirty in the process. Elanee disgracing herself he must have anticipated, but that just removed another obstacle in his plan to…what? Isolating Phaedra? Why? Neeshka couldn't work it out, couldn't work him out. She'd always been able to work people out. But Bishop…

"One day she'll see the truth about you" The elf whispered, her voice cracking. "And I'll rejoice to see you rejected, cast out…all over again, just as you deserve."

"I wouldn't count on it, bitch" Bishop sneered, and then the rustle of robes sweeping away told Neeshka that Elanee was beating a swift retreat. Slowly the tiefling sank back against the stone, toying with her fingers absently to try to disguise her unease. She'd known Bishop was ruthless, Hells she'd seen criminals who'd cut a man's face for smiling at them wrong back in Neverwinter, but even now he could still shock her. He'd practically destroyed Elanee, and for what reason…sure she'd be an annoying prig from the very start of things, but surely she was no threat to any of them anymore? She'd practically cracked under the strain of the journey, she barely spoke anymore and long before this Phaedra had stopped listening to anything she said. Frankly, though, it wasn't even her who'd lost her village, Phaedra at least was stronger than that. "Ah, devil-girl…enjoy the show?" Bishop stalked up onto the walls with her, a coarse grin on his face, all jocular swagger now, but that cool cruelty was still in those eyes, lurking in the sharp knife-edge of that smile. He'd meant her to hear it all. She was being played as much as Elanee. "Let's talk business, shall we?" The coins in Neeshka's purse rattled incriminatingly, like dice about to be cast into this gamble, this game…they were both playing. But her hand was weaker, she understood that now. He'd always trump her. And yet she couldn't pull out. Too much was at stake, she'd bet too much already. And now she understood, he'd pull it all out from under her without a second's thought.

0ooooo00000000000ooooooooo

Time passed, the business of the Keep went on, and Phaedra, who had grown up in a farming community after all, knew it should have begun to grow into early spring, but winter's grip was strong, and its icy chill still did not depart from the lands surrounding Crossroad Keep as the weeks went by. A sort of sallow half-light held fast to the sky for long into the morning each day and even in the height of the midday it was grey and cloud-choked, as though nature itself were sluggishly struggling to carry on with the year's cycles despite a burden almost too great to bear. Trees still stood barren now, and the first shoots of life either did not give fruit at all or perished soon after flowering. Phaedra absently wondered if she might ask Elanee about it, before remembering that she wasn't speaking to the elf anymore. Regardless, nature's sluggish slumber was a constant reminder that the King of Shadow's rising had begun to affect things far beyond the Mere, and thus a grim call to duty. It was also an added burden on the Keep. Her farmers in the surrounding lands were doing all they could, but supplies were dwindling, and much of every day was spent in furious negotiation with merchants from far afield to supplement her Greycloak's supplies and lessen the load on the villages around. Shandra was a great help in this, she'd helped ferry and sell her own good as far as Waterdeep after all, and knew the market well. Thankfully she'd impressed the need on her Greycloaks and the increasing number of volunteers, young men from the villages who willingly signed up, also helped with a sense of camaraderie, so that the soldiers were doing all they could to help by doubling efforts to rid the lands of bandits. They'd got the head of Dorman the Ogre, one notorious bandit chief, a few days ago, a great victory that would send his lesser captains scurrying. They'd lost a few men…a tragedy, but one which Phaedra knew the whole Keep had to bear, herself included. Every day Zhjaeve would begin their meditations by reminding her that all of this was to defeat the King of Shadows, that end was to save far more people than they could ever lose here in the Keep. She never forgot, she never stopped seeing West Harbour dead every time she closed her eyes. And if she even could, the ring of the shards was always there to remind her. It had grown more insistent lately, it seemed, and she often caught the answering hum from within her chest. They made her painfully aware that the Keep could only go so far, the story of Illefarn's defeat still rang in her head like a mournful dirge. So it was a shock, and a relief, when finally Aldanon came to her in the audience hall, now fully furnished and resplendent in the blue and white of Neverwinter. She was in the midst of a meeting, but she immediately, if graciously, dismissed the head of the merchant coster, the Circle of Friends, when she saw the absent-minded sage stumbling in with his butler Harcourt in attendance in a state of high excitement. This was far more important.

"Aldanon" She said quickly, as soon as the merchant was gone. There were a few Greycloak guards in attendance as always, but unlike the merchant she trusted them to hear this. "Tell me you have something" He, Sand and Zhjaeve had been working at fever pitch every day for the last few weeks, delving into records from the Archives of Neverwinter, alongside all the information Garius had left behind in the library.

"Let's see" The old sage stroked his beard absently, and Phaedra realised she was not going to hear this quickly. "You have explored the Illefarn ruins, undergone the Rituals of Purification…"

"That was weeks ago, Aldanon" Phaedra whispered, touching her forehead and praying for patience…before she caught herself short. Who was she praying to anyway?

"Although I seem to recall something regarding vials of dragon blood" The sage turned away. "And lich blood, of course." What? What in the Hells?

"Master Aldanon, I believe the Captain speaks of the place she requested we locate" Harcourt said elegantly, and Phaedra offered him a relieved smile. She was very glad he'd come down from Neverwinter, despite the trauma he'd undergone when Aldanon had been kidnapped by Garius. No one else could keep Aldanon on track. She noticed him blush behind the ears, but he kept his air of urbane composure. "We have the map with the position marked" He said quietly.

"Oh thank the Gods" Phaedra gasped, seeing the parchment in Harcourt's hands, scrawled with a network of lines. Could it be…?

"I didn't ask for any map." Aldanon coughed sniffily. "Can't you see we're having an important discussion here?"

"Master Aldanon... you requested I chart a possible location for you, based on the information you provided." Harcourt reminded him with an air of long-suffering patience. "I had the Master Cartographer and several assistants cross-checking the records, and you were correct... this location cannot be scryed, and it bears the telltale arcane marks you indicated would be there."

"Oh of course" Aldanon brushed down his sleeves. "Old Jerro's Haven, my side project. Though it is quite one thing to find a place, and quite another to know about it at all."

"How did you find it?" Phaedra asked.

"Well, there were two things I felt would be essential in a haven - secrecy and its ties to the court of Neverwinter." Aldanon explained, finally he was in the right place. She just didn't want to know why he'd thought of dragon blood and lich dust. "Secrecy means a place that cannot be scryed. So I hired several diviners in my employ to scan a selected area based on shipments of reagents to a few obscure locations indicated in the court records. Quite simple, really." Phaedra raised an eyebrow, simple…why had it taken quite this long then?

"My lady, it was far from simple" Harcourt added apologetically, reading her scepticism. "It was only a stroke of genius on the part of Master Aldanon to use diviners at all, and even so the potential area was massive. Scrying is also notoriously had to check and re-check our results to make sure we were certain."

"And you…are certain now?" Phaedra asked. No wild goose chases…they simply didn't have time.

"Why, of course" Aldanon replied, well no doubt he was. Still, she trusted his expertise. He had been right about the shards, of course, though sometimes she wished he hadn't been. "There is no other place that was so clearly shielded, and yet so closely linked to the arcane trade in Neverwinter…and the records match what I already know of my old comrade. He left the court not twenty years ago, just after the war with Luskan, and that was when the shipment of arcane reagents to the area really picks up."

"Well then we'll have to leave for there at once" Phaedra raised her head, trying to clear it of the business of the Keep and focus. It wasn't easy, her mind revolted from the imposition of uncertainty. Again to head out, to leave the Keep and the precarious safety of its walls and the duties that afforded her no moment to think of anything else, it was no easy thing to contemplate. The road would be long, no doubt, and empty…she would have nights and days to let her thoughts undo her. She wasn't sure she was capable of it, but knew that nonetheless she must. She was Captain in this Keep, but that name, the Kalach-cha, had a prior and greater claim upon her. Zhjaeve always called her that for this reason, to tell her that no matter what else she'd become, she had been her whole life the only one who could forge this Silver Sword, Gith's sword. The same sword whose song murmured always within her. So she would have to go to the Haven, and track down this man who had wielded it before her. She also intended to uncover Ammon Jerro's mystery while she was there. He was too much involved in this not to be of crucial importance. "Guards, let my companions know we're gathering to leave" Command rang easily in her voice these days and they moved instantly to obey her. They'd have a job tracking them all down. Was Elanee even still in the Keep? "Tell them…we've found the Haven."

Ooo000000000000ooooooooo

"It sure looks buried deep in the mountains" Shandra noted, examining the neat, spidery map that Aldanon's handsome butler had presented them with just before they left the Keep as she walked. Evening was drawing in again; so far it had been a day walking, and one night camped out, since the Keep…since she'd first found out that they were at last travelling towards her ancestor's secret hideout, her old nightmare. She'd known it was coming all along, but still the superstitious shudder passed through her again as she looked at Harcourt's neat handwriting next to where the butler had marked the Haven's location with a cross… 'to warn you my lady, lest Master Aldanon does not, the diviners also picked up curious magical traces in the area, possibly of infernal origin. Be exceedingly cautious'. Phaedra had barely glanced at that warning. It didn't matter to her in the slightest; whatever was waiting for them, there was no negotiation about going to the Haven. Shandra tried to be so firm, but it was hard. Her blood was needed for the Haven to open…but what else would it ask from her? From all of them? What more could poor Phaedra sacrifice?

"It's also in Luskan territory" Bishop added, with a savage note to his voice, and Shandra jumped with shock, finding him suddenly standing at her right shoulder and glaring fiercely at the map held between her hands. By the Gods he had to stop sneaking around like that. He never would of course. "You know I don't like going into Luskan territory." Phaedra, gliding absently along the ground to his left and utterly silent almost this whole day, reached out and touched his arm in answer, to calm him…maybe. It seemed deeper than that. Only Shandra saw it, a moment's contact, and she also saw how Bishop leaned down a second, and his gaze touched Phaedra almost as palpably as her hand did him. Again something passed between them, more than words. Phaedra seemed drawn to him inexorably these days, and this wasn't the first time she'd let her arm stray to his during the journey, never more than innocently, never more than a second or two…and yet…it was Bishop. No one was less suited to being teased like this. That he let her do it worried Shandra even more.

"It's a completely deserted area, about as far from anything as you can be" Shandra said, shaking the map in his face to distract him. "And I doubt my grandfather was foolish enough to build it somewhere any old patrol could find it."

"Judging by his progeny, nothing would surprise me farmgirl" Bishop sneered and then he was off again, that damned wolf streaking by at his feet. He slipped past Neeshka and Khelgar who were bickering at the front of the party, and into the forest, no doubt to scout ahead so he could feel important and useful when really he was just a brute and a braggard. She shot a deadly glare at his disappearing back, and then turned away…to see Phaedra watching her, a faint, apologetic smile on her lips.

"You alright?" Shandra asked quietly, and then cursed her stupid tongue. Of course Phaedra wasn't alright.

"I am" Phaedra replied softly, almost dreamily, as if touching Bishop had given her the first peace she'd had in days. That was it, Shandra immediately resolved, tonight in private, no more delaying…she was going to ask Phaedra exactly what she was doing with Bishop, what she wanted from him, what she expected from him…and what she felt for him. She remembered that Bishop had challenged her to do just that on the way to Arvahn, weeks ago. It was far past time she took him up on that challenge and found out exactly what his power was over her. She'd ask about Casavir too, she resolved, for both their sakes, to know if Phaedra still intended to answer his feelings for her one day or if there was hope for Shandra's own unrequited longing. She paused herself for a moment, shocked at her own insensitivity, suddenly reigning in her thoughts. She'd been thinking as if these were normal circumstances and they were two farmer's daughters falling for the handsome brewer's lad or some other nonsense. These were not normal circumstances. In fact it felt…stupid, juvenile, insulting to even think of it like that, considering what had happened, considering West Harbour…but Shandra's sensibile farmer's nature insisted that life had to go on. Phaedra still had a life to lead, and she would have a good life, with time to grieve, once all this was over. Until then it was still up to her friends to make sure she was as safe as she could be, no matter who she was now or what had happened to her. She was still a girl, a young woman, whose heart was vulnerable, more so than ever. If Bishop was taking advantage of her grief, someone had to find out and stop him. And no one else was going to do it. She glanced at Phaedra again…felt a stirring of pity so painful she could barely breathe. They were friends…maybe Phaedra was the best friend she'd ever had, more like a sister than anything else in fact. If anyone could talk to her, could find a way to reach her it had to be Shandra, even though she was the Captain of Crossroad Keep, and even though Zhjaeve had taught her to shield her heart so completely.

When night fell, though, despite her resolve, it was harder than she'd thought. For a start Phaedra spent an hour with Zhjaeve straight after dinner, not that she'd eaten anything anyway. The two of them sat in meditation apart from everyone else, Zhjaeve's sibilant whisper drifting over the crackle of the fireplace as the rest of the group sat in uneasy silence. Elanee was across the fire, wrapped up in her cloaks like a shadow in the dark, the fire throwing the sharp angles of her face into relief, revealing pinched features clenched tight as if in pain. She was a cipher these days, speaking less than Phaedra even, with nothing seeming to animate or move her in the slightest, not even Casavir…who stood as if in guard close enough to watch over Zhjaeve and Phaedra, but not close enough to disturb their deep communication. A silent sentry in his armour, he looked like a remote marble statue, handsome and distant, everything Shandra had never seen in her farmer's upbringing, everything she could never hope to be. Sand was examining Harcourt's map intently, flicking through a few scrolls from his pack in reference, his long fingers running over the text as if to snatch out the information he needed. What did he expect to see, she wondered. Frankly anything they found in the Haven, anything arcane, powerful, sinister…he was welcome to all of it. Jerro blood she might have, but she had no interest in that side of her inheritance. Bishop was watching Phaedra, and Neeshka was watching Bishop. There was too much watching in this group these days, like no one really trusted each other anymore. She remembered the old days when she'd first joined the group, when Phaedra had still laughed and smiled with them, though Ember had weighed upon her even then. That weight had never abated, it had only grown heavier and heavier. Only Khelgar was still the same as those days. But he didn't even bother trying to rouse anyone else anymore, whether with jokes, ale or even song…like he had once upon a time. They were heavy thoughts, and so even when Phaedra was finally done with Zhjaeve she found herself lingering a moment. But seeing Phaedra settle down by the fire, staring into its blazing depths with an absent distance, she knew it had to be done now, before they reached the Haven. Standing, she walked over to Phaedra, as innocently as she could.

"Come walk with me for a bit" She said quietly once she'd reached her, touching her friend's angular shoulder gently…Gods…she was so thin. Phaedra looked surprised. "Just get a bit of fresh air, the smoke's making me choke."

"Of course" Phaedra shrugged, absently, tugging the blanket she had been sitting on up and wrapping it around her narrow shoulders. She stood, and stepped slowly out with Shandra, who led her gently towards the edge of the firelight. Shyly, tentatively her arm slipped into the crook of Shandra's as they walked towards the edge of the grove, surprising her and yet warming her heart. She could do this. They could talk like they'd used to…

"Phaedra…I wanted to speak to you" Shandra said quietly, when they were out in the dark, out of earshot. The moonlight was clear enough to see by, it was a calm, crisp night. Perfect. "And you…know…this is just me as your friend talking, so try…to pretend like we're just two girls from a small village, out walking together, chatting about Gods knows what nonsense, complaining about our parents, gossiping about boys." She smiled encouragingly. She'd never been the type, she doubted Phaedra ever had been either. Yet it was nice to imagine.

"I wish we could be" Phaedra said absently, her hair stirred about her face as she lowered her head, her eyes going distant. Shandra felt her heart break a little. It was so long since she'd seen this side of Phaedra, the side of her that was really just a teenager. She'd endured so much but she was younger than Shandra was. Her biggest worries should have been her parents and boys. "Like me and Amie…" The ghost of a smile touched those pale lips.

"Amie?" Shandra glanced at her.

"My best friend, back home, back in West Harbour." Phaedra whispered, the smile fading, and Shandra instantly wished she hadn't asked. "She died in the attack, killed by the Githaynki. I always wished I could have saved her. Now I know it wouldn't have made any difference anyway." Her voice went low, so soft it was barely audible…and Shandra knew she was losing her again.

"No, don't shut me out like this" She seized her friend's icy-cold hand in her own. "Tell me what you're feeling…let me help you."

"No…" Phaedra turned away a second, her long hair falling over her face like a curtain, but pain was still graven into her voice. "I can't…" She trembled a second, and Shandra felt her fingers grip tight about her own. Then she turned back, and the trembling subsided, a forced smile taking its place. "Let's just pretend okay…" She whispered, her voice had no strength but she forced it out. "Give me a second's peace, Shandra. We're just two girls now…gossiping about boys."

"Phaedra…the thing is, I wanted to talk about Bishop." Shandra cursed the words in her head as they left her lips for the second time in their short chat. Phaedra wanted peace, asking about Bishop, interrogating her wasn't going to give her that. So she scurried on with the words, trying to save the situation. "And I know I'm probably not the first person to ask you about him, but…I don't want to pressure you or make you feel like you're doing something wrong…I just want to know if you're okay, and if you know what you're doing with him. Just so you don't get hurt. Because I care about you"

"Oh Shandra…" Phaedra stopped walking, and turned to her, the moonlight seemed to glow in her pale cheeks, shimmer in the strands of her hair. She was beautiful, so sad…so beautiful. "Do you really think Bishop could possibly hurt me anymore than I've already been hurt?" Shandra gripped her hands, filled with an unspeakable pity. Oh Phaedra, Phaedra… "But I'm going to be honest with you…" She continued, in a sad, small voice, her own fingers pressing gently back against Shandra's hold. "Like I was never honest with Elanee or Casavir, or even Sand…when they tried to ask me the same thing. Because…I'm trying to hold onto our fantasy that we're just those two girls…and because I care about you too."

"Tell me…anything and I'll hear it" Shandra promised solemnly. Phaedra deserved that.

"He watched me in the Flagon in the early days" Phaedra began quietly. "And to be honest he drew me even then, my curiosity, my fascination…yes, my attraction." Shandra swallowed, but Phaedra was far past shame. She was simply recounting it. "But I pretended that he didn't…for a long time, and still he teased me and he challenged me like no other man ever had before. He's like no other man, Shandra…infuriating, frightening, and alluring all at once…and no matter what he can get under my skin, make me feel things no matter how much I don't want to; I can't help it.

"Phaedra…" Shandra breathed. It was worse than she'd thought, worse than she'd imagined. And still she went on.

"At first I thought I could never understand him, a man like that…with what he's done, the terrible, cruel things he's done" She said, her gaze holding Shandra's. No doubt she knew more of that than anyone else, Shandra could only imagine. "But I do now. I understand his need for freedom, how it drives him so much. Because I need it too, I need to feel free more and more the more completely I understand that my life has been determined by things I cannot control, by the shard in my chest, my warlock blood, my Illefarn ancestry…and my command of the Keep. It's a cage, one I will not break out of, because if I do I leave everyone I'm fighting for to go on alone. At the same time I can't keep going like that, feeling so caged. But Bishop…he makes me free."

"How far have…?" Shandra whispered, choking on the question. Dear Gods, Phaedra was all but admitting she was in love with Bishop. She might not even see it herself, but Shandra could. "You two gone…?"

"Just kissing…twice" Phaedra admitted, the blood touched her cheeks black in the darkness. Gods, thank the Gods it was only that. "They weren't normal moments, both were completely out of my control. But right now I know I'm in danger of giving more just because I need him so much to be close to me to feel like…I'm feeling something apart from dead. Remember how he pulled me out of West Harbour that terrible day? If I didn't have Zhjaeve to help me, somehow I think he'd be the only one who could do that to me each and every day when the memory of it descends on me like a waking nightmare." She sighed softly, the delicate slopes of her neck moving in a play of light and shade. "But Zhjaeve's here, and her meditations keep me going so far…so there's no need to worry quite yet." She attempted a weak smile, but Shandra didn't have the heart to smile back. She was still trying to process what Phaedra had just confided in her.

"And Casavir…?" She was forced to say, gulping out the words. Phaedra glanced at her and she knew the younger girl understood exactly why she was asking.

"I thought in the early days…" She turned away again, falling silent mid-sentence as she looked out into the dark horizon, the mountains traced in pitch. "But things are so different now." She continued. "I cannot go to him like this" A moment's pause, as Shandra tried to work out if that was a relief for her or another agony. "You're in love with him aren't you?" Phaedra said blankly what Shandra could not ask about Bishop to her.

"Yes" Shandra whispered, knowing she had to return the favour by being honest with Phaedra as Phaedra had been with her. "Yes I am in love with him."

"Tell him Shandra" Phaedra whispered, barely audible above the stirring of the gentle night. "He is a man that deserves to know love, more than anyone, and you deserve a man as wonderful as he is. I hope…I pray he accepts it."

"I don't think he will" Shandra confessed. "I don't know if he loves you…maybe he does, but either way he barely…sees me. He's so far above me, I mean, he's seen so much…and he's so devoted to the Gods, his duty. He's a nobleman, for the Gods' sake, and I'm just a farmer."

"Shandra…you and I are so similar" Phaedra half-smiled again, turning to Shandra in one elegant sweep of her head, and laid her hand on Shandra's arm. "You know I thought exactly the same thing about him and so I stayed silent for a long time, too long I think. I still wonder sometimes…what might have been." She paused, and Shandra wondered 'what might have been if not for what?' Bishop, her warlock powers…any of it? Was there still a chance she might return to Casavir once it was all done, or was it really too late? "But none of it's true. Casavir is just a man, and somehow all the more magnificent for being just that. He has his burdens, his troubles…and in some ways he is more self-doubting than you or I could ever be. Let him show you that. "

"I'll try" Shandra promised. Funny…she'd wanted to help Phaedra, and somehow Phaedra had ended up helping her instead. Wasn't that just typical of her? Shandra only wished she could more for Phaedra, but what exactly was there to be done about her and Bishop? If she warned him off Phaedra, would that only alert him to the power he had over her, if he even listened? "Shall we head back?" The others were probably wondering where they were now.

"I'm sorry about making you go to the Haven like this" Phaedra murmured as they walked back towards the campfire, out on the deserted heath. "I know it scares you. If there were any other way…"

"There isn't I know" Shandra answered, with more firmness than she really thought. But Phaedra needn't know about her hesitation, silly and girlish that it was. She should have outgrown those nightmare by now. "I'm ready."

"I pray you are" Phaedra whispered. "I pray we all are. But I don't know who I'm praying to anymore…" And then she let Shandra go, as they reached the circle of firelight, and glided away towards the bed rolls, and the uncertain flickering light closed around her in a way the darkness beyond it had not. She was cut off now, again…the moment of complete honesty was done, maybe for ever. It was up to Shandra to decide what to do with it. She padded back towards the fire, and deliberately walked past Bishop as she did.

"Don't you dare hurt her" She muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she passed him.

"Well now, what did she say to you to get your hackles so raised?" Bishop grinned. "Finally took my advice and asked about what she felt?" He laughed, a brief mocking bark of laughter. Damn it, he'd guessed it all and he remembered that too. But at least she did know now. She wasn't going to jump down Phaedra's throat, or try and force them apart…not with Phaedra in the state she was in now. Was he really all that bad for her, considering he was the only thing apart from Zhjaeve keeping her sane? She needed a bit of time to think it over, to consider what to do next. Well, maybe after they'd left her grandfather's Haven…she'd have some answers. For now…she glanced across the fire, and saw Casavir standing there on the edge of the heath with his back to her, looking up into the silvery sky, bleak as the distant mountains and knew Phaedra was right. Before she could try to help Phaedra, she needed to sort out her own heart. Even if he rejected her, and her heart sank to her feet at the thought…surely it would be better to know at last, better to have tried? Tomorrow, she vowed she'd somehow find a way...


	72. Chapter 72

_Hi, if you're here, you're starting the Haven right! Yaay, time for a bit of explaining, I thought the Haven was really great story-wise, but didn't think the game quite got as much out of it as it could. The demons and devils were creepy, but it became just a standard dungeon with some nice characterisation and story relevance I tried to rectify that in a couple of ways, but didn't manage to get quite as much out of it as I originally planned. Still I've done as much as the story allowed, though I may edit this section in future. I've given Koroboros a much bigger role in the whole temptation of Shandra thing, mainly because he is the one devil who comes back and I decided to give him a reason to, and also for another very important story reason you'll find out in due course. Otherwise having every devil appear to both Shandra and the party didn't seem economical, as I've already got a huge amount of words on the page haha!_

_Anyway, thanks for reading, best get on!_

* * *

Winter had scoured the mountains, and the cliffs were barren walls of bleak grey stone on either side of the small path that Phaedra and the rest of the party stumbled upwards. It was an old, time-worn path, perhaps nothing more than a goat-herd's trail…perhaps once the stalking ground of Ammon Jerro, that enigmatic mage upon whom so much depended, it was impossible to know either way. More than before, Phaedra was now very much aware how much of this depended on her faith in Aldanon's methods. It had all seemed so sound back in the Keep, but here, now…trudging onwards against the face of the bitter winds of winter it seemed harder to keep going merely on the strength of this map and the sage's reassurances. They'd been travelling for just under a week now, and more and more Phaedra felt a strange discontent, as if she knew they were travelling the wrong path…or maybe she was the one walking the wrong road. She wondered…if it was the blistering truths she had revealed to Shandra in that fateful night on the heaths back towards the Keep that kept her so on edge. She could never take them back, they had changed things, not merely between her and Shandra but in herself, as if giving voice at last to the secrets kept close in her heart had somehow made them more true, more powerful. Strangely she did not regret it, not one word. The truth had cleansed her in some strange way, she felt…lighter, freer. Only now did she realise how much she'd kept hidden from everyone she counted her friends, to spare their feelings, to spare their good opinion of her, maybe even to protect herself from the truth. She wasn't sure what it meant, now…especially not for her and Bishop. If he'd sensed that she looked at him slightly differently, in those periodic hidden moments that she glanced his way, admiring his lithe progress across the rocky pathway and trying again to unlock the enigma of this man who had driven her to such a strange impasse, he gave no sign of it. Still her heart yearned for something, some confirmation of the truths she had so explosively admitted, and so as she walked the path she was plagued by an on-going agitation she hid even from Zhjaeve, whose meditations and philosophies did not seem to touch this new restlessness.

Briefly she glanced back at Shandra, and wondered if the other girl felt the same way, but she met only a dull sadness in her friend's eyes, quickly concealed. It was clear her appeal to Casavir had not gone as well as Phaedra had hoped. He showed nothing of it, save a greater stoic stillness than usual; his solicitude even to Shandra was undented. She was less able to suppress the shame of it, and the pain, from view, but Phaedra doubted she'd let herself cry yet. She hadn't come to Phaedra yet either, so she could only wait and hope Shandra was holding up alright. The former farmer was no shrinking violet, no woman to let such a thing distract her…still…Phaedra wished it had gone better. She was forced to examine her motives, wonder if the reason she'd been so hopeful about Shandra and Casavir was that it would remove the paladin and her guilt about hurting him from her and Bishop…and that was a part of it, she had to admit, but the greater part of her mourned the hurt to both her friends. She couldn't blame Casavir for his feelings…but an uncharitable thought pondered whether he'd been too stubborn to even consider looking at Shandra that way.

"By the Gods…look ahead" Suddenly Khelgar's wondering voice broke her from her thoughts, and stumbling to catch her breath she looked up, following the dwarf's gaze. Her jaw dropped. There carved into the very side of the mountain in a place where the path led up into a plateau rounded by the looming cliffs, was a vast gate. Pillared and fashioned of vast blocks of stone, it was an intimidating construction, and stuck out like the prow of a great jutting ship against the sharp, wind-sculpted, angles of the mountainsides that surrounded it. Two statues of great warriors, who looked courtly and knightly, despite the weathering that had scoured every detail from their surfaces, stood in silent sentinel on raised pedestals on either side of it, recalling similar works back in Neverwinter. Each one bore a shield in which was carved a now unrecognisable coat of arms weathered by the years, the Jerro one presumably. Between them a door stood closed against the world, a great stone monolith that looked almost utterly impregnable. This was unmistakably the gate of the Haven. Phaedra glanced across at Shandra, who was staring up at the gate with not a small amount of nervousness, but then she swallowed…

"This is definitely it" She said. "Looks like my grandfather really didn't like his company"

"You think…it might be defended or trapped?" Phaedra asked. "From the inside I mean…"

"By my mother's stories, oh yeah…" Shandra touched her arm as if to suppress a shudder. "Demon spiders, portals to the abyss; everything you could possibly want to eviscerate an intruder and more."

"Know that Ammon Jerro will have extended the protection necessary to walk the Haven to his kin" Zhjaeve said with her usual oblique comfort. "You will be in no danger from the Haven itself, scion of the Jerro"

"Indeed" Sand concurred. "The whole Haven should be keyed to your blood, Shandra, so hopefully whatever guardians have survived the decades should give us little trouble."

"Should? Hopefully?" Neeshka muttered. "I've heard that before, and it doesn't end well."

"Come on now lass" Khelgar tapped his axe. "We've beaten undead, demons, Gith by the thousands…what could this place have that could be worse than all that?"

"Oh, it could be far worse" Sand brushed his robes and noted conversationally. "The fact that this place even exists tells us that Ammon Jerro was an immensely powerful mage and inside it his powers would be magnified tenfold, hundredfold by the energies he'd bound to the very essence of this place. Within this place he had the mastery, and some of that energy might not quite have dissipated." That quickly put a dampener on things, and Phaedra stared up at the menacing gate…what ghastly secrets did it conceal? What worlds had Ammon Jerro conceived within? And, furthermore, why had a court wizard of little obvious repute put in the immense effort to construct such a place, and how had he even had the power to do so? The answers could only be found inside.

"No matter what…we've come here for the information Ammon Jerro had on the Silver Sword and I intend to find it" Phaedra raised her voice, and her own courage. "And there is no need to worry …Shandra's with us, so the Haven won't give us any trouble."

"Let's get this over with" Shandra was pale, but determined, and she led the way as they staggered over the rocks of the abandoned pathway the last few metres towards the gate, which was even more impressive and menacing close up. Now Phaedra noticed a pedestal placed just before the vast stone entrance, wrought with consummate skill so that it almost shone in the sallow sunlight. Its crown was empty, but for a shallow basin, and the inscription. 'Blood finds a way'. It was grimly clear what the gates were demanding. Without meaning it, everyone looked to Shandra. "Are you sure we're ready for this?" The girl whispered. "It might not be so easy to get out of there once we're inside."

"Do it when you're ready Shandra" Phaedra said gently, painfully aware that she was not giving Shandra the chance not to do it…but they'd come this far because they needed answers. They could not stop at the very threshold of it. She knew Shandra would come to the right decision.

"All right..." Shandra said quietly. "I mean, we've come all this way, right? Watch my back in case this summons something bad" She stepped up to the pedestal gingerly, gazed down at its clear, almost reflective surface. Then she raised her hand across it and drew her sword in the other. She let out a little gasp as she drew the blade across her palm and Phaedra tensed in sympathy, but it was done, the cut was enough to send a spattering of blood, bright crimson drops against the silvery sallow light, upon the surface of the pedestal. Quickly she drew back, clutching her wounded hand and biting her lips against the sting of it. "There" She said impatiently. "It's done. Now wha…" Suddenly a light arose around her, bloody crimson itself, and nebulous and grasping, like a mist infused with that eerie, almost fiery glow. Phaedra started forward, Shandra let out a little gasp of shock…and then she disappeared. It was so fast, one minute she was there, the next…utterly, completely gone. Phaedra clenched her fists with horror. She'd promised Shandra nothing would happen, she'd promised.

"Tyr protect us!" Casavir cried with anguish, and Phaedra was shocked to hear it. "What has happened? Where has it taken her?"

"By my guess…within the Haven…" Sand posited cautiously. "It was no trap that I can assure you. She'll be fine, most likely that was simply a convenience for Ammon Jerro, or perhaps a response to her own thought that she wished to be inside the place. Mystra alone knows how much the Haven will respond to her, every thought and whim might well affect it, and her…"

"She'll be alone, terrified" Phaedra gasped. "We've got to get to her!" As if in answer to her entreaty the great door began to creak, rumbling, rasping against the stone, with an almighty scrape and then it began to pull open. Phaedra sensed a flare of magic…and realised what Sand had been saying was correct. Everything in this Haven was powered by living magic, imbued with strong power, Gods alone knew what that meant was going on inside. And then the door stood open, and the sallow light from outside crept across stone paving, touched walls of glistening marble…and then vanished into a great darkness. Phaedra didn't even hesitate, Shandra was somewhere inside, she needed help, they were going to find her. At the head of the party she strode to the gate and walked inside, and the cool dark of the Haven closed around her. Sand summoned light as he went, and it played in watery ripples over the delicate stone walls as they cautiously crept onwards into the depths of the Haven. The passageway was ornate, lined with pilasters and a frieze decorated with strange arcane runes that confused and misled the gaze. Beneath their feet paving stones rang with their footsteps, set like a chessboard with alternating darker and lighter stones. It was very eerie, utterly silent, except for their own passage and the rush that Phaedra felt in that strange inner ache that told her of the powerful forces moving within this place. Even after decades, the magic Ammon Jerro had bound to the Haven had not diminished. That was ominous.

"I feel…something" Neeskha murmured suddenly, running her fingers down her arms as if it were an itch in her very skin. "Something up ahead…I don't like it" Phaedra blinked, she felt magic coursing like a river through the walls of this place, even underfoot the sheer raw power pulsed like a heartbeat, as if the whole Haven were a network of veins and arteries, and Ammon's magic flowed through them like blood. But Neeshka would be dull to that…she only sensed infernal magic, the presence of demons. Instantly Phaedra straightened, remembering Harcourt's warning…were they in danger? Was Shandra? But if Neeshka could feel it, why could she not, with her warlock sensitivity? There was something strange going on here.

"Stay close" She ordered "And stay sharp. Something's not right …" The passageway led to another doorway, metal, and carved again with a dizzying glory of runic symbols splayed like leaves over its surface. Immediately upon Phaedra laying her hand on its surface, it gave way and opened without even the slightest pressure, as if on its own accord. They stepped into an eerie, closed room, cloistered with arches around it, and a low ceiling. It was simple and cold, ornamented only by the occasional dark flourish in the shadows. There was no sign of books, texts, experiments, or anything useful one might have expected in a wizard's Haven.

"Welcome" Suddenly an urbane, soft voice sounded, echoing in the chamber. "I knew we would meet again" Instantly Phaedra whirled round, her hands straying to her bow. Standing in the middle of the room though she would have sworn blind that he had not been there before, was a familiar figure. Tall, gaunt, with his skin that corpse-blue, and his eyes that terrifying fiery yellow with their red pupils blazing, it was the devil Mephasm they'd last seen in the caves of the Githyanki…where she had released him from their service using his true name. And yet here he was again, bound again by yet another circle of glowing runes traced about his feet. She sensed a trap. "Greetings my friend" He inclined his head courteously, the picture of the courtly gentleman. Phaedra recoiled.

"Not this guy again" Neeshka grimaced. "I knew I sensed trouble."

"Ah the tiefling" Mephasm's eyes alighted on Neeshka coolly. It was impossible to read his features, with their alien serenity, but he had been interested in Neeshka last time as well. Phaedra did not like it. "You came at last."

"It wasn't my idea, trust me." Neeshka shrugged. "You don't sound surprised to see me... or us."

"My dear, if Baator teaches one anything, it is that everything has happened countless times before... and the resolutions are just as predictable." Mephasm had a tendency to speak in such abstract ramblings, she'd forgotten. His unnerving gaze strayed back to Phaedra. "And blood does affect blood after all…there is power in such things."

"What are you doing here?" Phaedra accused. "I freed you back in the caves."

"And yet you find me bound here once again" Mephasm raised his hands with a wry dolefulness as if his imprisonment was a minor inconvenience. "And this time my cage is larger and more secure. Alas, simply speaking my true name will not do to free me from this particular prison." He shifted, his sumptuous robes spilling in a sheen of crimson and deep blue from his narrow shoulders. "Yet that was not what you were asking, was it?" He said, with not a merest hint of discomfort. "I am afraid I misled you at our last meeting. I was not summoned by the Githyanki…"

"He lied!" Casavir thundered "I knew it from the first moment; we can trust nothing this monster says. My lady we should leave before he ensnares us."

No, servant of the Gods, I did not lie" Mephasm went on placidly. "As a matter of fact I cannot lie. Nothing I spoke then was other than the truth. I simply allowed you to conclude what you came to think you knew." Phaedra scowled. She wasn't sure, he could be lying now…but it hardly made a difference either way.

"I think he's right, you know" Neeshka glanced at her hands as if replaying the conversation in her head. She was remarkably at ease considering the circumstances. "He didn't actually lie to us back then, in fact we just assumed the Githyanki had summoned him."

"If you weren't working for the Githyanki, who were you working for then?" Phaedra asked, but then the revelation hit her like punch to the gut. There could only be one answer. She'd seen the King of Shadows use only demons in his assault on the Githyanki caves, but in Tavorick's Estate he'd summoned devils too…devils like Mephasm himself. How could she have been so stupid? The answer had been staring at her in the face all the time. Then again, she'd hardly expected to encounter Mephasm again. But…if he were a servant of the King of Shadows, why was he in Ammon Jerro's Haven? Phaedra felt a sinking touch of terror run through her…it couldn't be…oh Gods, Shandra…

"You have guessed it" Mephasm confirmed and Phaedra was dizzied. Gods, no, not again. And here…the Haven, she'd been so sure it would be deserted. But why would he not come here? Where the information on his one weakness was sure to be found? She'd been a fool, and now they were all in danger, and Shandra was alone Gods knew where. "The same dark warlock who summoned the demons and myself to those ancient Illefarn ruins to strike down Zeeaire has now made this place his lair. From the laboratory in the centre, he siphons energy from the demons and devils held captive here. He is my master, as he is the master of Zaxis and the rest of us'"

"Can you tell us anything useful about him?" Neeshka asked. "Weaknesses, a way to kill him…"

"I am afraid I cannot" For the first time Mephasm looked regretful. "I do not intend to slight you, but I see a much larger picture than you do. Much of the knowledge I possess could do more harm than good."

"Bullshit" Bishop sneered. "How about I put an arrow through your face?"

"Your threats have no power here" Mephasm said softly. "I am bound to this Haven but it is bound to me as well. Within it, I am invincible, and so are the others."

"You speak of others?" Sand pushed in before Bishop could make good on his threat. "Other devils, demons?"

"Indeed" Mephasm nodded. "This place…this Haven, has become a prison for our kinds. Six of us are bound here, three tanar'ri, three baatezu, all among the most powerful and masterful. The energy that is created by a constant tension between such opposites is immense and the dark warlock at the centre of this place is constantly empowered by it." Phaedra stepped back, her head hurt. She'd foreseen little more than sweeping in, finding some relevant books from an old abandoned library and getting the Hells out, not demons, devils…not the King of Shadows. And yet…if this very place was the source of the King of Shadow's power, could they not greatly diminish him if they cut it off? It all begged the question of course, of how the King of Shadows had even accessed the power here, if Ammon Jerro had built it and bound it to his own blood? Had the whole Haven been originally designed to be an energy sieve for the conflicts of the Blood War between demons and devils? What did that say about Ammon Jerro?

"We need to get to that laboratory" She said, that was simple and self-evident.

"It lies at the centre of the Haven" Mephasm intoned. "To get there will not be an easy task; you must pass by all six of this Haven's prisoners and be warned each of them will try to ensnare you in their own way. Do not believe what you see, and be cautious about what you hear. Their one and only goal is to be freed, everything they say and do is in service to that goal. They will try and manipulate you any way they can."

"How can I know you're not manipulating us right now?" Pheadra's eyes narrowed. "Trying to free yourself?" She wasn't about to trust this devil so easily again.

"You cannot of course" Mephasm shrugged. "But you can know that I have never lied to you, and I say now that I wish to help you for reasons that are my own. The others here will whisper of other temptations, deceits…but I will speak only truth."

"What does a monster such as you know of truth?" Casavir glared at him.

"As much as any of us can" Mephasm whispered, in his deep boundless eyes Phaedra seemed to see her own reflection laid bare, see how thin she'd grown, how worn by grief despite the front she put up. "The power of the Hells is in truth, after all, all those truths mortals would rather hide from themselves…bargains made and broken, sins committed and good deeds left undone."

"Enough of this nonsense, if you tell the truth so much then tell us where Shandra is" Khelgar suddenly spoke up. "Our friend, the one who got us in here, the one with the blood of Ammon Jerro…"

"But did you not…?" Mephasm stared at Phaedra, momentarily looking surprised. "Ah of course I understand, you do not know." He shifted, and Phaedra scowled. What did he mean now? "It appears you knew something I did not" He said. "What happened to this Shandra?"

"She disappeared when we entered this place" Phaedra answered.

"You must find her" Mephasm urged, suddenly disturbed. "She is in great peril here."

"Can't you tell us where she is?" Phaedra begged, she didn't need to know that Shandra was in great peril. She needed to find her, now…

"I am afraid I cannot" Mephasm shook his horned head. "She is veiled from me. But she is somewhere within. There is a disturbance, somewhere near Hepzebel. Go forth quickly and you may catch her…" What was Hepzebel? Somehow Phaedra thought she did not want to know that answer. But if Shandra was there, they had to find her.

"Go forth how exactly?" Neeshka sniped "The door leads back where we came, remember?"

"Does it?" Mephasm almost smiled, thoroughly unnerving. Everyone turned, to see the same door behind them and yet…it opened to a completely different passage, this time narrower, with a higher ceiling and great vaulted columns lining it. Phaedra swallowed, that might be a way forward, but there was certainly no way back anymore. Gods this place really was a nightmare. "I've done all I can for you" Mephasm said. "Go quickly, and be on your guard."

Oooo0000000000000ooooooooo

Shandra found herself fallen on her knees in a small chamber, crowned with a high dome, utterly disoriented, her vision blurred, her thoughts a jumble and her hand stinging. Gods damn her grandfather, you had to warn people before you did something like that. Now she was alone in this place…had Phaedra and the others even made it inside? Or was she trapped, and alone? Childish panic gripped her back, like a parasite clinging to her spine, but she fought it off, breathing deeply to calm her pounding heart and glancing around her. Gods, she was definitely not alone! Reeling back, she staggered away from the figure in the middle of the room.

"And just when I was growing tired of the Jerro blood, a new vein appears" The figure noted in a languid drawl. Shandra quickly stumbled to her feet, drawing her sword, thoroughly terrified. She, for it had the loose form of a woman, only laughed, loose and throaty. She stood taller than Shandra by a head, and Shandra was already a tall woman and most extraordinarily stretching behind her back were two great wings, unfurled as if she were about to take flight, and gently beating the air once, twice…as if in time with a slow heartbeat. They were both magnificent and monstrous, feathered and pitch black from tip to tip, like a crow…no not like a crow, for they were oily and oozing, as if they had been stained this colour. Her hair was black as well, thick and darkly coiling down to her bony shoulders, but her eyes were an unnatural purple, and sharp, like the eyes of a bird of prey. They were set in a sharp, pinched face that was utterly colourless, almost silvery in the uncertain light that seeped into the room from somewhere else, and etched into her cheek was a pattern of unfurling spirals, like a tattoo that ran down to her chest and vanished beneath her black leather armour. Well you could hardly call it armour, for it covered so little of her, and that cold, unappealing flesh with its greyish tone was nearly bared about her shoulders, stomach and legs. She remembered what Casavir had called these things…back when they had attacked in Tavorick's Estate, Erinyes. What in the name of the Gods was such a foul thing doing here, in her grandfather's Haven?

"Where am I?" Shandra demanded. "What are you?"

"I am Hepzebel, little dove" The creature smiled, a slightly obscene smile as if it saw something that it coveted in Shandra. But then Shandra noticed the circle traced around its feet, aglow with runic fire. This thing, this monster, was caged, she breathed a sigh of relief. But she didn't lower her sword, you could never be sure. And there were still questions, how had it got here? Who had come to her grandfather's Haven and bound a devil here? She thought she might know the answer already, and her heart sank in her chest, thinking of that awful scene in the Moonstone Mask. "And you are in the Haven of your ancestor" Hepzebel continued, immune to her despair. "But I imagine you already knew that."

"My friends, do you know where they are?" Shandra asked, aware that tangling with such a creature was a danger but knowing she had to find Phaedra and the rest. They were in danger, they all were. Without her, Gods knew how the Haven would react to them.

"Around no doubt" Hepzebel shrugged, helpful. Clearly she didn't care at all. "Probably not having as easy time as you are, I expect" Gods don't say that, anything but that.

"I need to find them" Shandra glanced around her, there didn't seem to be any doors out of here. Hells!

"Well why not try the way you got here?" Hepzebel smiled indulgently. "Set your will on it, imagine yourself travelling elsewhere in the Haven and see what happens…"

"Wait, I can do that?" Shandra wheeled on her.

"My dear, this entire haven is tied to the Jerro bloodline" Hebzebel said. "You reached here from outside, did you not?"

"So I can re-join my friends?" Shandra lit up, but somehow she knew it wouldn't be that easy.

"Eventually... yes. It may require some practice." Hepzebel nodded languidly. "You'll find travel here somewhat erratic. This Haven has many locks and seals, their power drawn from the demons and devils caged here. Finding the right path may take time." She smiled again, and it was a predator's smile. "Go on, my dear, give it a try" She'd lose nothing by doing it, she supposed, and frankly…she didn't really want to spend another second trapped in this tiny room with the unnerving Hepzebel. Closing her eyes, and clamping her fists at her side, the wound in her palm flaring up with pain as she did so, she forced all her thoughts to focus on getting out of this room, on moving somewhere else in the Haven. The magic rose around her, with the warmth of fire, and the slight acrid smell of blood, she saw a red glow behind her eyelids, and then everything dissolved in a flash of white. The last thing she heard was Hepzebel's languorous voice. "And so the chase begins."

Oooooooo00000000000000oooooo oooooo

Without a doubt, this place, this so-called Haven, was the closest Casavir had ever come to walking the Hells even with all his years wasted in the carnage of the battlefield. He felt the evil of the place taint the very atmosphere, pulsing in the walls like a diseased heartbeat, and heard what seemed to be obscene whispers stirring in the cool air. The influence of the foul creatures bound here pressed in on him, he felt it just beyond the darkness as if their passage was watched, appraised…and perhaps even manipulated. Nothing would surprise him, after the deceitful tricks played by that foul devil Mephasm, masquerading with his fine words of truth, as if his kind knew anything of the truth proper to the divine alone. On edge, Casavir distrusted everything he saw in front of him. The dark passageway down which they were travelling seemed endless, its vaulted ceiling leading ever onwards and onwards beyond Sand's feeble light spell. They walked on in silence in the half-lit darkness, and time itself seemed to stretch as they did, minute after minute measured only by their footsteps. But for Shandra's sake he pressed on, uncomplaining, though he wished he could somehow get the more vulnerable members of the group out of this hellish labyrinth, Elanee especially was in no fit state to face the temptations of devils and demons. But nor was Shandra, not alone. He tried to untangle duty and guilt, the poor girl had come to him that night and begged him for something he could not give her…he regretted it deeply. He regretted not seeing it sooner and dissuading her before it came to that stage. Now she was in danger, and he felt responsible. What if the demons here crept into her soul using the devastation he'd sowed in her heart? The idea was unthinkable. Shandra was a strong-willed and able young woman, he prayed agonisingly that that would be enough.

"Ah…" Neeshka hissed suddenly. "Something's coming." Phaedra nodded tightly, closing her eyes for a second…she sensed it too. Casavir clutched his warhammer close, more demons.

"Shall we shed a little more light on things?" Sand quipped, no doubt thinking he sounded clever. There was nothing less amusing in this place, at this time, but the wizard did raise his hands, and suddenly the whole corridor was ablaze with a tremendous light. Instantly a shriek arose from the flock of flailing wings and claws exploding out of the shadows, they were imps, dozens of imps, swarming like insects, and they were racing towards the party in a ravenous fury down the corridor. Casavir hefted his shield, he'd expected far worse, though fighting so many in these cramped corridors was not going to be ideal….he scanned the area, trying to see where best to situate himself to protect those best suited to combat from afar, Phaedra, Elanee, even Sand, even Bishop. As a warrior he could not afford to let personal bias affect his strategy, as a paladin his protection was due to all, sinner and innocent alike. But Bishop, of course, was having none of that. The ranger stepped forward, purposefully blocking Casavir and priming his bow as the imps swarmed closer, letting out an unholy din.

"Here" Instead Phaedra glided past, as unruffled as he was, her Battle Robes with their grey silk sheen fluttering behind her. She laid a hand on Bishop's arm, and Casavir was amazed to see that her gentle touch forced even him to lower his bow, though his gaze upon her, hard and unreadable as ever, remained firm. "Let me" She said, and Bishop shrugged coolly. The imps raced down the corridor, and Phaedra raised both her hands, palms pointed outward towards them. Casavir heard and felt the rush of her power before the flames burst into life within her. With a flick of her wrists, elegant and cool as it had never been in the beginning, she sent the fire racing down the corridor on either side in two great streaks. It poured along the floor, searing, blazing, until the whole corridor burned with a hellish glow that entirely overshadowed Sand's light spell. The Haven seemed to groan in response, Casavir thought he heard something move in the walls, something fundamental shift, but he was too transfixed by the casual display of the sheer power of Phaedra's warlock abilities to truly think about it. The moment her spell in its two great plumes of Hellfire reached the imps the sheer heat roaring down the corridor was so great it burnt them all where they flew, and with the shrieks of the damned the imps disintegrated into flying cinders and ashes. Casavir stared as Phaedra lowered her hands and extinguished the flames, though the heat lingered in the corridor, glowing in the walls…he'd seen Phaedra do some extraordinary things, but she'd just slaughtered a swarm of imps with as little effort as she might slap away an insect. Even Phaedra seemed shocked at the ease of it.

"I think I'm stronger here…" Casavir heard her whisper, and he felt a shudder of unease run through him at the thought of what that meant…

"If that's the best this place can throw at us then…" Khelgar began to crow triumphantly, then suddenly the Haven gave a great, thundering lurch. Everyone staggered, the floor itself seemed to bend beneath their feet, shifting, shaking…Casavir felt a thrill of panic run through him, was this an earthquake, some diabolical trap? The roof shuddered, Elanee fell to her knees with a strangled cry and Casavir instantly staggered to her side, fighting the shuddering jerks that the walls and the floor were giving in a building crescendo. He caught Elanee by the shoulders, tried to help her up, and she collapsed into his chest, shaking like a leaf. He barely registered the subtle press of her body against his armour, the cling of her wasted arms about his neck, as he swayed almost falling again, desperately looking out to Phaedra, who had stumbled back from the front of the party and now lay, swooning, against the wall. Bishop was gripping the pilaster nearest her and holding himself up letting out volcanic curses, Khelgar was already staggering back from the others in a cluttering crash of armour, while Neeshka danced, light-footed, towards him, trying to avoid the tremors. Zhjaeve stood nearly firm just next to Casavir and Elanee, a pillar of stability that seemed to come from within. The whole Haven was giving out an unholy noise now, like engines and machines and some kind of hellish groan. Then the wall opened out behind Phaedra, slipping away in a second with the scream of stone scraping across stone. Casavir cried out, Elanee screamed, a harsh ragged violent sound, and then Phaedra fell back in a rush and a flash of fluttering grey silk. She barely let out a sound before she was gone, swallowed up in the deep blackness beyond, and then the wall began to slam closed again.

"Tyr!" The name of his God left Casavir's lips in vain, and he stumbled forward to try to leap in after his leader, his charge, but Elanee, stumbling herself, tangled with him, and the Haven gave another great lurch before he could reach the tunnel through which Phaedra had fallen. He almost fell to his knees, but, glancing up with desperation and an utter helplessness he had never quite felt before, he saw Bishop leap forward in one fluid motion and follow Phaedra down. Then the wall closed with a thundering rumble, gone…both of them, gone…

"Hells!" Neeshka cried, and Casavir, utterly desperate now, looked back to see that she, Sand and Khelgar were being dragged away by the Haven's shuddering, as the corridor in which they stood broke apart, buckling into separate sections with a great groaning scream. The segment on which Khelgar, Sand and Neeshka stood suddenly raced upward before they could say anything more, leaving stone walls racing past Casavir and Elanee and Zhjaeve as the Haven broke apart and reformed. Elanee clung to Casavir so tight that her nails must be breaking against the cold hard metal of his armour. Zhjaeve stood impassively by, her spear driven into the buckling floor to hold herself straight and firm. Casavir tried to ape her self-possession if only to hold up the dead weight that was Elanee, but the Haven gave another great shudder and they both staggered again, and then just as suddenly all was still. Slowly Casavir looked around him, dreading what he might see, though his worst fears had already been realised by the complete emptiness of the hallway. The passageway had completely realigned in the paroxysm, now the dark halls ran from off to the darkness at the right, where before they had faced forward, and behind them was nothing but another wall, ornately carved with the stone figure of a demonic creature, leering. There was no going back. What in the Gods' name had happened?

"Phaedra!" Elanee leapt from his arms, screaming out her name, and hit the wall, crazed. She pounded on it, again and again… "Phaedra!"

"She is elsewhere druidess" Zhjaeve said with infinite calm, as Casavir looked on aghast at Elanee's madness. He'd tried to guide her, calm her from this self-destructive path but she'd only grown worse, slowly sinking into a darkness Casavir could not reach. "Know that you cannot reach her in that manner."

"You!" Elanee wheeled around to Zhjaeve, hissing like a wild cat. Her eyes and her hair were wild, nails extended. "This is your fault! Bringing her here, trying to take her from us, from me, by wrapping her up in your astral mysticism…"

"Know that I have done what the Kalach-cha needs" Zhjaeve answered coolly, without emotion. "Think on your own duty to her, druidess." Elanee recoiled, and Casavir shot a glance at the Githzerei. He had never known Zhjaeve to be cruel.

"Don't call her that" Elanee whispered. "She has a name."

"Now we must find her before she puts herself in more danger." Ignoring Elanee, Zhjaeve hefted her spear, and stepped down the corridor, as if she expected to lead them onwards.

"What do you mean?" Casavir asked, chilled.

"The Haven responded the moment she used her power." Zhjaeve said softly. "There is some connection between them without a doubt."

"That was no trap, then?" Casavir breathed. He had no doubt Zhjaeve was right, it was true that the changing of the Haven had occurred just seconds after Phaedra had burned the imps. But what did it mean? How could this Haven respond to Phaedra's magic?

"Of course not" Zhjaeve answered matter-of-factly. "We are still alive" Using the end of her spear as a staff the Githzerei began to walk, fearlessly, down into the darkness. Casavir turned to Elanee.

"Are you alright?" He said quietly.

"Don't leave me" Elanee begged like a child, looking up at him with agony in her dulled green eyes. "Don't go over to her as well."

"I won't leave you" The words left Casavir's mouth before he could truly consider what they meant, what they would mean to Elanee's damaged, bruised heart. He was a paladin, he did not make vows so lightly, and yet here he had spoken so to ease this woman's pain. Yet she gave no response, only nodded tightly and moving together they followed Zhjaeve deeper into the demonic darkness of the Haven.

Ooooo00000000oooooooo

Shandra emerged from a haze of magic, coughing and spluttering, into a new room this time large and grand, but otherwise of the same gloom-laden portentous heavy architecture as Hepzebel's chamber. Her grandfather's tastes had run to the absurdly ominous it seemed. And then she saw the creature held captive here. Her jaw dropped, she instantly, automatically scurried back against the far wall, and was met only by a rumbling boom of laughter so loud it seemed to shake the room. It was twelve feet tall, at the least, as tall as her barn back home, if not taller, and the room was barely large enough to contain it, so that its vast rolling shoulders seemed to bear up against the very ceiling. It had the vague form of a man, in the sense that it had four limbs and stood upright, but its proportions were utterly wrong, hulking and brooding, with massive shoulders and a broad chest. Its two arms ended in vast fists, each of whose palm was marked, tattooed with a gleaming rune she had no desire to investigate, and its feet would have squashed her as quick as an insect, both ended in claws the size of small daggers. Its head was vicious, squashed like the head of a ravenous dog, with a reddish mane of fur that ran down onto its forehead, and a long bony vicious spine emerged from either side of its head, large enough to skewer someone. About it was an unearthly glow, that came from the runes about its palms and glimmered in the rifts and clefts of its animalistically muscled chest.

"And what is this?" The creature boomed. "A pathetic female, I see. What is the meaning of so lowly an offering?"

"What are you?" Shandra squealed. She wasn't going anywhere nearer, but she needed information, and if she had to stick her courage and face this one like she had Hepzebel she'd do it.

"It questions me, how impudent" It roared "Does it not know me to be a balor most mighty amongst the legions of the tanar'ri?" It too was bound by that absurdly fragile circle of glowing runes that Shandra had no desire to test. "Baalbisan is my name, know and fear it, little thing."

"Shandra Jerro" She answered, then bit her tongue, cursing her in-built impulse to politeness. Best not to reveal anything about herself to these…things. It showed no surprise at the name, as much as she could read that alien face at all, most likely it already knew her, as Hepzebel had.

"And how did it get here?" It…well he probably, asked. You couldn't tell.

"I'm not sure" Shandra admitted. "A devil told me I could travel anywhere in this place…and then…I was here."

"Blood powers this place" Baalbisan remarked. "But now it is here and the balance shifts."

"What balance?" Shandra asked.

"This Haven is powered, charged as you will, by the presence of the tanar'ri and baatazu who are chained here, all mighty, even that simpering baatazu bitch Hepzebel you came here from, though none as mighty as I." Baalbisan explained. "The power I and my fellow captives emit is what permits it to travel as it has, and it is what gives strength to the one who commands us all."

"And who is that?" Shandra charged.

"A most powerful warlock" Baalbisan hissed. "One whom it has hunted for some time, yes? For I sense the intent upon it, the long hunt, he has thrawted it's efforts time and time again." The demon reared up. Shandra was thoroughly unnerved at the thought that it could sense her intent, and stayed silent. "He is lord and king of this place" Baalbisan continued. "One forever linked to shadow. I think his name is already known to it, is it not?"

"The King of Shadows is here?" Shandra gasped. Just as she'd suspected…that was the only reason there were demons and devils here at all. He must have taken over this place, defiled her grandfather's learning, his home, with all this reek of demons…that made her mad. "Then he better be prepared for a beating" She snapped. "My friends have handled far worse."

"Worse?" Chillingly Baalbisan burst into laughter, and Shandra quailed again. The sound shook the whole room. "Not worse than this. As long as we remain in our summoning circles, the one who commands us will rise from every defeat anew, more powerful than before."

"He can't be unbeatable, there has to be some way I can reach him, or my friends" Shandra gasped, aware it sounded like pleading and there was no pity to be found here but if she could wring something, some speck of information from these callous fiends…

"He does not entertain guests" Baalbisan shook his massive, horned head. Just like Hebzebel, utterly unhelpful. She'd find a way. "His control of this place surpasses anything it can muster. I doubt he even knows it or its friends are even here at all, such insignificant specks they are."

"Well then I'll get his attention somehow" Shandra shook her head. This was her Haven, her family's Haven…King of Shadows or not, he had no right to do this, and she was not about to let some jumped-up demon tell her what she could or couldn't do here. He might be a warlock, this King of Shadows, but Phaedra was one too, and Shandra was heir to this Haven. If she could just work out how to control it, she'd use it against him.

"Oh, it could try." Baalbisan shrugged his massive shoulders. "But I am certain his energies will soon be consumed with murdering its friends. And after that, he will no doubt crush it beneath his heel as an afterthought. "

"He's not stopping them" Shandra vowed. She was sick of this demon. "And he's not going to get me"

"And its plan?" Baalbisan grinned, showing those massive teeth.

"I'll think of something" Shandra answered, and closed her eyes. Time to get out of here, away from this Baalbisan and his pretensions, and see where her grandfather's Haven took her next. So far she'd had some answers, not the ones she needed, but maybe those were to come next. She couldn't help but feel like something was guiding these 'jumps' of her's from place to place, maybe even her grandfather's spirit, what remained of it in these now haunted halls. She'd do him proud, she promised herself. But Baalbisan's last words as she summoned her will to bear, reaching for the power of the Haven, chilled her to the heart.

"Spoken as if time will wait for it" She heard the demon's rumbling voice as the magic of the Haven rose about her with that familiar bloody tang. "Time will not."

Oooooooooooo0000000000000ooo ooooooo

"Fiendling, we are going the wrong way." Khelgar scowled up at Neeshka combatively, his face flushed, from ale or frustration, it was hard to tell. "We should have taken the right back there, that would have led us straight back down to wherever in the Hells the paladin the druidess and that Githzerei ended up."

"Exactly" She scowled right back. "You have no idea where they ended up. I say we go forward, there's definitely something at the end of this corridor. I sensed it from the moment we walked in" For once her baatezu blood was actually doing something rather useful, plus she got to sound all mystical and knowing, speaking of 'knowing things' and 'feeling things'. It annoyed Khelgar no end. They'd wandered these corridors since they'd been unceremoniously deposited by the racing block of the Haven that had carted them up here, just the two of them. Considering the circumstances, at least she was stuck with Khelgar.

"How helpful" Sand noted acidly. And there was the downside. How come Sand's supposed charm, that oily duplicitousness, vanished so soon the moment Phaedra was out of earshot?

"Funnily enough, everywhere else your sense just seemed to lead us straight to filthy demons, fiendling" The dwarf grunted, ignoring Sand. Neeshka tried to do the same. "So maybe let's not follow it this time."

"Don't you want to fight fiends again, stumpy?" Neeshka teased. "Or are we all a little too much for the mighty Khelgar Ironfist?"

"Watch it tiefling" Khelgar shook his head. "I could beat any of your kind, half-demon, full-demon, quarter-devil…whatever foul fiends they throw at me, I'll knock 'em right back."

"Mystra save me" Sand grimaced, his voice reeking with disdain. "If I'm stuck here in this wretched place a second longer…"

"Then let's get a move on" Neeshka grinned. "Don't want to keep them waiting now do we?" She turned back, looked down the corridor, there was another open door, and she paused, letting the smile fade as she knew Khelgar was no longer looking. She knew something was waiting behind there, and a part of her wasn't sure she wanted to go in. They might be ambushed, or worse…she might be faced by another Mephasm, with his knowing words…that suggested things that troubled her, things she didn't want to think about. Her fiend ancestry was just something she'd accepted long ago and she was fine with that as it was. As far as she'd concerned she'd come from nowhere, she needed no one. She didn't want to confront it anymore. But…the others were out here somewhere, and Bishop had leapt into the dark after Phaedra. She couldn't leave things like that, even if it meant facing another nightmare. Taking a deep breath, she padded along to the door and Khelgar followed her, with Sand rounding up the back. The smell struck her first, it was acrid and vile, and Neeshka instantly pinched her nose, coughing and spluttering with disgust. Khelgar didn't seem affected, but he'd spent his nights in sewers outside ale houses. Sand on the other hand was turning a delightful shade of green, drawing his over-large beaky nose back as if he could swallow it, his eyes popping. They stepped from the corridor into a putrid hell. The floor was slimy, glinting with the sheen of corruption, and streams of waste and greenish goo ran down the walls. There was something soft and unpleasant, like a mould under every step, and the air was a humid tumult of greenish mist, making seeing anything quite difficult. Neeshka gulped…what kind of demon or devil had dreamt this place up? And then she had her answer…

"You!" The hezrou demon squatted in the midst of the foul vapours, as hulking, grey and slick with filth as ever. "You! Zaxis can't guess how you made it in here"

"Oh by the gods, not this idiot again." Neeshka rolled her eyes. She'd expected something challenging, last time she'd talked this jumped-up tanar'ri down, now he was caught behind the cage of his runic circle. Pathetic…

"How dare you speak to Zaxis that way!" It raged "Zaxis will smear you into a bloody paste with his hands, he will tear y-"

"Yeah" Neeshka shrugged. "In case you hadn't noticed you're actually caught behind a summoning circle…so…sorry about that."

"You just wait. The Master will come and crush you, then give your remains to Zaxis to feast on" The demon seethed. "But Zaxis doesn't want to wait for Master…" The creature let out a hiss, like a serpant, its long tongue rolling in its throat…and suddenly the clouds of filthy vapours began to billow about it, parting slowly to reveal two more Hezrou demons, identical except that they were slightly smaller than their leader, not that it made much difference when they were looming over Neeshka and Khelgar, and when they were definitely not bound by any summoning circle. She suddenly regretted getting Zaxis mad. Hells, she didn't know that, when bound, it could still summon friends here. That just wasn't fair.

"Err…" Neeshka stepped back, shooting a glance at Khelgar, who not very encouragingly was adjusting the Ironfist Gauntlets on his hands as if he was about to fight. "Khelgar…I think we should be running." Sand was already trying his luck, heading right for the door without a look backwards.

"From these filthy, stinking wretches, never!" Khelgar spat. "I'm a monk of Tyr, not some lily-livered coward." That was…not ideal. Neeshka glanced around her for the door, but the mists had grown thick and foul about them, so that the way out did not seem obvious any more. Sand had vanished, he'd done the smart thing, trust him to do that. Then her gaze fell on Khelgar again, standing firm, despite being so little and squat. Could she really run away, could she really abandon foolish, brave Khelgar even if he was standing against these two beasts? Cursing herself, and this new tenderness, she drew both her swords and stood by him. She wasn't about to run away from the dwarf no matter how crazy facing two hezrous with just these puny blades was. She couldn't let him get all the glory for beating them, it would inflate his ego even more. "That's my lass" Khelgar grinned, Gods he was crazy. But he was her friend. "Let's beat these whelps back to the pit that spawned them." The two hezrous lumbered towards them, as Zaxis grinned it's wide, greedy grin, and Neeshka muttered a prayer to Lady Luck. She'd need every ounce of her luck to survive this. Then suddenly the Haven gave another great groan, and Neeshka looked up to the shaking ceiling, suddenly breaking through the mists and rumbling deep within its stonework…Hells it was another one of those earthquakes when the whole place went crazy. She was just about to step back, fighting Hezrou was all well and good but not earthquakes, and then suddenly the floor gave way beneath her feet. She let out a squeal, falling back into blackness. "Hey I wanted to fight!" Khelgar roared as he fell with her. Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods…Neeshka screamed the whole way down the shaft, was she really going to die with nothing but a smelly dwarf screaming about fighting and reeking of ale next to her, and she'd never even told Bishop that she deserved better from him, and so did Phaedra. She was tumbling, falling every which way, and then suddenly they were plunged into thick, pitch-dark water which hit Neeshka with a force of pure icy cold. Gasping, spluttering, aching all over, she reached for the surface, dragging the thrashing Khelgar, who could not swim, as she did. With a gasp, she broke the surface, shaking water from her hair, her eyes, everywhere. They were in some kind of cistern, or well, or refuge dump. The water smelt foul. But there were steps out of it, slimy with moss and damp, and they led up to a door…an escape route. Oh thank Tymora. Breathing heavily, as Khelgar cursed and spluttered in the water next to her, she kissed her coin, the lucky amulet from Tymora about her neck, staggered that she was still alive. Maybe she did still have a bit of luck after all.

Ooooo00000000000oooooooooooo 

Phaedra felt her way along the walls of the pitch-dark corridor, fighting to keep panic at bay and stumbling on the jagged paving stones under foot. She was alone in this damned, godforsaken place, this so-called Haven and the rest of the party were heavens alone know where in these dark corridors above, below, all around. Sometimes she thought she heard footsteps, voices, just ahead, or just beyond the next wall…but to chase them had led nowhere except deeper into the darkness of this hole. They were nothing but cruel games, more cruel tricks. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Had she not been vigilant enough? First Shandra had vanished, now she was caught out, alone. She thought she'd heard someone leap into the shaft after her but something had happened, the tunnel had divided or fallen away and she'd been deposited alone in a singularly undignified heap amongst a pile of what alarmingly had seemed to be bones. Without stopping to check, she'd fled into the labyrinth in a panic, only to find herself hopelessly and utterly lost within these dim passages. She'd tried to make a light spell earlier, only to suffer yet another violent lurch from the Haven, the whole corridor had trembled and shaken as it rearranged itself once again. Thankfully she'd held steady on her path this time, but only whatever crazed mind had designed this place could tell what that shifting had done elsewhere. She prayed her friends were alright. Were they, like her, struggling in the dark, feeling the walls and ceiling of the Haven close in around them, sealing them in? This place seemed endless, dark and constricting, and now she knew it could move she wondered, madly, if she might in fact simply be retracing her steps endlessly over and over again. Would she sink into the darkness and be lost, like West Harbour?

Then she saw light ahead, light, blessed as salvation. She let out a gasp, shocked by just how dark her thoughts had grown…and ran for it, stumbling through an open archway and into yet another impossible scene. Her feet rang on marble, and she looked around herself to see she was suddenly standing in the midst of a great colonnaded hallway, all crafted in the same materials as had made the Haven. Statues lined the hall, eerie things, seeming human from one view, then growing more and more unsettlingly not as you looked upon them further. They did not speak well for Ammon Jerro's taste. And yet…where had that light come from?

"Well aren't you a delightful little thing?" An echoing voice boomed suddenly through the blasted hall. Phaedra spun around to see something that had stepped straight from a nightmare, or from one of those dreadful depictions of the Hells standing just a few metres behind her where seconds ago there had been nothing…staggering back she gasped, shuddering with horror. It was a demon, no a devil…that was clear. It loomed taller than Zaxis or any other fiend she'd seen before, but was less bulky, its body was that of a smoothly muscular man except its skin rippled with scales and was the colour of a dull fire. Two enormous bat-like wings unfurled from those rolling shoulders with dreadful majesty as she stared up at it, and it laughed, a great, booming laugh that filled the hall with an unnatural reverberation. Those wings were awful things, skin stretched between ribs of bone, and adorned with spikes at each tip. Its hands too were clawed at each long finger that stroked the air with a curiously obscene possessiveness. From behind it a long, snake-like tail sinuously curled and uncurled with a similar gross indecency. But worst of all was the head and that face. Its head was the snout of some ghastly reptile, long and elongated, and adorned with further spines to complete the grotesquerie, two thick tusks from either side of its head, and two more to crown that monstrous skull, whose forehead was ridged with sculpted bone, like a boar. Yet its eyes were intelligent, devious and foul…they devoured her as they looked upon her, cold and yet infinitely desirous. They burned with an inner fire, yellow and hot. It was matched only by the fires that burned about its whole body, flames drenched it from head to toe, dancing upon that slick scaly skin, playing upon its horns and claws, furling and unfurling everywhere in blazing ecstasy, so that sparks showered from it in a constant rain. "It's been so long" The creature went on, once it had stopped laughing at Phaedra's open horror. "I've missed your world's treasures." It lowered itself slightly, bending towards her and she stepped back again, unconsciously, only to see that it, like Mephasm, was bound behind a summoning circle. It could do no bodily harm, it's words on the other hand were still deadly. "And who are you, sweet child?" The devil asked. "Speak, tell Koroboros your name."

"I am Phaedra Blake" She answered, suppressing her fear. What little she knew, this was a powerful devil, maybe more powerful than Mephasm, after all it had not hid its true nature…unless that bespoke its lack of subtlety. She had to face it with courage. Even though its demeanour suggested very strongly that it already had known her name, as much as Mephasm had, and that disturbed her. Curse these fiends and their preternatural awareness. These devils were definitely the worst. "What are you?"

"I am a Pit Fiend, my dear little snowdrop, a commander of the baatazu" It answered, and she felt an incongruous rush of annoyance that, having asked her name, it was still using bland yet vaguely threatening endearments. "My name is Koraboros."

"And I suppose you have some temptation to offer" She noted blithely, partly as a consequence of that very unsuitable pique, partly to disguise her very suitable fear. "Something unspeakable to delight and enthral no doubt…"

"Ha!" He, well it was a he, because he was naked apart from the fires that clothed him in dreadful awe and had been, it seemed, trying to charm her since the moment she'd walked in, laughed again. "You've met some of my fellow prisoners then? Blooden, perhaps?"

"Who's that?" Phaedra asked, though she was not sure she wanted to know, really.

"Oh you have not yet met her?" He shrugged, almost disappointed. "Blooden the Breeder, mistress of whatever foul works the Abyss churns up next…an admirer of mine, despite our different allegiances. One of your amusing companions will meet her soon enough. I'm sure it will be…instructive…" He grinned, showing razor-sharp teeth. Perhaps he admired her too.

"You know of my companions?" Phaedra gasped. "Where are they? Can I reach them?"

"They scurry this way and that" Koraboros spread his arms, opening each clawed hand as if to demonstrate the point. "Like rats in a sewer. But let us talk of more interesting things than they, my charming rosebud, there is so much to discuss."

"Forgive me if I'm in no rush to indulge your perversity" She snapped, annoyed again. "I need to find them, and if you're not going to help me then I have no interest in parlaying with devils."

"Perversity?" Again he roared with laughter. "I'll admit I've been bad sometimes. I find your world has such delightful flowers, that I occasionally pluck one down to me…but perversity, nay. There are pleasures in the Hells as well as pain." She shuddered, stepping back again. There was no way she was talking to this depraved creature any longer. She'd find her own way out of the Haven to her friends, if she had to claw or blast her way out of the darkness. "Now, what did I so wish to tell you?" He tapped his chin in a caricature of thoughtfulness. "Oh yes…there's someone I'd like you to meet, my darling. One little flower I took hold of long ago, whom I've since tired of, but whom I think you in particular will find…interesting." Despite herself Phaedra stopped dead. What could he mean? "Our Master may be an irritating prig, but he does allow us our amusements on occasion" The creature leered, positively leered, and spread his claws, and somehow the haze of the great hallway grew deeper, more insistent, so that Phaedra wasn't sure what she was seeing anymore…that nightmare of a colonnaded hall, or…a great darkness, or fire dancing before her eyes. And then she stood before Phaedra, between her and the looming devil, a woman…naked, and glassy-eyed, surrounded by a haze of infernal magic. Phaedra stepped back again, no…no…and stumbled, falling to her knees before this new horror, her thoughts were a roar of disbelief. The woman…this woman…she had to be an illusion, some trick…some other foul trick. This woman…was utterly identical to the portrait in her room back in the keep, almost identical to herself, her mother, Esmerelle the Black. She was more beautiful in person than even the portrait had shown, her hair a shower of gold down to her waist, her skin the colour of ripened corn. Thin, with the crystalline bone structure of an elf, her mother's flesh crawled with the dark emanations of the Hells, her presence was somewhat muted, glassy and uncertain. She did not see Phaedra, she did not seem to see anything, her eyes were wide open and unfocused. "Ah, so you do know her" Koraboros savoured her utter distress. "I thought you might. She bartered herself to us with her lover, and gave up her soul in exchange for the power they needed…and I claimed it when she was killed. But in the end it turned out she was not what I had hoped, she was too defiant and stubborn, even after years of torment and somehow she would not breed the spawn I'd hoped to sire in her womb. I often wondered why I had bothered, as I tossed her soul to my captains again and again to use as they willed."

"Gods…" Phaedra sobbed as she clawed at the floor in agony at the thought of what Korboros meant. "No, not this….oh mother…" Her mother in the Hells…brood mare to devils…even though she had never met Esmerelle truly, the thought was still unendurable, and facing up to Esmerelle's ghastly image at last, what she'd always prayed for her whole life, but in these circumstances, hearing of Esmerelle's agony… "But she was pledged to Sehanine, to the Moon Goddess" She looked up into the leering face of the Pit Fiend, but she knew pleading was nothing, not against Hells unholy writ.

"She was a bit naughty, weren't you, my golden sunflower, my Esmerelle?" Koraboros grinned, drawing his hand above Esmerelle's head, clasping her hair between his claws, toying within the golden strands. Esmerelle was still oblivious, unmoving. "Her little bargain took precedence over her faith, no matter how she tried to flee to tiny villages and forget herself and us. The Hells have their sovereignty, not even the Seldarine can stand against us on the matter of a soul already damned."

"This is a trick, a ruse" Phaedra staggered back towards the door, dragging her knees along the hard marble, trying to flee the ghastly image, the ghastly words of Koraboros but somehow she could not leave her mother, not even this terrible shade of her mother's presence. "It has to be…"

"You offend me, little spring blossom" Koraboros shook his massive head. "Not wise at all." He drew his hand back from Esmerelle's head, and suddenly her mother was screaming out in agony, and the flames of Korboros rose about her in a searing torment. Phaedra screamed with her, a harsh ragged sound that seared her throat as it came, she felt every burn in her own heart, as if she and her mother were linked by more than blood, by the bond that she had always craved with someone, something…but which had never come.

"Mother!" She howled. "Stop, please, stop…!"

"Ah very well" Korboros shrugged. "I never could say no to such a beauty." He snapped his claws and the fires gave way. "And just to prove that this is no trick…" Her mother fell, suddenly lucid, to the floor, clasping and unclasping her hands, her long golden hair shimmering as it ran down her back like the flow of blood, and gasping, though no breath seemed to come to her lungs. Slowly she looked up, and Phaedra was both overjoyed and appalled to see awareness in her mother's lucent green eyes, and those eyes upon her.

"No, it cannot be." Her mother whispered, and somehow Phaedra knew that voice, knew it deeper than the heart, deeper than the soul. It was a thing of beauty, lilting and melodious, made for song, deeper than Phaedra's voice, and richer, with the pure precision of a noble accent. "Is this some trick? Do the Hells taunt me again?"

"No trick mother" Phaedra sobbed. "I'm here, I'm really here"

"My daughter…Phaedra…" Esmerelle looked at her like she was a ghost, those hard emerald eyes appraised her half-cautiously, half-wondrously.

"Mother" Phaedra whimpered, that single longed-for word cracking with sobs. How she had longed for this…every day, no matter how joyous, had been empty without that word, every sorrow that much deeper without this woman to share it with. All her life…she had this hole in the very core of herself…and now, she faced her mother across the floor of a diabolical Haven, and the devil above them both laid claim to her soul, and yet she forgot it all, and wept to see her mother at last. "Oh Mother…"

"You've grown as fast as a human" Weakness floated in her mother's crystalline eyes. "You're beautiful, my daughter. You do not favour your father, thank Sehanine"

"I've missed you so much" Phaedra gasped, staggering along the floor towards her mother, arms outstretched to hold her mother at last. Esmerelle stumbled to meet her, and then shock and a sudden horror crossed her lovely face.

"Wait…?" She looked fierce, fierce and terrible, suddenly, like a wild lynx sensing danger to her young. "Where are you? Is this…Jerro's Haven?" Phaedra stopped short, aghast. "Daughter you are in terrible danger, you must leave this place at once before…"

"And that's enough of that" Koraboros snarled and Esmerelle fell back, gasping with pain again, though this time she bit into her lips not to scream, her whole body tight with tension as she fought the agony of the fire that raked her. "We'll play nice, or not at all."

"Stop!" Phaedra screamed, and flung herself at Koraboros. He turned to meet her, his lips spreading back in an obscene grin.

"No!" Esmerelle screamed through the rictus of pain. "Don't come near him Phaedra" Instantly Phaedra stopped dead, skidding on the marble floor and scraping her knees, and Koraboros gave a thrwated roar, spreading his long claws and dragging Esmerelle back towards him with a force of infernal magic, out of any hope of Phaedra's reach, until she dangled by his side in the air, naked and helpless. Her features were mutinous, but whatever words she had seemed strangled by the force with which Korboros held her in place.

"She'll pay for that" Koraboros turned again to Phaedra, no more the oily charmer, his features burned with rage. "She'll pay for it for an eternity, in my grasp and in the fires of the Hells. She'll undergo pain your mortal senses cannot imagine. I can make a symphony of her agony." He clicked his claws, and Esmerelle was wrapped in fire again. She screamed, and Phaedra screamed with her, falling to her knees again, hopeless, as the flames licked Esmerelle's defenceless flesh, and this time…to her horror, they actually began to consume her. As Phaedra sat there before the devil and her mother, she could not look away as she watched her mother's flesh melt and char with the incredible heat, her long hair going up in smoke in an instant. Esmerelle's scream became a ragged wail, as her tongue, her lips, burnt away, the skin dripping off in melted drops of heat. Still she screamed, even as her bones charred, her bare skull turning black in the terrible flames. "Her soul is mine!" Korboros bellowed as Phaedra shrieked in agony before her mother's disintergration. "Mine to do with as I will! I can make her the lowliest thing in the Hells" Her mother's bones and ashes fell to the floor, and she seemed to see the soul of her mother reconstructed as a sightless monstrosity, a groping lump of flesh. But still Esmerelle screamed. Phaedra howled again, mother, oh beautiful mother… "Or I can use her beauty" He snapped his fingers again, and Esmerelle was whole once more, stunning and radiant as she had been in life, but still clenched tight with pain too great to bear. "Sell her to the most depraved creatures of Baator to use as they wish…"

"Stop!" Phaedra wailed. "I'll do anything…please…I'll do anything…"

"That's more like it" Koraboros suddenly stopped, his voice again that urbane enticement, his features blandly smiling, and lowered Esmerelle to the floor again, freeing her from the agony he had inflicted. Her mother's eyes were on Phaedra, desperately trying to say something, a warning her throat could not speak. But Phaedra had to ignore her, had to look up at Koraboros, had to find some way to win her mother's freedom, even if it was to risk herself, to bargain with the Hells. She ignored the voice of Casavir in her mind, ignored every warning she had ever heard about the devils, ignored even her own sure knowledge that Koraboros had put that display on simply to get her to this stage. Her mother needed her. "So…" Koraboros leaned in. "What could such a little flower as you give to so mighty a devil as I?"

"You free her…I find a way to free you from this summoning circle" Phaedra offered desperately. Her voice came out a ragged croak, her throat dry and rough from the screaming. "I'm here to fight your master, the King of Shadows. I can kill him, I can free you."

"Not good enough, I'm afraid." Koraboros shrugged. "A direct strike at the master will be suicidal for so delicate a thing as you…which will mean I gain nothing and you destroy yourself for nothing"

"I'm not delicate" Phaedra hissed. "My mother's resisted you this long, I'm from the same stock as her."

"Not entirely" Koraboros answered flatly. "You are far more interesting." His eyes narrowed, as if he was considering, but Phaedra knew he'd known exactly what he wanted from the start. She prayed it was something she could afford to pay, then felt an agonising lurch as she realised that no righteous God like Lathander would ever permit tracking with devils. Her mother's state was proof enough of that. "How about I set your mother free, completely and utterly free, to join her Goddess in the airy skies of Arvandor…?" Koraboros offered, and Phaedra looked up hopefully. "And all you have to do in return is give me one little token, one simple, tiny thing…a single drop of your blood" She blinked…it was simple and tiny, far too simple, which meant a drop of her blood would probably mean a lot more to Koraboros than it appeared. She could not imagine what exactly it meant, but she could deal with that afterwards. She had to free her mother.

"Free my mother first" Phaedra demanded. Esmerelle was frantically shaking her head, but Phaedra tearfully ignored her. This risk was her own, and she would pay it.

"Not a chance, sweet lily" Koraboros shook his head. "You mortals are duplicitous. But we baatazu are bound by the contracts we make. We are not tanar'ri to dishonour our sacred word, the word of Baator. Believe me, my superiors would not allow that. You give me the drop of blood, and I am obliged to free her. So you go first." As much as she hated it, everything she knew about devils told her he was right. They honoured their contracts, even if, as was obviously going on here, the contract had depths the mortal signatory had not suspected. But what choice did she have? Slowly she reached for her the arrows in her quiver and drew a single one out. She stared blankly at the point of the blade…could she really do this? "It is no small thing to be consort to a Pit Fiend, my beauteous pale bloom" Koraboros murmured as he watched her, with a rough note of seduction and she looked up at him in horror. "Consider giving yourself to me willingly."

"Stick to the original contract" Phaedra demanded disgustedly.

"Pity" Koraboros answered. "Still, it makes the hunt a more delicious thing." She shuddered again, poised with the arrow to her finger. The smile of the devil grew wider, more openly licentious…he knew he had her in a bind, her voiceless mother was beside him, shaking her head wildly, her eyes wilder still, but Phaedra was hypnotised by the devil's burning gaze. She pricked her finger, a moment's sting, and felt blood well up from the nick upon the tip. Koraboros' tongue darted over his long, sharp teeth greedily, and he reached forward, as far as the circle allowed him, his clawed fingers clicking together with impatience. "Give me your blood, sweet rose, and all your mother's torments cease." He hissed. Slowly, she reached forward towards that massive clawed hand, her finger with the welling pool of blood at its tip, shocking crimson against the pallor of her flesh, it poured down her finger, along her hand in a great streak of scarlet. Her hand hovered in the air, the silk of her Battle Robe's sleeves falling in a shimmering waterfall down her arm. "Hurry" Koraboros barked. "Hurry" Startled, she reached forward again, straining to reach his hand, and at the moment just before her fingers brushed the tips of his claws…something hit her with the force of a catapult, and she was sent sprawling under the weight of…Bishop? Her head slammed against the marble floor, she gasped out, winded, and looked up with blurring eyes into Bishop's face as he held her shoulders down upon the stone floor, rearing up above her.

"What in the Hells are you doing?" He snarled.

"How dare you interfere, mortal!" Koraboros raged, and she glanced behind Bishop to see the Pit Fiend sulpherously blazing with a greater, darker flame behind him, and her mother's soul withdrawing sadly back into the smog surrounding him.

"Mother!" She screamed, struggling under Bishop's body to reach her, to save her.

"Do not give up your soul for my sake" Esmerelle whispered, and somehow even then her merest murmur reached Phaedra's ears. "I fought too hard to save you from this fate…" And then she was gone, melting away like ice, and Phaedra fell still under Bishop, letting out a desolate wail…too late, all too late.

"I'll burn the flesh from your bones for this betrayal" Koraboros roared. "We had a bargain…" Fire blazed upwards across her vision, and the hallway dissolved in flames, hot, greedy and rapacious as Koraboros himself. Bishop gathered her up like a sack, throwing her helplessly over his shoulder, and he sprinted away with a lupine leap, as the room and Koraboros himself fell away into a roaring inferno. The devil was a looming shadow amidst the firestorm, and she saw his eyes blazing upon her. "This is not the end" His voice boomed with the crackling of the flames. "Baator has marked your family, your bloodline is ours." Then Bishop leapt from the room, passing through a rush of heat and of fire as he did, and suddenly they were free, away from the heavy weight of Koraboros' malevolent baleful influence, and even the blaze of his fires faded behind them as the archway through which they'd passed dimmed and went dull, falling back into the gelid shadows of the Haven. Phaedra, coughing and spluttering, was unceremoniously dumped back on the stone paving by Bishop and he looked down at her with a cynical gaze, his chest heaving as he breathed in heavily.

"Should I even ask what in the Hells that was?" He said sardonically.

"My mother…" Phaedra sobbed weakly…but then she fell silent. Whatever Koraboros had wanted from her, really, whatever her blood might have given him, it was too late. Her mother was back in his power. What revenge he might take for her escape…her mind retreated from the possibilities. "We have to find the others, and Shandra" She pushed herself up, standing unsteadily, keeping her voice as calm as she could. It still rasped, as if her throat had been burned by her frantic screaming. "We have to get to the King of Shadows and stop him, right here, right now." That was the only way she had now to free her mother. To get to this master of demons and devils, to make him force Koroboros to free Esmerelle whatever that took, however much pain she had to inflict on him. She quailed for a second, considering that she was actually thinking of torturing someone. Oh the irony,that she was standing with Bishop who she had once quailed from and pushed away because his hands were stained with the blood of tortured Luskans. As it turned out, it was like he'd said all along…they really weren't all that different from each other after all.

Oooooooo00000000000000oooooo oooooo

Again Shandra emerged…somewhere, another dark room, but this time she felt less dizzy and less spluttery…she was getting used to this. The shadows here were darker, somehow more intimate…and there was an odd warmth to the air, a hazy kind of lustre. It made Shandra feel…dazed, blurred, as if she could simply lay down her head and give in to the hum of pleasure. But she forced herself to focus, turned to look around, and found herself facing yet another demon, another female one this time, obviously female, all too obviously. She had haunting features, a long knife-like nose, cheekbones sharp enough to cut, but deep red lips so dark and full as to seem almost blood-stained and instantly arresting grey eyes, sharp and pointed, like a cat's with a smoky sensuality to the downturned gaze. Her flesh had a rosy flush to it and her body, almost entirely bared by the diaphanous, practically invisible, silk wrap casually cast over the contours of her lovely slim shoulders, was enough to take Shandra's self-esteem down a peg or two. About her head her fiery red hair seemed to gleam in the half-light. But she too had wings, this time the wings of a bat, small enough to encircle her shoulders and lovingly caress her arms as she looked, with clear amusement, at Shandra. Behind her, a tail, matted at the end like that of a goat, uncoiled, serpentine, brushing the air with sensual sluggishness. She was a Succubus, Shandra knew that right away. Well she wasn't a man to be vulnerable to the obvious…but that didn't mean the demon wouldn't try its hardest to ensnare her any way it could. There were plenty of stories about these most repulsive (to women) and most fascinating (to men) creatures, and all of them told you to be utterly wary.

"What is this delightful little creature?" She murmured, a rough, low voice for a woman, rippling with disinterested languor. "I am Blooden, mistress of the Deep Coast, the breeding grounds of the Abyss, and you are?"

"Frankly running out of patience!" Shandra snapped, she was sick of demons and devils entirely, and their half-truths and that creepy way they had of talking about her and looking at her as if she was a chunk of meat. What made her so interesting to all of them anyway? "I'm trying to reach your master, and you're going to tell me how" She demanded.

"Not for you, I'm afraid, sugar-plum" The creature shrugged delicately. "Anything else? Perhaps there's something you desire, something you want which I could provide?"

"No thank you" Shandra said coldly.

"Oh but there is…something" Blooden smiled triumphantly. "A man, a paladin…" She laughed, high cold and cruel and Shandra recoiled, it was reading her like a book! "Oh my poor dear, you'd have better luck rousing feeling in a stone than one who is so Gods-burdened. He is a broken vessel, your man, and his life slowly seeps away. But I could rouse him for you, poor lamb, or give you illusions that would make you throb with pleasure…"

"Shut up!" Shandra flared up, horrified. "I don't want anything from you but this…You tell me how to get to your master, or you tell him to surrender and leave my friends out of it. This is my grandfather's Haven, so this is between him and me."

"You are here with your friends, in the Haven?" Suddenly Blooden was slightly more animated, and Shandra fell silent. "Oh, you might have a better chance of getting them to listen than our master." Oh thank the Gods…finally someone here was going to give her a useful answer! Well…maybe thanking the Gods for a demon's intervention was a bit…well…sacrilegious, but frankly right now she didn't much care.

"There's a way to speak to them?" She gasped, thinking of Phaedra, Casavir…all of them trapped somewhere in this hellish Haven. "Why did no one say that?"

"My, you have strong feelings for them indeed" Blooden purred, as if savouring the novelty of that feeling. Shandra recoiled, how could this creature sense her feelings? "That should be enough. Simply think of them, reach out to them, to one in particular…and see if your thoughts connect." By the Gods that was so simple, you couldn't trust a demon to tell you anything useful right away could you? If she'd only known before… "Oh and don't teleport around, it'll ruin your concentration." Blooden added as Shandra closed her eyes, to shut out the demon as much as anything else, and she thought of Casavir first, automatically, but despite the sting of pain the picture of him roused in her she felt nothing more of his presence, and her thoughts passed quickly to Phaedra instead. Casavir was too painful. From Phaedra, by contrast, she had an immediate response…it was like something in her reached out and brushed the edge of Phaedra's awareness, and she seemed to see behind her eyelids the younger girl, a pale phantom in grey silk groping her way along a corridor, with Bishop stalking by her side. They were alone? Why? "That's right" Blooden's voice seeped in. "This one has the right bond with you, a bond that runs deeper than the flesh." Ignoring her, Shandra groped mentally to try to catch hold of something more of Phaedra, and suddenly the buzz of her leader's thoughts seemed to brush past her and she gasped at the palpable anguish of them. She couldn't go deeper, or uncover what had roused such a strong visceral distress in her friend, but her own thoughts rallied and she pressed firmer, trying to form words. She saw Phaedra pause, look up and knew her friend had felt her too.

"_Can you hear me_?" She thought, straining her mind as much as she could.

"_Shandra_?" She heard Phaedra think her name as if from the bottom of a well. The girl motioned to Bishop…telling him to stop a second…

"_This place is sealed by demons... and devils_." Shandra communicated. "_They're after something, I'm not sure what, but don't trust a single one of them, okay_?"

"_We've met a few_" Phaedra confirmed, and again a spike of agony sent static running through their bond, but Shandra clung on and held firm.

"_Listen, they say their master's_ _unbeatable_." Shandra went on, they had limited time, she sensed…she wasn't going to be able to hold this for ever.

"_Stay where you are, we're going to try to get to you_." Phaedra's thoughts crackled across the medium.

"_Sorry, not sure we can get to each other_" Shandra answered. "_I've tried…this place is difficult to figure out_." She paused, fighting again the dwindling power of their communication as the image of Phaedra and Bishop swam and blurred. "_Be careful, I'm not sure they're lying about their master_…"

"Oh?" Blooden suddenly spoke up, and her voice shattered the fragile communion of Phaedra and Shandra further. Fighting a headache, Shandra tried to reach out for the splintering pieces of it. She had to hold on… "Killing our master? It's not impossible…"

"What…?" Shandra rounded on the succubus, instantly letting go of the last strings of her conversation with Phaedra. "I…" But the magic of the Haven had a hold on her now, and the bloody-coloured haze passed over her gaze, and she smelt the power of it moving within her again. Oh curse and blast it all, she was on the move again!


	73. Chapter 73

_Hi, sorry about the long wait again! If you are still reading this, thanks and here are the next two chapters! Yes I've done it again, wrote a massive amount on the Haven and decided to split it in two for your sanity's sake. So if you're coming here and you have not read the beginning of the Haven, head back one chapter, there's some important stuff you don't want to miss back there :). The revelations are coming thick and fast now. _

_Thanks to Gaspode again, for adding to general awareness of my work. _

* * *

Phaedra couldn't shake the feeling that the Haven itself was manipulating her progress, that it was leading her…somewhere. Since she'd lost contact with Shandra, though, that direction seemed rather vague and the tunnels were endless, dark and chill with a pressing weight to them. Bishop was getting more and more restless beside her, she wondered if he thought the same. But then again he'd never liked being enclosed, and the walls of this place were particularly burdensome.

"Shit…" He snapped suddenly. "I've had enough of this, why don't you make some light so we can at least see where we're headed?"

"Every time I use magic this whole place turns upside down" Phaedra answered, her voice little more than a whisper, as if she was afraid of rousing something, some living pulse of malevolence within the Haven itself.

"Why not use it then, get this place to regurgitate the rest of the useless bunch of them so we can stop wasting time looking?" Bishop challenged. "Or at least get it to find us some way to get somewhere in this damned place. I need to kill something, and your King of Shadows seems like a prime target. I've got an arrow saved for old tattoo face since the Moonstone Mask and I mean to collect on what I'm due." He ran a finger over the fletching of one of his arrows, broodingly.

"It's chaotic, random…" Phaedra shook her hand, running a hand nervously through her hair. She didn't want to explore any further this inexplicable connection between her magic and the Haven, that it moved when she did. Surely it was simply nothing more than because she was a warlock, and the place was powered by infernal energy? Yet somehow she knew it was more than that. "I can't just…summon them."

"Have you actually tried it?" Bishop wasn't about to let her hide behind her fear though, he never did. By now she knew it was hopeless to argue with him.

"Fine, I'll do my best, but don't expect anything" She said instead. If it really was the only way to get to the King of Shadows, she had to do it. She couldn't waste another second knowing what her mother must be enduring. "You just keep on eye on me" She charged quietly. "Don't let me get swept away by this cursed place." He glanced at her quickly, his smoky eyes glinting and she wondered what he thought of such an order. It had a hidden depth to her, she had to admit. Placing herself under his protection…again…thrilled and disturbed her all over again. Did he resent her placing such an obligation on him, perhaps, and yet he had saved her again from Koroboros. In his eyes at least. In her more ambiguous place she wasn't sure if she had wanted to be saved or not given that her mother's soul was now prey to Koroboros' vengeance.

"Fine" He said at last, and simply. There was no way she was getting any more from him. Shrugging she turned away, and reached upwards, conjuring her magic, slowly, cautiously…but of course it came in its usual fervid rush. In each of her palms, a single flame burst into life…and she held it out, and upwards, as the heat rushed through her, stirring her hair about her face as if in a sudden breeze. As always the troubling surge of ecstatic self-abandonment rose, and she wondered how little it would take to simply give in again. Only the sheer physicality of Bishop's presence near her kept her from straying close to that leap, and she focused again, trying to think of her friends, Casavir, Zhjaeve, Elanee, Khelgar, Neeshka…Shandra, each of them went through her mind as the fire blazed in her soul and upon her skin. She felt the Haven…suddenly, felt its pulse as insistently as her own heartbeat, as if the power that flowed in its conduits flowed also in her veins. Instinctively she grabbed hold of it, and suddenly the Haven was open to her, a burning pattern traced in her mind in fire. Gasping, reeling back into Bishop, she saw the shifting play of the rooms flash before her eyes, and the power pulsing through it all written in spindly veins, with its source in six sparks of light…the six demons and devils who were prisoners here? She concentrated harder, feeling the influence of the Haven crawl over her, itching somewhere inside…as if it were not only sinking into her but pulsing out from her, as if she were the rhythm by which that terrible beat of magic she'd sensed from the beginning was measured, as if it were her own heartbeat powering this place. Her thoughts probed the fragile seams that held it together, the Haven rumbled, and all around her and Bishop the mechanisms of it awoke to her prodding. And she gently teased those seams until they came apart. The Haven broke open like the pieces of a puzzle, and she drew those pieces into a new pattern. It was shockingly easy to do and she wondered that the whole place responded so well to her entreaty, but only for a moment before it swept her up again, and she drew on its power…a haze of bloody light played about her now, and the acrid smell of iron stung her nostrils, as the fires in her hands danced amidst the infernal blaze. Their passageway was lifting upwards, rotating, and all around it the Haven broke apart and was reforged anew under her mind's directions. Finally she truly understood the power of this place. And then they were there, staggering in from new passages she'd forged with the disparate pieces of the Haven, Khelgar and Neeshka from below on a rising stairwell, rather bedraggled and dripping wet, Casavir, Zhjaeve and Elanee from the right where a gaping hold had opened in the wall into the labyrinth beyond and lastly Sand on his own, looking rather sheepish, with his robes sprayed with dust. They were shocked and a little shaken, but glad to see everyone together again, and Phaedra's heart lightened instantly to seem them all safe. She could not focus on the reunion, for Shandra still was somewhere, and she sank deeper into the fabric of the Haven trying to find the other girl, trying to trace the connection through which they'd spoken earlier.

"_Shandra_!" Her thoughts rang out in the darkness of the Haven, lighting the dark pathways as her magic poured through every corner and passage.

"_Phaedra_…" She heard the weak echo of an answering thought and raced for it with all her determination. But then suddenly, before she could reach Shandra, everything was pulled out from under her. The Haven was yanked away from her control with a sudden surge of unbelievable power, and she spun, reeling and dizzied, as if struck by a physical blow. She sensed a malevolent force gathering, a great sea of magic in an unstoppable wave that crowned so far above her she dared not glance to its peak and moved to sweep her away entirely…it was bent towards her obliteration. Gasping she opened her eyes, saw the shocked faces of her friends as the Haven pulled them violently all on their little platform away from where Phaedra had tried in vain to stabilise them within the shifting Haven, now entirely out of her control. Raw magic pumped through the place at a furious pace now, stirred into terrible and fervid life, she saw it like fire before her eyes. She knew this magic, she knew who it was who had seized the Haven from her, who was bringing her towards them. And then their platform ground to a sudden halt, sending everyone sprawling and Phaedra slamming into the next wall. Gasping, winded, she looked up, clutching her head between her hands with horror. She sensed they had been dragged to the very heart of the Haven, the epicentre of all of its power, to the laboratory Mephasm had mentioned. And then the walls around them sank away, screeching with protest as they did so, rumbling into the depths of the Haven and revealing that now they stood within a wide vaulted room, with a low, almost claustrophobic ceiling, so dark it seemed as if the shadows themselves had made some kind of fortress here. Books and scrolls were scattered corner to corner as if they'd all been ripped in a frenzy from their cases and scattered everywhere as someone searched for one vital piece of information, they had been ground into the stone floor underfoot, some were yellowing and ancient. There were infernal machines looming in the darkness, instruments of sorcery and witchcraft, great spiked apparatus that pulsed with an unholy light of power. Beneath the stone mosaic floor, which had cracked apart and given away in some places, burned the terrible glow of infernal magic, like pure molten fire, the power of the Haven's inhabitents made terribly manifest. They gave out a discomforting heat. In the centre was traced in interlocking lines upon the floor, a great sorcerous circle, and within it lines of runes locked and intertwined in a pattern of dizzying complexity. Set about it were seven great spines of dark steel, each unfurling like the ribs of a monstrous beast to create the semblance of what seemed to be a cage…and there in the midst of the great arcane ring he stood. His back was to them, his dunn-coloured robes falling gracelessly to his feet, the tattoos drawn into his bald skull gleaming sulpherously. She would have known that awful tumult of hellish power that swirled about his broad shoulders anywhere, but here in the Haven it seemed even stronger than before. With the eyes of magic she saw it driven up to the very heights of the ceiling, a storm of grasping tendrils that whipped about in frenzied hunger. The King of Shadows…

"So…you have come" He said softly, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. "Intruders, unbidden and unwelcome…and yet somehow you have the temerity and the ability to meddle where you did not belong once again." He turned slowly, and Phaedra gasped finding herself impaled by the sharpness of those cold yellow eyes. They appraised her, they stripped away everything until she was left with nothing but the glow of her power, so feeble next to his own. "You have haunted my footsteps girl, the ghost of a memory best left forgotten" He continued, his voice rasped like a knife blade drawn over stone. "I showed you a small mercy in our last meeting, yet still you pursued me. What did you hope to accomplish beyond dying here, unmourned and forgotten by those who you have fought to save"

"I came here to stop you" Phaedra announced, standing tall, and controlling her beating heart, as around her, the rest of the party formed ranks, drawing weapons. "You will lay down your power…you will banish these infernal creatures and desert this Haven, you will end your fight against the city of Neverwinter and your activity in the Mere of Dead Men and you will free my mother Esmerelle the Black from the pit fiend Koroboros…" At the last, he paused suddenly, his eyes narrowing…but she pressed on mercilessly. "Or else I shall kill you." She vowed with cold utter sincerity.

"Esmerelle?" He whispered the name, emotionlessly. "Esmerelle…of course it was Esmerelle all along." She blinked, trying to decipher what he meant, but knowing that it confirmed all the suspicions she'd barely admitted to herself…that her mother's presence here, in Koroboros' custody, meant that she had to have some connection to this enemy as well as to Black Garius. "Listen to me, girl, you have disturbed forces of which you have no comprehension." He snapped, stepping closer steadily, remorselessly. "You have come into this Haven meddling like a child, with a child's senselessness. Now you have the gall to threaten me, as if you have the slightest comprehension of what I intend…"

"Enough, do as I ask, free my mother, or else we will fight" Phaedra raised her hand, and fire blossomed in her palm. She didn't care about the danger, she didn't care that this man had the power to annihilate her three times over…her mother was in danger, and every time she closed her eyes she saw Esmerelle in those terrible flames. It had gone on long enough. She would have her answers once he was at her mercy, she would wring them from the King of Shadow's corpse if she had to…

"You have passed from being an irritation to an outright hazard" The King of Shadows declared coldly. "Too much is at stake to allow one who has the power to command my Haven a loose reign to wander in here and disrupt everything, no matter what your bloodline portends." He glared, and Phaedra clasped her hands by her sides…then Shandra was in danger as much as she was. Thank the Gods the girl was not with them, but Phaedra would fight this man off for her sake too. "I wish you to understand that before I kill you." He said, then his eyes swept over her again, and alighted on that area just above her heart. "Ah…and you have the shards on you, and one is even lodged inside you, most interesting. Then your death shall service my purpose even further, I will take them from your hands, and from your corpse."If there was any hope for beating him, it would be in her sorcery rather than the warlock power he far outmatched her in, in the lessons she'd too long neglected, subtlety and defence. Well there was no time for that now.

Then he rose from the floor, and fire burst out from beneath him with barely a flick of energy on his part. A flood of abyssal power slammed towards them, a tidal wave of sheer energy blazing forth across the laboratory floor engulfing the priceless books and scrolls, and Phaedra rose to meet it, sending glistening skeins of infernal energy out from her hands to catch it before it hit them. She grasped the strings of power tight, looping around into a net, a defence…and the flood of the King of Shadow's power met it at hurricane force. Phaedra was sent staggering backwards, she'd never felt anything with such unstoppable power behind it, but she held on, gritting her teeth as the wave of power buckled upwards from her barrier. The heat was unbearable. The struggle was beyond endurance, she bit into her lips and tasted blood, just to know she was still alive, then Sand stepped up next to her, and cooling, blue runes spread out in a serpentine coil about his billowing robes. They seized the fragile strings of Phaedra's power and spread along them, reinforcing them with an extra layer of protective force. And Elanee too stood there, and though last time her power had failed, here it rose hale and pure in a star-spring of light, sunbeams glinting as if captured in the morning dew and they shimmered in a spray of incandescence before Phaedra. Tyr's protective power gave forth from Casavir's extended hammer, a purity of white light that cast aside the darkness. And Zhjaeve was the warp, the loom on which their defence was spun, she rose in the centre of them, and her mental abilities locked their disparate wills, purposes into one and made them stronger, more unified, a phalanx of defensive magic. Phaedra stepped forward, pushing out the lambent shield of their combined power before her, and the flames beyond it further back towards the King of Shadows. She saw him standing within the flames, felt the grim coldness of his gaze upon her, and feared it. This was a man, a creature who would kill without mercy…he did not do it for pleasure, or gain, he would do it from cold necessity. And he was all the worse for it. They had used all their power to stop his very first salvo, she doubted it was even half of what he was capable of, but she dared not follow that thought through. With a flick of his wrist, as if to swat a fly, he drew back his power momentarily, until it burned in a shadowy haze about his body, then he threw it out all again, this time in great looping coils of corruption that launched themselves towards the party in streams of darkness, clearly intending to take out each of them individually, stopping their chance to defend themselves as one.

"Draw together everyone!" Phaedra called. She pulled her hands, traced a circle with her outstretched fingers, and fire swept about the party in a protective curtain of hellish power. The King of Shadow's tendrils slammed into it with a screeching howl, and were consumed by the sheer heat and drawn into the swirling vortex of power that Phaedra sent launching upwards, sweeping about like a tornado of fire and dark power. It slammed through the air towards the warlock, a flurrying flare that whiplashed powerfully above that dark menacing figure who stood there in the centre of the laboratory, a shadow against the firestorm. The warlock sneered, and his rough voice murmured some dark arcane formula, so that suddenly about him shimmered an arc of hexes, runic symbols, infernal lettering traced in dancing shadows. The fire rose and died against it, like a wave's fruitlessly beating against a sheer rock face.

"Enough of this farce" The warlock's face, lit by the lambent penumbra of his power, twisted in a sneer of impatience. "Did you truly think you could face me here…in this Haven, as much a part of me as my own limb?" He raised a hand, fingers spread, and the Haven grumbled and groaned like a monster awakening from slumber. The laboratory shook, lurching off to the side, and Phaedra suddenly understood…everything she'd done in the Haven, moving pieces randomely about like puzzles, the play of a child, it was nothing compared to this.

"This is not right" Zhjaeve's calm whisper suddenly floated above the chaos, and Phaedra froze. "Know that this man is not the King of Shadows."

Ooooooo00000000000000ooooooo oo

Shandra reeled before her towering interlocutor, Koroboros, a devil far more frightening and sinister even than sensual Blooden or the blunt Baalbisan, if that were possible. Koroboros knew…things, impossible things, and that rumbling voice with an unpleasant edge of sensuousness imparted them with the glee of an intimate secret. Her friends were in danger, they faced…him right now, and they were going to die unless…

"I won't do what you want" She snapped, fighting through panic. Every moment…was another moment her friends were at his mercy, alone… "There has to be another way, there has to be!" This haven was her inheritance, by blood, surely there was something she could do!

"Of course there is" Koroboros leered, his teeth bared in a grin reeking of self-satisfaction. Whatever happened, he won…. "But the only other way is letting your friends die, here, now…and neither of us want that. That delectable girl Phaedra…she deserves better than to perish alone, forsaken by them that love her, does she not?"

"Phaedra would be the first to tell me never to free you!" She snarled, clenching her fists as the thought…Phaedra, dead…no she couldn't let it happen. She couldn't argue with Koroboros a second longer, and yet…what if he was right?

"Are you so sure of that, my delicious Jerro morsel?" Koroboros drew to his full height, baring wings that dripped with fire. He was magnificent, terrible but magnificent. "It is such a small thing, in the end, and it will save her, I promise that. Has your beloved paladin not taught you that in our bargains we baatazu always speak true?" Shandra paused, bit her lips…how much time did they have left? "You feel it, don't you?" Koroboros grinned, and she did, Gods help her, she did. The power of the Haven was moving, surging towards something terrible. "The life of Phaedra Blake, and all her darling friends, is about to be snuffed out." Koroboros continued "In moments the decision of Shandra Jerro will matter not, and Ammon Jerro will have the day."

"It can't be him" She gasped. "Not after all these years!" Koroboros had told her that…that the man they had been chasing all this time was in fact her grandfather, that terrible shadow in the Moonstone mask, the murderer of Melia and the nobles, was Ammon Jerro. She couldn't process it, everything was moving far too fast, but Koroboros' insistence chimed with the fact the Haven was still here, still awake, and also explained what the price he was asking of her really meant…

"You know it to be true, Shandra Jerro" Koroboros sneered. "They face him, your grandfather, and he is in moments of annihilating your friend Phaedra, your darling paladin, all those you travel with. Reach out to them, child of the Jerro blood, and feel them die."

Ooo00000000ooooooooo

"Wait…stop!" Phaedra leapt forward, stumbling towards the figure she'd been trying to kill only seconds ago. Not the King of Shadows…not him, it was all lies, all shadows, they'd been chasing a phantom all along! And yet somehow it made sense…

"It is too late for mercy" The warlock snapped grimly. "You have caused too much damage already, girl." He drew back his hand, and the reeling Haven spun around them, dizzyingly, sending Phaedra staggering again, perilously close to the fonts of fire and pure magic that sent a terrible glow of searing heat into the air. A wave of hellish light streamed through the room, tracing shimmering arcane patterns across the stone floor, until every tile glowed with an inner blaze of awakened energy. Underneath the sudden swell of light and dark magic the tiles rippled like water, spreading and shifting under the warlock's directions into something new. Phaedra gasped, falling back onto her knees, trying to centre herself and find something, anything, to anchor her own failing power as the Haven awoke to full power and complete chaos around her. Around the warlock, the floor itself folded upwards with a screech of protesting stone, drawing up into a pyramid with him at the crown. It rose above the height of the ceiling which drew away into the walls with another screech of unwilling stone, giving way to a great darkness that burned with hellish power, until he towered above them, in the midst of a storm of magic. Great smoky skeins of dark energy rose and fell around him, fire rippled down the sides of the platform he stood on, and burned in his eyes, whose dread light was visible, fixed upon Phaedra, even from so far below him. "Did you truly think you could face me in this sanctuary and live, you foolish child?" He cried, and his voice boomed through the suddenly massive hallway. All traces of the laboratory were drawing away as the Haven rearranged itself into an engine bent upon her destruction. "The energies of this place are mine, and mine alone! Yet you dared to think you could harness them yourself!" Phaedra tried to glance back, to find her friends, to try to make some kind of united defence against this towering, impossible power…but she had lost them in the sweeping darkness and flame of the Haven now and she dared not look away from her towering opponent. For all she knew the others were dead already. She had failed them utterly, bringing them here. She was alone. And he was about to kill her.

"_You can't beat him_!" Suddenly Shandra's voice was in her mind, frantic and wild with panic, and she clung desperately to the presence of her friend, like a child. She was violently terrified, Gods she did not want to die! "_The only way to do it is to free the demons, they're granting all his power_!"

"Shandra, get out of here!" She screamed, hardly aware that she was also thinking it to her friend at the same time. Atop his pedestal, the warlock frowned, pausing in the midst of casting the very spell that would end her.

"_There's a way to stop him.._." Shandra forced it out, their connection glimmering delicately, diaphanously in the air around Phaedra. It was almost silenced amid the roar of the Haven, but just getting through, purely on the strength of Shandra's will. _"But it's going to require some blood being spilled... mine._"

"_No_!" Phaedra dug her nails into her thighs as she gripped down on her legs, painfully forcing the thought out with all the desperate strength she could muster. The Haven was forgotten, even the death rearing above her was forgetten as she suddenly sensed something terrible in Shandra. Grim resignation… "_Just go, get out of here while you still can…_"

"_There's no way I'm letting you die, not after all we've been through_." Shandra continued. "_Phaedra_…" Even across their connection, her thought trembled like a tearful goodbye. "_I love you, my friend_." And then she was gone, and Phaedra screamed out wildly at the empty desolation. She was gone, Shandra was gone…why that should terrify her so much, even facing her own death in seconds was unknown, but she knew she had felt something awful from her friend.

"To whom did you speak girl?" The warlock demanded, and slowly the platform began to draw back down towards the floor, bringing him closer to her. "How can you do that in my Haven?" She ignored him, drawing back further along the ashen floor. Losing hold of Shandra was all-important, nothing else seemed to matter. "What secrets does your blood hold?" He muttered with an odd thoughtfulness, about to step from the pedestal towards her, hand extended for her as if he would rip the blood from her to dissect it and reveal this secret he seemed so interested in. Then suddenly, so suddenly that Phaedra stopped and stared up at him, he staggered, swaying like a drunken sailor on his feet, a look of rough aghast pain crossing his rugged features. His whole body was shaken by what looked like a fit. It was so strong he almost fell to his knees, only borne up by one shaking leg. His eyes…flicked upwards, and the fire burned behind them again. "What…?" Emerged from his trembling lips, as he clutched at his chest with a harsh grip. His gaze fell upon Phaedra, and narrowed with sudden rage. "What have you done?" He demanded. "No!" And then he raised his hands, and that familiar bloody light of the Haven's power glowed about him, enveloping him in a shimmering gleam. And then he was gone, and the room fell silent without him, all that blaze of power, that terrible storm that seconds ago had been about to kill Phaedra vanished in the blink of an eye. The rumblings of the room fell still, it froze there, a great expanse of stone, empty and motionless. Phaedra let out a breath, and it seemed impossibly loud in this now seemingly infinite space.

"Phaedra!" Suddenly they were there, racing about her, clinging to her, trying to help her stand. Elanee was before her, brushing the hair from her face, gazing into her eyes, frantic with horror.

"Are you alright?" Khelgar demanded. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

"We've got to go after him" Bishop sneered. "Never let a mage escape." There was a pause, the room was very empty. There was no sign of an exit.

"He's after Shandra" Phaedra murmured quietly. Then the enormity of it struck her and she rose from the floor in a fluid rush, her heart beginning to pound painfully in her chest. "He's after Shandra!" She cried, turning frantically to Casavir.

"Gods preserve us" The paladin whispered, going white.

"We're trapped" Elanee wailed. "There's no way out."

"No" Phaedra shook her head. In her heart she knew, though her mind quailed from the idea she forced herself to confront it, that her connection with the Haven was something deep and that it provided a way out, a way to save Shandra. The warlock had teleported away, Shandra had it too…could she not then do the same? After all the Haven had bent to her will before. "There is a way, and I'm going to find it."

Ooooo00000000ooooooooooo

"You answer me!" Ammon Jerro roared to the devil before him, Koroboros, the most foul and devious of his captives, but a captive no longer. Before his eyes the circle was undoing itself, unwinding in a thread of silver light that trembled impotently in the air around the devil's massive shoulders. "How was this done? You see plots within plots, I command you, answer me!"

"Of all the circles and wheels, plots and deceptions" The pit fiend shook his massive spined head, a smile upon his lips, a savoring glint in his eyes as he beheld his master by blood and sorcery. Ammon had bound him, had bound them all, and had paid a terrible price for each of their allegiances it could not be slipping away from him now! It could not! "You still have the audacity to blame me for what your blindness has wrought."

"Hells damn me but I will bind you again, Koroboros!" Ammon snarled. His power burned within him as he tried to claim the foul devil's allegiance once more, but it was all slipping away like water as he lost hold of each of these reluctant sources of his power. He has visited each of them in turn, Blooden, Hebzebel, Baalbisan, Zaxis, and now Koroboros, his vile coterie, the instruments of his vengeance and his purpose, but they had all mocked him in their turn, spitting their fire and promises of revenge or whispering dark enigmatic half-truths about what had befallen him. And they had vanished away back to their dark domains, now unreachable by any means to his fast limiting magic, taking precious floods of his power away with them as well as the answers he needed to stop this draining away of everything he had pain-stakingly built up to save this world in spite of itself. He had grown so used to command of them, now they turned on him, and it was all that girl's fault. By the Hells he swore he would rip her throat out…she had destroyed everything. She had doomed things she could not understand with her folly! It roused a strange synchronicity in his thoughts, so like Esmerelle…damned fools.

"Foolish and defiant to the last, Ammon" Koroboros sneered. "It is over, and you have sold your soul and worse than that for nothing." Ammon stepped back, no it was not over, it could not be over! He refused to allow it to be over, not after all he had sacrificed, not with what was still at stake!

"Tell me damn you!" He roared, his power might be failing but this devil would bend to his will. "Who has freed you?"

"Go to the last" Koroboros extended a clawed finger. "And see the truth for what it is. I swore once you would know my vengeance, it has only just begun Ammon. But we shall speak of that again, in a time not far from now when you burn upon my fires for this indignity of believing you could command me." The fire rose hot about him, and burned so bright that only the glint of his teeth, bared in a smug smile, winked back at Ammon for a second, then he was gone, back to the Hells beyond Ammon's feebled reach.

"Mephasm" He muttered darkly, last of his unwilling tools, and the most prized. If this…madness had reached him too, all was lost. No, Ammon would stop it now. He raised his hands, and the Haven burned through him again, he felt the weakening of his power to the bone, but his will had endured through far worse. He would stop this, if he had to kill that pasty girl with her pretensions to warlock power back in the laboratory and every one of the juvenile wretches he had running around his Haven to do it.

Ooooooo00000000000oooooooooo o

The last of the devils haunting this dark and wretched place, her grandfather's Haven, faced Shandra with cool serenity, quite unlike anything she had encountered from the others, who had purred triumphantly over the gift of her blood or gave dark prophecies or darker encouragements to her grim purpose. His face, skin blanched blue, eyes fiery red, was set in a look of gentle, distant compassion. She hadn't seen him before, but unlike the rest of them he radiated a strange peacefulness that eased, momentarily, the searing pain in Shandra's arm. Blood was oozing sluggishly now from the wound she'd bared to the light by pulling up her sleeve…she'd cut deep back in Koroboros' chamber and it looked bad, really bad. But there was just this one more. One more, then Phaedra and the others would be saved, her grandfather stopped from all this unthinkable madness and she could rest…lay down her head and recover herself a little. Already her gaze was blurring, the arm trembling as she held it to the cool metal of her chestplate.

"What you have done is brave but foolish, Shandra Jerro" The devil said softly, his deep echoing voice had a strange tone of wonder and pity. She staggered towards him, holding her wounded arm aloft. Then, suddenly, he appeared across the room in a blaze of bloody light, that fierce fiery man she'd glimpsed across the Moonstone Mask, practically smouldering now with fury. Her grandfather!

"You girl" He snarled, coldly furious. "You did this!" Gasping she opened her mouth to try and explain, to force out words through the pain and the shuddering exhaustion, but he strode towards her in two loping strides, reached forward and grasped her by the throat, lifting her bodily from the ground with an incredible strength. Her windpipe folded under his powerful grip, she felt the air squeezed from her lungs and she struggled, clutching impotently at his terrible fingers. No, not yet…she hadn't freed the last devil yet, and…she needed time to explain to him…oh Gods…her vision swam, she choked, flailing in his grip, trying desperately to kick out at him as instinct took over. "Foolish, imbecilic girl!" Her grandfather roared, shaking her like a dog. Oh Gods… "Do you have any idea what you have done here?" Then blessedly, he cast her aside, throwing her violently to the floor. She skidded across the stone, grasping at her neck desperately and gasping out great heaving breaths as she tried to ease her aching body. He stood there, breathing heavily, her grandfather, burning with a haze of foul magic about his body. Staring up at him, she saw so little of herself…and yet so much…so terrifyingly much. How had she not seen it before? Her mother's hair, in that beard threaded with grey, and her own eyes, though his glinted with a dark gleam. But there was nothing of her mother's stories of the distant, single-minded but pleasant father in whose beard her fingers had played as a toddler. There were only those dreadful glowing tattoos.

"Are…my friends okay?" She gasped, once she could force out words.

"Not for much longer" Ammon Jerro proclaimed darkly. "I will have my vengeance for the chaos you have wrought here." But he seemed to hesitate a second, perhaps he saw what she had in him too, and she knew what she had to do. For his sake, as much as for Phaedra's, and her own. She understood, he would kill them all, how he had come down this dark path she did not know, but she had to stop him now, before it was too late. Instantly she flung out her wounded arm, so that blood sprayed out across the room in a crimson streak. It spattered over the cool, standing devil, and the Haven gave out another great lurch as his circle hissed and sent up sprays of silver sparks, dissolving within seconds. "No!" Her grandfather roared, and threw out his hands. Shandra screamed as a flood of fire slammed towards her. Within seconds she was enveloped, howling, the pain and the heat of it was unbearable, and she was sent slamming back against the opposite wall, writhing in agony. The pain was so unbearable she blacked out in a fizz of white noise for a few milliseconds, feeling her legs, her arms, her hands, seared through to the bone. Then she found herself laying there, steam rising with the smell of her own burned flesh sharp in her nostrils. Feebly she stirred against the wall, not daring to look down at the ruins of her body. After the sharp agony of the flames, she suddenly felt a great numbness from her feet to her chest, even her heart seemed to have slowed to almost nothing…it was almost worse. And she knew…with a sudden wrench in her thoughts that she…was going…to die. Choking, coughing, she managed to raise her head…and saw her grandfather standing across the room from her, staring down at her with cold rage. She…wanted to explain…to apologise before it was too late.

"Grandfather…" She forced out through a tongue and lips that were dead weights. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…I had to…" But the blackness was encroaching, her eyesight blurring, as the muscles that were holding her in place drained of strength, of life, of everything. The numbness had hold of her now, it spread like poison through her veins…she felt herself die, and tears clung to her cheeks as she fell to the floor. It didn't hurt anymore…thank the Gods…it didn't hurt at least. She tried to summon her thoughts again, to think of what she loved…Casavir….Phaedra…oh Gods there were so many things she'd wanted to do, to say. Too late, all too late…she sent out a last blistering thought to them, her love, all her love, and all her goodbyes…and then her thoughts dissolved in a last blur of anguish…_Oh Mother I was out in the fields late again, but I've come home…_

Ooooo000000ooooooooooo

Ammon stood utterly still as he looked down at the ravaged body of the girl he had just slaughtered…just one body, just one amidst so many. She looked so fragile, so frail, now, just sleeping…and he had killed her. What she'd said…in her dying breaths…

"Grandfather…" He muttered, and then rounded on Mephasm, the silent sentinel as always. "What is this?"

"It is truth, Ammon." The devil replied, his echoing voice tinged with sadness. Yes he mourned the girl now, yet he had not raised a finger to save her at the time…the way of devils. "And by such truths is one damned." Damned…damned…he was already damned, what did one more dead mean? But his granddaughter…no…it couldn't be…

"I have no kin!" He raged. He heard the denial on his own lips, feeble and weak. "All were killed in the war! It's not possible" His voice raggedly gave way…despair…

"Blood finds a way Ammon" Mephasm intoned coolly. "Always"

"You lie!" He roared. But he knew…Mephasm could not lie. And that meant…

"You know only Jerro blood could have broken the circles in this haven" The devil answered. "As her blood has now broken mine." The circle was gone now, he had lost Mephasm, he had lost everything. "There are laws Ammon" The Hells burned in Mephasm's cool eyes. He was destined there, his soul sworn to whichever of his unwilling servants had the strength to claim him in the end. But what were the Hells to this…that he had slaughtered his own blood blindly, and it was all for nothing, because any chance to slay his one great foe had vanished with his fiendish slaves? "And when one carries such laws too far, they take you where I go now." Mephasm's voice lingered, echoing in the stone silence of the Haven as the devil gathered his power and was gone. The last of the Haven's power drained from Ammon's soul, he felt nothing but the embers of it glow within him, as the Haven itself began to spasm like a dying monstrosity. It was all giving way, and all Ammon could do was stare down at that broken body in the corner of the room, that spray of golden hair…like his wife's…he knew the girl now, Shandra…the baby on his knees in the days before the war.

Suddenly a ragged, harsh, scream split the room apart, vibrating high across the cracking and rumbling of the dying Haven. A flash of grey silk sped past him, and he saw the other girl from before…that other ghost of a different, darker past, fly to his grandaughter's body. The half-elvish girl bore Shandra's body up in her arms, gathering the ruined corpse close to her own body, and wailed out, a terrible keening sound cracked by harsh, racking sobs. Slowly Ammon turned away from her half-wild anguish. Standing there on the other side of the room were the rest of her rag-tag party. A few met his gaze, burning with anger, their hands going to weapons, to spells…others had eyes only for their grief-maddened leader, whose screams had not yet stayed. That sound…agony…Ammon thought it would ring in his ears for ever.

"He killed Shandra!" One, a tiefling of all things, raised her two swords to face him. "I say we gut him"

"Do to him what he did to her" The tall, dark man, his golden eyes glinting with fury, aimed his huge longbow at Ammon.

"What have you done?" The other man, broad-shouldered and pale, who stood with a noble bearing, though his voice cracked with horror, his pale blue eyes awash with open tears incongruous to so large a man. His hammer and shield were lowered, this one was too noble or too grief-stricken to think of kill him yet. "If you had only waited…spoken to us…"

"Do you think I do not know that?" Ammon faced him, regret it though he might, he had strength enough left to face these accusations. "But you…even with our conflicts, you chose to bring her here." The nobleman looked away, lowering his head in anguish. Well he might feel guilt. Why was his granddaughter, so weak a girl, so utterly defenceless, left alone in this place prey to the manipulations of every demon and devil whose path she crossed? How could it have happened like this? "Just a girl, the last of my family" He said harshly, grief broke through a second before he could master himself. "But stay your weapons, your spells, lest one tragedy give birth to another." He would not plead for his life, but his task was not yet done, he refused to die with his great enemy yet walking this earth. He refused to be killed by this rag-tag group of fools who'd willfully stumbled into his sanctum and taken just about everything else from him. "Kill me now and this place will collapse, we will all die."

"I'll take my chances" The golden-eyed man sneered. He hadn't yet lowered his bow. Ammon was fairly sure, though, that he could burn the man out before he let his arrow loose. But he felt a sudden weariness of death, of killing…

"Silence Bishop" Another of them, a slender male elf with an unctuous air, snapped. "We can't throw our lives away on some useless quest for revenge. That's the last thing Shandra would want."

"How can we trust him?" The dwarf near the front, clenching his fists in two ornate gauntlets, snapped. "Look at what he's done!"

"You have no choice" Ammon answered coldly. "The Haven's power is almost spent. We have but moments until all is lost. And there's barely enough power for me to transport us all from this place. In my blindness I have done a great wrong, but where we lost her, I will still save you despite yourselves if I have to!" They stirred for a second, leaderless they were helpless, but then some kind of decision seemed to be made. The tall man lowered his bow, and the broad-shouldered noble cautiously walked over to where his leader, the young half-elf, was still sobbing helplessly over Shandra's body.

"Phaedra…" He knelt beside her. "My lady, we must leave…"

"No…" She cried, shuddering and clinging tight to his granddaughter's still corpse. Hells…he did not begrudge her grief…but she had let it destroy herself, even for a moment. One who fought the King of Shadows did not have that luxury. "I can't leave her!" She sobbed, her fountain of red-gold hair falling and tangling amidst the dulled blonde of Shandra. In some places the hair was almost indistinguishable, except where it was lit by that inner glint of russet. "I can't…not again, not like this!"

"Phaedra" The nobleman murmured, but he was helpless, and hopeless. He almost reached for her but paused instead.

"Come now girl" So Ammon Jerro turned to her instead, his voice rough, not used to gentleness or pity. "You gain nothing by killing yourself like this. It is over" She shook her head, scrunching her eyes up against him. He let out a rough breath…so she insisted. "Leave her, come, and live!" He said, and his voice grew more commanding. "Come, daughter!" Slowly she opened her eyes, those startling green eyes, Esmerelle's eyes…they stared blankly back at him. He answered her with nothing, it was not his responsibility to explain what was long past, not here. His legitimate family was now all ended with the girl in her arms…this one had his blood, but she barely resembled him, except the red in her hair. Esmerelle had run as soon as she'd known she was pregnant and made this girl in her own elvish image. He did not begrudge the elf that, for what it was worth, though it had not done either of them, mother or daughter, much good in the end. But slowly, as if in a dream, or as if her body were not her's to control, she stood, and laid down his granddaughter, her own relative by half-blood, gently down upon the stone floor as if were in her tomb. Ammon nodded. He'd said it was over, but really it was just beginning. He raised his hands, and the burn of the Haven's last embers ran through him. In his last glimpse of the Haven he had built and powered, his eyes find the body of Shandra Jerro once again. It would lie here for ever now, a tomb…fitting for the last of the Jerro family. It was all he had left to say for her. It was not enough.


	74. Chapter 74

_If anyone is still reading this after so long a break, I really have to apologise for it! I'm sure we all appreciate how crazy things can get, but I did have this at the back of my mind at times and slowly this chapter did take life. Obviously it wasn't an easy chapter to write, the aftermath of what happened last chapter was never going to be easy. But I hope it does some justice to the story, to the intense emotions that had to be going around now. _

_We're practically at Act III now! That's crazy when I think about starting this story years ago now...it boggles my mind that I'm still going at it. But it has taken on a life of its own and I hope you all enjoy the journey as much as you did at the beginning. Thank you so much for all the reviews and the favourites in the time I was absent from this site!_

* * *

Shandra was dead. Casavir had been trained to asceticism, schooled in self-denial, he had seen comrades dead on the battlefield before, said last rites amidst the filth and squalor of war over friends and fellows…but…this…this…Shandra was dead. Those words, the liturgy that rang in his mind as prayers died and were stilled upon his lips and in his thoughts, they ran round and round within him, winding themselves deeper like a garrote about his throat, about his heart. She was gone…that innocent, beautiful girl, so pure, so wise beyond her years, so courageous, dead…never to smile again, never to laugh. He groaned aloud in the silent, brutal, unforgiving darkness. His eyes were dry, but the pain was beyond tears. In the darkness there was no sign of justice, no comfort of faith, no voice of the Gods…only this absence, the gut-wrenchingly palpable absence of Shandra. She was dead…it was terrible, worse than terrible, to feel guilt as if her sacrifice were not something great and heroic beyond what should possibly have been asked from one so young. He knew he should be celebrating her courage and nobility of spirit, that she had given her life for her friends and that there was no higher sacrifice, that her soul had flown straight to the Gods where it would be honoured for her bravery, as great as any of the heroes of old. That would have been beyond the strength of any ordinary man, to see past the death of one so young, to the Gods…but he was no ordinary man, he was a paladin. It was his duty. But he could not move from where he sat, devastated and exhausted upon the soil, or stir his ashen thoughts to life. For guilt weighed heavily upon him. The Gods…their wills were mysterious, but why take the pure, young girl with so much potential to do good and so many years before her, when beside her stood this wasted shadow of a man? And worse, the thought winding about his aching heart like a serpent, was it his careless words to her of sacrifice and justice, falling upon the fertile soil of her youthful idealism, that had inspired her sacrifice? He had fed upon her devotion, and given her bitter platitudes he himself struggled to believe in return, and she was dead now of devotion. He couldn't put their conversation from his head…when she'd approached him in the night upon a desolate plateau days from her grandfather's Haven, days from her death…

_"Casavir…" She glowed like an angel in the moonlight, silver and gold. But he was dulled to her beauty. Dulled to the entreaty in her eyes… "It's not like me to do this, Chauntea…I'm just a farmgirl from the middle of nowhere…but something happens to me when I look at you…I feel alive…I feel joyful, and I feel I would do anything for you." A blush stained her alabaster cheeks black in the darkness but she forged on, fearless. "I would bear your burdens with you, Casavir, if you'd just let me share them."_

_"Shandra, you are my comrade, my sister-in-arms" He said, retreating back to the shadows of his years, of stale courtesy. The correct response… "And I have been honoured to teach you. Already you bear my burdens, you stand at my right hand to guard me and I know I can trust you to be there…" Cracks ran through her face as he spoke, sharp jagged contours of pain leapt out at him, and he was more helpless than before, so courtesy ran ahead of him, his voice hatefully steady. "But I cannot be more than that to you."_

_"Oh Gods, oh Hells" She staggered on her feet, raising trembling hands to her face, alight with shame. "Of course you were going to say that, always…I was a fool"_

_"No, Shandra" He almost reached forward, thought better of it…which of his words, the touches in their training, had led her to this? Gods how frail are our hearts. "It's natural…that in battle, we form strong bonds. I have seen it many times, but these are not the stuff of love that lasts. You do not really wish to waste yourself on me, Shandra…"_

_"Don't tell me what I really wish" She turns on him, white-gold-hot in her fury now. "Casavir you don't even know what you want! Look at you" She gestures wildly, her fingers pinioning him in all his hypocrisy. "I'm standing here and I'm ready to give everything to you, but you'd rather pine hopelessly for Phaedra for ever, the caricature of some noble fool, some courtly lover or some such nonsense." Drawing back, she breathed deep, and the plea he cannot answer trembled in her voice again. "You're better than that Casavir…you deserve better…"_

_"I've never expected anything from Phaedra" He dodged her insult, but it struck him deep. Since Ophala no woman had ever touched him until Phaedra, had he truly turned to her as naught but an icon to worship, yet never really acted on his feelings, simply because he was afraid of being hurt again? Were all his noble words, here and now and for ever, just dust and ashes, loathsome selfish justifications for his abandonment of his honour?_

_"She doesn't love you" Shandra cried, her voice wild on the scouring wind. "She can't ever love you, because…she…" She paused, the words failed, strangled in her throat. Casavir too stopped dead, looking down at her…had she spoken to Phaedra? What had they said to each other? Surely it is not so… "But I love you" She said, brokenly. "I told myself I wasn't good enough for you, but in the end really…it's your fault we're both alone." With those last devastating words, she turned and walked away, her nightgown fluttering in the wind. Casavir looked out into the darkness, his thoughts a cold glow of self-recrimination…and stood there until dawn, alone, but for the darkness of the night, and the greater darkness, that ineffable mystery, of the Gods who play with us like pieces in a game but whose wills we have no choice but to obey._

No one has moved from grief for some time now, since Ammon Jerro had taken them, in a flurry of dark magic, from his Haven and onto this desolate heath. But now Casavir was roused from his dark thoughts by a sudden movement on the other side of the camp. Bishop leapt up from his side of the camp, a knife blade glinted silver with moonlight in his hand, and suddenly, impossibly fast, it was pressed to the neck of Ammon Jerro who had brooded there in the darkness with a healthy distance from the others for some time. Casavir stirred instinctively, warhammer in hand, but paused…as Bishop gazed down at Ammon Jerro who looked back impassively, those eyes that glinted like two coals, but were Shandra's eyes, daring him to take the strike.

"We got what we wanted from him." Bishop said savagely. "Now I say we give him what he deserves." But he waited, waited…for a word from Phaedra, perhaps? It wasn't forthcoming, she seemed to be dead to the world. Casavir struggled in a torpor of guilt and grief across the way with his hammer in hand. Was it justice to take Ammon Jerro's life for what he had done? Not merely Shandra, but the lords he had killed, that woman, Melia, of the Neverwinter Nine, the other dead lining his path. Or was it emotion blinding Casavir, grief blunting the edge of his reason? Perhaps Ammon Jerro instead deserve nothing better than to live with what he had done.

"You have no idea what you are doing, boy" Ammon Jerro hissed, so cool it almost seemed like he was the one who held the power in this interaction. "Kill me, and you kill any chance of defeating the King of Shadows"

"Like I care" Bishop sneered. But still he waited, and then she spoke.

"Stop" Her voice wavered in the darkness, so quiet as to be almost inaudible, but so firm as to stop Bishop in his tracks. He did not let Jerro go, but turned to her, his eyes burning again with the strange alchemy that ran between them. Phaedra had stood, now, and from the other side of the camp she faced her father and Bishop, fragile as a ghost, the ghost of Shandra. Only now did Casavir see the similarities between them, all three of them, Ammon, Shandra, and Phaedra, he had been so blind. "What could you possibly offer me, Ammon Jerro?" She said.

"The last piece of the Ritual of Purification." Ammon rasped. "You have completed four parts of it, but the last is mine and mine alone. Surely you sense it, as I do in you?" She stirred, she felt it.

"Bullshit" Bishop muttered darkly.

"If you kill me, the battle is lost as soon as my heart stops beating." Ammon Jerro said implacably. He was ignoring Bishop still, his gaze was fixed on his daughter. But he was not pleading for his life, he was simply stating fact. "Without me, you cannot win."

"Hang on…" Khelgar stirred mutinously. "We can't just let him say this, do this. He killed one of us, and now he wants to travel with us, that's not how an Ironfist does things I can tell you that."

"Whatever punishments you think I deserve, I will suffer a thousand-fold" Ammon Jerro did not deign to look at either of them, but knelt there with Bishop's knife at his throat, yet like a monarch upon his throne. Casavir felt a chill that had nothing to do with the freezing air. He spoke of the Hells, justice would come for Ammon Jerro no matter what they did. "Well beyond anything your small mind can imagine. But I will strike down the King of Shadows, before I leave this plane. And you will have no stronger ally than I in this, in knowledge or power."

"Bishop, stand down" Phaedra whispered. He swore roughly, but obeyed, after waiting just long enough to make it insubordinate, and stalked away into the shadows. Casavir couldn't help but wonder why he had reacted so strongly, of all of them. Phaedra did not speak further, only looked down at Ammon coolly.

"It would be well for us to share words." Zhjaeve broke the silence, gliding forward, spectral in her flowing veils and robes. "If his knowing becomes ours, our strength increases."

"Zhjaeve" Phaedra turned, and she was iron-cold. "You taught me to sacrifice everything for this cause, and I resolved to pay what price was demanded. Now I have sacrificed my best friend, my own family that I never even knew. You have what you wanted." Zhjaeve paused, impassive, cool, meditative, in the face of Phaedra's venom. "You may continue to travel with us, Zhjaeve, alongside this despicable murderer, if that is what you want." Phaedra whispered poisonously. "However, be aware that from now I make my own path, on my own strength. No more of your doctrines."

"As you wish Kalach-cha" The Githzerei murmured softly.

"Put the Gith in its place" Ammon Jerro sneered. "Her kind are swift to spout their platitudes, but when the time comes for the price to be paid, it will never be them who pay it. It's too bad you did not learn that sooner." Phaedra shot him a murderous glare.

"We thought you were dead." Sand moved in quickly, urbanely, but Casavir could tell he did not like the warlock. "All the stories said so…indeed we assumed you were the King of Shadows."

"I was not dead…merely…delayed" Ammon Jerro said cautiously, again not speaking to Sand in particular. "In the Lower Planes, where my soul was bound." Casavir shuddered again, no wonder Ammon carried so dread a presence with him. This man had been through the Hells. "Since my escape I gathered my forces to resume my campaign against my foe." He shook his head bitterly. "And now all that is gone, thanks to your carelessness. How could you think I was the King of Shadows?" He spat, fuming. "Did you truly believe that he squats in the midst of another wizard's work, that he has to rely on pacts forged with demons and devils? No…he has not even fully manifested, and it shall not be the form of a man he takes when he does. But today he has won a great victory against us without even striking a blow."

"Since your death, people told stories that it was the King of Shadows who used demons and devils…" Sand explained. "Your name…was all but forgotten."

"How ironic" Ammon brooded darkly. The thought barely seemed to touch him, as it should have done. His tactics, his murders, had made people think of him as bad as his foe. Casavir wished he could have the words to throw in the warlock's face, but now was not the time. "But reputation was never my concern, only that there shall be posterity alive at all." He continued, with a shrug. "We are running out of time and my enemy grows stronger each day. Even now, his presence is extending from the Mere of Dead Men where my scouts, now vanished, reported legions of shadows and undead stirring, and a sphere of darkness expanding from the heart of the swamp, killing all life it will need an army to stop him." They fell silent, as much from the warlock's implacable presence as by his dark words. "But I see my daughter does not have the strength to even face me." Ammon Jerro said at last, and Casavir raised his head, with horror, to see that Phaedra had vanished. Instantly everyone in the party stirred, they'd been too focused on Ammon Jerro's cold magnetism, they'd let her slip away. Casavir cursed himself, remembering with a sudden shock of horror, the dark madness that had taken her in the ruins of West Harbour…could she be meaning to hurt herself? "Is this the girl on whom our hopes depend?" Ammon Jerro muttered softly, darkly, seeming utterly unconcerned.

"Bishop's gone too" Elanee suddenly gasped.

Oooooooo0000000000000ooooooooooooo

She couldn't bear to look at him. How could they expect her to look at him? She had endured it as long as it could, but his every word, pragmatic, cool, as if he had not just killed his grand-daughter, had choked her, the sight of him was nauseating. She'd seethed with disgust, anger, and above it all a grief too terrible to bear. This man, the murderer, with the blood of her best friend, her…almost-sister, staining his hands. He had been their enemy, had stalked them across Neverwinter committing murder after murder in his mad pursuit of the shards, and he had stalked her in her nightmares, those gleaming tattoos spectral in the shadows, those burning eyes following her every step. This man, her father, had bound foul magic to him, and the same blood burnt in her veins. Here was the source of her warlock powers. That she was of the Jerro blood, his daughter, the very thing she'd been fighting to destroy. The thought stung her violently as she staggered across the cliffs, as if she could flee it, flee him. Her mother in the Hells, her father a walking incarnation of doom and murder…no wonder she had brought death to her friend, to her home, it was only a matter of time before she brought death to everything she loved. Oh Shandra, oh Gods…how could it have happened, so fast, so suddenly? They hadn't even had time to say goodbye, they'd never even known that they were kin, though it seemed impossible now that she had not realised. Had they not been so similar? The thought of Shandra, luminous, alive, sent a staggering shock of anguish through her and she stumbled to a standstill. It was impossible that Shandra had been there, her family, within touching distance, and now just gone beyond reach. She'd held Shandra's body at the last, saw her friend's ravaged body, scorched by Ammon's magic, the same magic that burned in her. How could she ever not see that? The darkness seethed with the imagined traces of the accusing dead, Amie, her once best friend to whom she had compared Shandra just days ago and damned her to the same fate by a twisted concurrence. And there was Cormick, brave and true and dead of love for her, just like her friendship with Shandra had drawn the girl to the Haven and into Ammon Jerro's clutches, despite her fears. And all the dead of West Harbour, traced in the shadows, looking sadly back at her. Her failures, mounting, one after the other. All her fault, all beyond her power to recall except as these doleful shades. She'd become exactly what she'd feared since hearing of her, Esmerelle, her own mother…leading those who loved her into death one by one, and now she saw what her father was, a cold, hard murderer of his own kin. How long until her blood run true in that way too? She shuddered, barely even conscious of the tears coursing down her cheeks as she wept with great gulping gasps.

Then suddenly something caught on her arm, she wheeled, gasping, through a sheen of tears and lashed out with her hand, automatically. She caught a rough stubbly cheek, and a rough curse, for her troubles…Bishop.

"Damn it princess, you're like a wildcat!" He snapped, catching her flailing arm and pinning it back in one swift fluid motion. "What in the Hells do you think you're doing, we're in Luskan territory out here!"

"I couldn't…" She began, dissolving into shaking sobs. "I can't…"

"You can't what?" He shook his head, savagely. Choked by her tears, unable to answer, she looked at him across the barrier of their strange relationship. He looked back, breathing with a rough rumble, as he held her arm back though she had long since fallen still, and his grasp seemed to burn her, to scald the blood in the veins of her wrist. Gasping, she saw suddenly that she'd drawn blood at his temple where she'd struck him. Instinctivly, unable to do otherwise, she reached up slowly with her other hand, the fingers trembling, and touched the stinging cut with her fingers, cupping his temple, feeling the pulse of his veins quicken, and the muscles in his neck tense under her touch. They'd danced, one with another, him pushing, her pulling away, for weeks and weeks now…and always this fire simmered there just underneath. She remembered, with searing clarity, what she'd admitted to Shandra about Bishop only days ago, and yet that time seemed impossibly far away, for back then she had still been alive, and now she was gone. Oh no, oh Gods no…it hurt so much, it hurt too much, to think, to feel…She pressed forward suddenly, or maybe he did, or maybe they both did, but suddenly his lips were upon hers again. And this time it was not simply him kissing her, she kissed him back, meeting his fierce desire with her own terrible need for closeness, and her body pressed against the lean hard length of him, as if she could somehow drink him in. Still she was sobbing, she tasted the salt of her tears on his lips, and the shuddering gulps sent her reeling against him again, trying to drown her grief. His heartbeat thundered against her ribs, as he pulled her closer, roughly, as if he was trying to force his way through the bones of her chest to her heart, to devour her in some terrible primal way and destroy Phaedra as herself, make her entirely his. And, Gods forgive her, but she pressed back with equal strength and desperation, her fingers on his temple clutched at his hair, levering herself upwards closer, desperately hoping for the moment when she could not tell where she ended and he began. Whether Bishop really wanted to obliterate her or not, to dissolve her in the closing circle of his arms, she certainly wanted to vanish entirely.

"Hells…" He breathed suddenly, pulling back, and his harsh breaths as his chest rose and fell were matched by the ragged gasps of Phaedra as she struggled to contain both her sobbing and the desperate thirst for him that burned in her, a thirst she still could barely name.

"No…" She pressed closer again, trying to rise and seize his lips to hers again. Every moment she was not…the darkness pushed in again, and Shandra's ghost floated in the great yawning emptiness of her grief. "I want this…I want this…" But he evaded her, and she suddenly seemed to see something like contempt in his eyes.

"What in the Hells do you want?" He snapped, his tawny eyes flashed and she gasped, as he pressed down on her wrist again. "Are you really prepared to spread your virgin legs up here on this mountainside because you miss the farmgirl? Are you that much a whore, my noble squire of Neverwinter, that you'd sell yourself to me to dull your pain?"

"No…no…" Phaedra whimpered. "Never…" The dull mist of her madness withdrew, and she looked back, aghast, at what she'd been about to do. How far would she have let it gone if he hadn't stopped her, how far would grief have driven her? But still she trembled in his arms like she really did want it.

"You really think I want you like this?" He sneered, his face inches from her own, as if he would kiss her again, or devour her. "Don't use me to escape your problems, because I don't get used by you come to me, you will come to me willing, and I will have you, princess, but not because you're too much of a coward to face up to the fact that Shandra is gone and she isn't coming back." Somehow even in the midst of her searing confusion and shame, her terrible ache of grief and rage and horror, those words 'I will have you princess' still burned through her and she almost swooned in his arms again. Gods could she still want him this much? But no, not now…not ever…he was right, though it might drown her grief for a few moments to give herself up, it would not bring Shandra back, and so it was worthless in the end. Everything was worthless….

"I can't go back there" She whispered, as he still grasped her close, so close, and her hand was still against his face, held in place like a statue, locked together. "I can't face him, that man…my father…"

"Well then you have two choices, princess" He promised roughly. "Either you suck it up, go back there and just damned well deal with it, or…" He paused, the space between the sentences burned… "You leave with me…right now. We vanish into the wilderness, and they find someone else to throw themselves on the sword of destiny for Neverwinter's sake."

"You asked me this before…" She whispered, numbly.

"Once…and I won't ask again" Bishop nodded coolly. "So make sure you pick right this time, princess." She trembled, held in the circle of his arms, her skin aching with his touch. Freedom…she'd longed for it, from the moment the shard had landed in her hands with such a weight, maybe even longer than that, maybe since that other piece of the Silver Sword had lodged itself in her heart. Or was it him she was longing for? The thought of freedom, and the tangled knot of her feelings for Bishop had merged and blurred together so much. But she knew that even running with Bishop would not save her now, as kissing him had not. Whatever he intended, it would not salve Shandra's death or the other deaths she had borne so far. It was foolishness to think she could escape what had happened, or what would come to happen if she failed. Indeed though she was unsure anymore if their deaths had meant anything at all, to be sure it would be no service to them if she abandoned the cause for which Shandra had died, or flee from vengeance upon the creature who had laid West Harbour to waste. "You just can't escape it can you?" He looked at her strangely. Clearly her silence had told him everything he needed to know. "We're more similar than I thought, after all" Her eyes widened, looking up at him, at that enigmatic remark. Surely Bishop, contrary, mercurial Bishop, who acted as though he stayed with her just because he felt like it, and could run off at any moment, and take her with him if he so chose, did not see anything he recognised in her closed cage of duty? She opened her mouth to speak, but then he let her go, and she stumbled back into the rocks, silenced once more. "You've made your choice, then" He said, shrugging. "Let's get back to the rest of them and you can tell your father what you really think."

"Yes" She murmured, it really was that simple. Either she ran, and she could not run, or she had to face Shandra's murderer and her cursed sire, Ammon Jerro. It would take endurance beyond anything anyone could hope to survive, but she'd already gone past that. She might have rejected Zhjaeve, and rightly, but she could still use the Githzerei's meditations to keep a veneer of outward calm as she faced Ammon Jerro if she had to do it, to stop herself from killing him. So she began to walk back with Bishop. "Why did you try to avenge her Bishop?" She asked quietly as they went. He understood her instantly.

"Doesn't seem like me does it?" He sneered. "She wasn't my friend, she wasn't my comrade, or my sister so don't go looking for sentiment where there isn't any. But she was the most bearable of your lot, and killing her was the act of a coward. That man, your father, deserves a dagger in the back for it."

"None of us ever really get what we deserve" Phaedra whispered. Oh Gods, Shandra…

"Now you're finally getting it." Bishop answered coolly. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to dull the pain. It would not be stilled, she found no peace, but she forced herself to move forward nonetheless. They returned to the camp in silence, to be greeted by relieved fussing, but everyone was so utterly subdued, exhausted by exertion and grief, that it simply passed and parted around Phaedra as she made a beeline for Ammon Jerro once again. She didn't even consider how she looked returning with Bishop like this, her lips swollen and bruised from his kiss, the mark of her nails on his temple. It was so utterly unimportant now. She moved to stand before Ammon Jerro, and looked down at the fire-laden, blood-drenched man who had hounded her so long, and he looked back at her, unblinking. Her fingers twitched, she ached to hurt him somehow, to wipe that sneer of uncaring contempt from his face, and the fire burned within her in response to his closeness, yearning to obliterate him or perhaps merely to erupt in concert with the fearsome heat she felt still coursing through him. The Haven's loss might have weakened him, but he was still extremely dangerous, still powerful enough to kill them all as he had Shandra. But deeper than that, even, and so frustratingly palpable that she was drawn back from hasty wrath, she felt something gentler, the hum of the Ritual of Purification. The four parts she had completed glowed in her heart, and they sang their combined tone in her all the stronger as she stood before him. He had the fifth piece, and all of the segments of Annaeus' ritual yearned for the others, to complete their pure symphony. She felt an indescribable and deeply disturbing yearning to step closer to Jerro, to see the light of the ritual beneath his skin but she forced it down, along with all the ritual's entreaties.

"Tell me one thing, Ammon Jerro…" She said quietly. "You came through West Harbour for the Statue of Purification which you uncovered."

"Yes" He answered curtly. It had not been a question.

"Of course, I sensed demons…" Sand gabbled in the background. "We assumed it was the King of Shadows, but his minions had only come later, it was in fact you I sensed."

"Was West Harbour's fall your doing?" Phaedra whispered. "Did you kill those people, did you lay the village to waste?" A moment's pause as Ammon Jerro looked up at her and his eyes narrowed, the wind whispered in the silence, darting through the crags. "I swear to you, warlock" She murmured slowly, and her voice did not tremble. "If you did, I will kill you, Ritual or no."

"It will please you no end, then, to know I did not harm the village" He rasped sadonically. "It was the work of the King of Shadows, as you ought to have surmised from the state of the corpses. I dawdled in the village but a moment to view the place where I was defeated and banished to the lower Planes" His eyes glimmered smokily in the shadows, as if the Hells still burned there, or perhaps a memory of something…. "Where I saw you for the first time, daughter…and Esmerelle for the last, in the final moments before my enemy shattered my blade, and sent its shard scattering to their resting places, one inside your flesh I presume." Those yellow eyes travelled but a moment to the place where the scar was, and the shard ached within her, as if in response the warlock's fearsome will. "That village was cursed from the start, it lived these last sixteen years on borrowed time. Nothing could have saved it." Phaedra stepped back, she wasn't sure if she really was pleased that Ammon Jerro was not giving her an excuse to slay him. Shandra's death alone was enough, but her hand hesitated still, and the moment was lost. Duty rose again, and the song of the Ritual of Purification hummed its dirge-like symphony.

"Very well, you will come with us to my Keep" She said at last, the words were like poison on her tongue but she forced them out. "As a prisoner and a hostage, nothing more. You will not speak to me unless I address you. You will not use magic unless I allow it. You are a condemned murderer, and you will face justice for your crimes. But the King of Shadows dies first."

"And die he shall…" Ammon Jerro clamped his fist. It sickened her to make such a pledge with this man, but she forced down her bile. She would endure this, if it killed her to do it. She had no choice. He moved to turn away, to sink into his smouldering brooding.

"One more thing, Ammon Jerro" She snarled, and all the venom rose in her throat, bitter and acidic. "Do not ever call me daughter again. You may have fucked Esmerelle, sired me in her womb, but you are not my father." She spat the coarse vulgarity with all her poison, and heard Casavir gasp at it, but it did not touch Ammon.

"So be it." He answered without a hint of emotion . "You are but a bastard child, and my family is ended. All I have left is my vengeance and since I am compelled by the Ritual of Purification to travel with you I will do so. Mistake not my intentions, Phaedra, this will never be anything more than a chance to defeat the King of Shadows. A small chance, it may be, but after the disaster you have wreaked upon my ambitions the only chance any of us have."

"Then we understand each other" Phaedra spat, and turned on her heels. She did not wish to look at him any longer.

Ooooo0000000ooooooo

Sand had been so sure at the beginning of their journey to the Haven that this quest would be an unexpected goldmine to add to the great opportunites that were already opening to him. All the thankless years serving at Nevalle's beck and call had begun to bear fruit before him, why should this have been any different? First the libraries of Black Garius had been open to him since that mage's downfall, the collected knowledge of a Master of the Hostower all at his fingertips as Phaedra had fluttered about, delicate and ineffectual as a butterfly, trying to get the ragtag Greycloaks in order. Zhjaeve might have silently judged him for the eclectic range of his reading, who could tell with the obtuse Githzerei and her blank stare, but he knew he was on the right track. He'd seen the Shadow Reaver, he'd felt its power, and now he knew that, Rituals or not, Sword of Gith or not, he could certainly provide his greatest help by delving into the same powers that had given that terrible, fierce creature form and magic. Then there had been the whispers that the Tome of Iltzkazer might yet come to the light. He'd spent half a lifetime looking for the tome, and it was clear Garius' research had been near as deep as his own, given the limitations of the human's brief life, of course. The Tome was still lost to them, of course, for the present moment, but if it was anywhere Sand was confident he could find it with time. He was closer than he'd been in years. And then Jerro's Haven…it had seemed the perfect next step; just to unlock how a magician seemingly so mediocre as to warrant little comment except by crazed sages like Aldanon had created such a place had seemed an untold boon. Sand had assured himself that he would use the knowledge in the Haven more usefully than Jerro had. But instead the Haven, and all its knowledge and learning, was sunk, utterly destroyed, into the earth and now they were stuck with another warlock, another volatile practitioner of that vulgar magic which Phaedra had taken to so completely. Such violent power, so unsubtle, and practiced by such unworthy company. Sand doubted Ammon Jerro had put in anywhere near the work he ought to have done to get to his level of power. And look where this sloppy, unjust magic had gotten them, Shandra dead, and the Haven lost completely. It was Shandra he mourned, of course… . He missed the rapport he'd had with the young human, and deeply regretted that her life had been cut short. And such a loss for Phaedra too. She was bearing up so admirably so far, insisting they all move back to the Keep and focus on their duties. It was really rather commendable, and she understood that she had to lay aside personal matters and focus on what was at hand. But at the same time, though she clearly despised Ammon Jerro completely, with a cold and unforgiving hatred that was commendably elvish in its lack of histrionics, she still seemed to be drawn to him despite herself. There she was again, hanging back in his footsteps as they made their way back towards the Keep in a dull silence. Maybe it was the Ritual he had held over her head like a threat, calling to her in that mysterious hum Sand longed to hear, if only to ascertain the true extent of the Ritual's power. Or perhaps Phaedra was hostage to her more volatile emotions despite her façade of elvish detachment. Still she never spoke to Ammon Jerro and no one else did either. Sand couldn't deny the warlock's sheer power was fascinating, but it was not a power open to wizards who actually worked at their craft rather than taking cheap shortcuts, and so it was of little practical interest. Still he watched Ammon closely, as did the others.

They arrived back at the Keep a diminished dejected group. Phaedra spoke for the first time to order Casavir and Bishop to escort Ammon Jerro, one on either side, through the great gates, lest there be any confusion about his position here. He endured his imprisonment as if it were nothing but a minor annoyance, striding like an imperious general through into the courtyard, so that the gossiping, cheering Greycloaks who came out to meet their returning leader and found her a pale wraith in white, icy and detached, were silenced by one glance of his burning eyes. Phaedra took him straight up into the Keep, without a second glance at her teeming throng of warriors, and, without instruction, the rest of them followed at a distance. Kana, that insufferable warrior, met them in the hallway, and even her iron composure was stirred by a moment of shock and horror as she glanced at Phaedra gliding across the stone floor with this tall, fearsome figure of wrath striding at her heels.

"We have captured the warlock Ammon Jerro" The Captain of Crossroad Keep announced without further ado. "Kana, have the cells in the cellar made ready to hold this murderer."

"At once, Captain" She glided away.

"So you would imprison me?" Ammon Jerro raised an eyebrow sceptically. "That is not wise."

"It is no less than you deserve, no less than I promised you" Phaedra turned to him, icy rage in her green eyes. "In the cells you will stay when I do not require your service."

"Kalach-cha" Zhjaeve murmured like a ghost clinging to Phaedra's shoulders, ill-wished and unwelcome. "This man has spent his life battling the King of Shadows. Do not waste this."

"I do not require the Gith to speak for me" Jerro scowled.

"You should tell me what you know, regardless, or prison walls will be the least of your worries" Phaedra fixed him in that deathly stare. Casavir stirred at the blatent threat ugly in her sweet elvish voice. To Sand it was no more than sensible, some sense from Phaedra at last. Perhaps she would learn to rule as one should.

"You understand so little, girl" Jerro sneered. "Or else you would not focus so on these petty grievences while he grows in power in the Mere. The one who fights the King of Shadows must be singularly, utterly devoted to that end, as I have learnt to be. He must be prepared to sacrifice his very soul to accomplish the defeat of that abomination, or else he shall fail as the Illefarn failed." Sand glanced at Zhjaeve. She was expressionless, but it chimed with what she had said, so somewhere in that unreadable Githzerei mind she no doubt approved.

"And you have sacrificed your soul" Phaedra whispered cruelly. "Your demonic servants were glad to reveal that."

"Of what value is any one life, one army, one village, one city even, when the entire world is at stake from this monster?" Jerro shook his head. "Especially when that city obstinately refuses to see the threat for what it is, as Neverwinter does. I had no aid but that I could buy for myself, and so I bartered myself for the priviledge. I paid the cost I had to, as will you if you wish to see him vanquished."

"I will never be like you" She hissed.

"My path is the only path." He answered her coldly. "As the ritual we have completed together is the only way to strike at him in the fetid darkness in which he lurks. As my blade, the Silver Sword you carry in those shards, is the only blade that can harm him.

"It is the blade of Gith, and it belongs more truly to the Kalach-cha than it does to you" Zhjaeve interjected. "She bears it in her heart, and it will bend to her will as it never triily did for you."

""It bent to my will well enough, Gith" Ammon answered. "But that is of no consequence now, the sword is now yours, girl, by virtue of that piece lodged in your chest." The warlock crossed his arms across his chest grimly. "There is no time for distraction. He grows in power even as we speak. My scouts, now vanished, reported legions of shadows and undead stirring within the Mere, and a sphere of darkness expanding from the heart of the swamp, killing all life it touches."

"The Mere is lost." Elanee whispered tearfully, ineffectually. "As I felt it. Everything is lost…" She was ignored. Despite the animus between them, Phaedra did not seem able to tear her focus away from Ammon Jerro and even Sand had to admit he was a commanding presence.

"We came to your Haven to try and find information on how to reforge the sword" Phaedra reported. "But it seems we are no closer…"

"The sword will not matter if he defeats us at the first strike." Ammon said. "He knows you now, knows both of us, and he knows what we are trying to do. Before he is even fully manifested, his hordes will come against you here in this Keep and you must be ready when he does. With my power so diminished, the demons I had intended to meet him with are no longer under my command, but we cannot stand alone. You will need an army to face him."

"Excuse me…if I might interrupt…?" An unfamiliar voice, somewhat tentative but true, interrupted the hall. Phaedra started, turned, and went utterly white, pale as a ghost to see a young human man walking towards her, a country yokel type, farmer stock, but he filled out his Greycloak armour admirably. "You have an army, Captain."

"Bevil…?" Phaedra breathed, her voice soft and utterly astonished. "You…you're alive…?" Ah, someone from her West Harbour days no doubt…Elanee seemed to recognise him too.

"I am" He nodded solemnely. "I couldn't believe it when I heard you had command of this place…but I knew I had to come here when I did."

"How…?" Phaedra breathed, stepping towards him, but going no further. He hung back too, beneath his outward bravado, he did not seem at ease. Ashamed…maybe, even scared…Sand raised an eyebrow. There was some history here. Phaedra had spun toils around men long before her adventuring days, it seemed.

"I left…only a few days after you did" He said quietly. "What you said to me…it stuck, I couldn't get it out of my head as much as I wanted to. Went to join the Greycloaks in Neverwinter, like my brother did, thought maybe I could undo what he'd done, get the Starling name some honour again. I requested to come here once training was done, when I heard about you." He swallowed nervously. "I can't go back now though, they said the High Road's impassable…West Harbour's lost…"

"I'm so sorry Bevil" Phaedra murmured. "I returned to West Harbour again…but the village is dead…your mother…" He clenched his fist as if to fight for control, he could not meet her eyes.

"I…knew already…that it had to be…" He muttered. "I've been on patrol, seen the edge of the Mere…there was no way…"

"We will avenge them" Phaedra promised. "Every life he has taken, every wound he has caused…I will end him for them."

"I don't think your father was there when it happened" Bevil announced quickly, and Sand leaned in again. Phaedra went utterly still, it was impossible to read what she thought of this development. "He left town when I did, even walked part of the way with me. Hardly said a word, though, wouldn't even tell me where he was going. He just…disappeared into the swamp…"

"Thank you for telling me this Bevil" Phaedra said quietly. "And…it is wonderful to see you…more wonderful than I can say" She did not smile, but there was a peace in her face for a moment, a relief that was something to behold given the brittleness of her demeanour in days past. He flushed, looked down at his boots. Not merely lovesick, but also deeply guilty about something. But then Phaedra straightened, and the posture of a commander fell upon her like a mantle, a mere friend no longer. "I know of your expertise, from the militia, and I'll recommend you to Kana for a sergeant." She said. He blushed deeper, mumbled heartfelt thanks, and a farewell, and scurried away back to his post. Phaedra stared after him for a second, as if wishing that the peace she had felt upon seeing him could be extended, grasped, for one moment more, but then she turned away, back to Ammon Jerro, and her shoulders clenched up again.

"You may leave now" She said quietly, it took Sand a second to realise that that distant command was meant for her companions as well as the Greycloaks. "I wish to speak to Ammon Jerro alone, about my mother." Sand sighed inwardly. He was always left out of the most interesting things, but one by one they left the two of them, father and daughter, how unlikely a family, with varying degrees of reluctance. Sand headed for the library at once, wondering if Aldanon had made any progress on his work for Phaedra. But more important, and infinitely more interesting, was Sand's own work. He had yet to penetrate the deepest magic Garius had at his disposal, he meant to accomplish knowledge was waiting for one courageous enough to grasp it without shrinking, and wiser than Garius who had spent it in folly and misplaced arrogance. It was waiting for Sand.

Oooooooo00000000oooooooooooo

"I knew it would come to this" Ammon Jerro rasped once the hall was silent and empty, even the Greycloaks departed. It was grand now, with all the repairs complete, glinting in the sunlight that poured through the high windows onto smooth stone and sumptuous tapestry."And I suppose it is natural for you to ask after her, though her memory cannot help your cause."

"I saw my mother burning in the Hells" Phaedra whispered, control…control…or else she would burn him as well. "And now I ask you to explain that to me."

"You know of her past, you know she spent years in Luskan, a mage in the Arcane Brotherhood there?" He queried, and she nodded slowly. Had she truly accepted that fact? Yes… "I met her there, while I studied under the Brotherhood for a brief time." She frowned, another of the Hostower in her retinue. "Do not look upon me in that manner" He sneered. "The Hostower was merely a means to an end, one more place of instruction amongst many. No one school can teach all that is necessary, a true master takes from all as is required to master the art. Esmerelle understood this. She was already supremely powerful then, though a mere apprentice, and our congress was mutually beneficial, if brief. I departed to more distant lands…seeking teachers of more stimulating ambitions than the buzzards of Luskan."

"Demons…?" Phaedra shook her head.

"Amongst others" Ammon shrugged, unapologetic. "Ironically it was by walking these dark paths I learned the threat we faced, the King of Shadows. So in time I returned to Neverwinter, and became a court mage, a position of convenience. It allowed me access to the records, the Archives, Neverwinter's many secrets, and I delved deep to uncover more about my enemy. I had hoped my influence would allow me to convince others…but I was far less fortunate in that regard. The nobles squabbled, Nasher dithered, and my fellow mages hovered in their ivory towers, seeking personal ambition and acclaim. Before long there was plague, and then the war with Luskan, and all the while the King of Shadows grew silently in power, and I sought to counter him. I made alliances with demons, devils…even the Githyanki. But I had to serve Neverwinter as well, if my foolish hope to use the city was ever to bear fruit, and it was in the course of my service that I encountered Esmerelle again. She was captured in the final battle in Neverwinter, a firebrand still, although by this point she was disillusioned with Luskan entirely. I think she went with the army merely to escape the Hostower, though it brought her to another prison." Well, or to escape Garius. Ammon did not seem aware that Esmerelle had been married, Phaedra had no desire to reveal it to him either. "They bound her in the dungeons, and Nasher dithered once more, whether to kill her or not. I was chosen to interrogate her, and in the course of the interrogation I revealed my fight against the King of Shadows. As I'd suspected, she had simply needed a grand purpose to throw herself into, one more worthy of her talents. So I freed her, it was a simple enough thing. They put out that she was killed, but it was a lie to save face." Phaedra bit her lip…so this was the end of that mystery, how Garius had thought his wife dead but she had in fact yet lived to mother Phaedra some four years later. It was all a lie, a lie that Esmerelle had used to escape the baleful eye of her husband and Luskan, a lie that had broken Garius.

"She became an adventurer, though, for some years" Phaedra noted. With Daeghun, Duncan…and the rest. It must have been only just after Jerro freed her that she encountered them in the inn as Daeghun had said. The pieces of her mother's life were coming together at last, seen through these men who had known her.

"Yes…she needed some time, some freedom, she told me to consider what I had asked of her, but I knew she would return." Ammon shrugged. "She could not stay away forever. So she returned to me three years later, one year before the second war began, that war with the King of Shadows that Neverwinter so little remembers that I could be confused with my enemy." He scoffed. "Esmerelle was one of those who fought with me in that war, my lieutenant, and together we delved deep into the powers we needed to face up to the King of Shadows."

"You didn't love her" Phaedra muttered. As if he were even capable of that…

"No" He said bluntly. "I was married, though I came to think my family had ended in the chaos. But we were lovers, she came to me from the first night, because she desired me and I her. But it was not personal between us." A shadow crossed his face for a moment, but it returned to stone in a second. So he was an adulterer as well, and her the product of betrayal, a snatched slaking of lust in the midst of war. "She was not like you, she understood the price that had to be paid, and she was willing to pay it. We made pacts, and bargains, we signed them together, with our two souls in payment. But as the war went on she doubted, she withdrew. Herself she would gladly sacrifice, as so few do, but she questioned the sacrificing of others. I learned later, of course, that she had fallen pregnant." He spread his arms slowly. "And so she deserted my army, but the bargains still bound her, and the war came to her regardless. She died as I did, in the same moment, and we were both forfeit to our debtors. That is why your mother is the property of devils." He ended with a shrug, as if it did not concern him, as if his own fate, and her mother's fate, were both prices he had paid utterly willingly. Was he even human, this man, or had his grim purpose burnt everything from his soul? "So you see I did not force it upon her, she signed herself away gladly for the sake of defeating the King of Shadows as I did." Phaedra was silent then, and held his gaze, choking back tears of horror, and of rage, as she remembered her mother in Koroboros' grasp. She believed Ammon Jerro, but it was still his fault, his rage, his war, that had given her mother over to the Hells. Her soul suffered the punishment that was rightfully his. And then a cold realisation struck her, something that lurked beneath the surface of his story, something that came to her as if by her mother's own whispered voice.

"She left you because she knew she was pregnant, but it was not only the war that scared her" It came from her lips hoarse. "She feared what you were capable of, what you would sacrifice to win. She feared you would sell her child, me, to the Hells to get what you wanted." She did not know if it was true, she did not know if the Hells would even take the souls of those not yet even born, but something told her Koroboros and his fellows would not have shrunk from such a thing, had it been offered. And Ammon Jerro's stony countenance only confirmed that he suspected that Esmerelle had left purely for this reason, for that fear. Would he truly have done such a thing? Could he truly be so utterly amoral?

"I cannot tell you what was in her mind" He said roughly. "She might have believed that." That was all the answer she would get, no denials crossed those lips, those burning eyes were as impenetrable as flame.

"Kana!" She called, turning from him suddenly, from the hypnotic intensity in his eyes. The woman appeared instantly, no sign of curiousity in her carefully sculpted detachment. "Take Ammon Jerro to the cellars, to his new quarters, and provide him with what is necessary." As Jerro was led away, Phaedra returned to her rooms, her mind humming with horror. He was…a lost man, utterly lost. His soul might be forfeit to the Hells, but they were welcome to it, if anything of a soul remained in him at all. He deserved the Hells for what he had done to Shandra. But he would not drag her mother down with him forever, she resolved silently…Phaedra would find a way to save her. But not him, she cared nothing for him. She would use him, as she must, but she vowed not to let him lead her to damnation along the way as he had Esmerelle. He had commanded Esmerelle, but she commanded him. There were other ways than his, other paths, and she would take them and force him down them as well if she had to do so. It would be a fitting vengeance upon him for Shandra, too, if he saw that he had sold his soul for nothing, that she could accomplish what he had not without the dire sacrifices he claimed were necessary. He would go the hells with that in his thoughts.

But she wanted him out from hers, she wanted everything from her thoughts for a moment. And so she opened the great wardrobe in which hung her mother's gowns…those rich ermine and silver capes, the dark robes of the Hostower, the silken gowns like dreams sewed into life. Slowly she undressed, laid down her white peasant's dress upon the bed as if she took off the final mantle of Phaedra the farmer, Phaedra of West Harbour, Phaedra the innocent. In its stead she drew from the wardrobe one of the finest in the collection that Esmerelle had left and Garius had enshrined; it was a slim-fitted gown, low upon the shoulders, tight around the waist, and a deep red, red as a ruby, red as blood, and richer in silk than anything she had worn before. Across the bust golden thread played in the light, flashing a floral pattern of wondrous complexity, perhaps one traced by Esmerelle the Black's own delicate elvish hand. She slipped it over her shoulders slowly, and it fitted her as she knew it would. In the mirror she was a stranger, a woman, full-grown, and in the height of her powers and beauty…a warlock, a Captain.

"I am the lady of Crossroad Keep" She said quietly to herself. "I am Phaedra Blake, and I am your daughter, Esmerelle." From now on she would wear nothing but what her mother had gifted her. From her mother she had inherited this conflict with the King of Shadows, it seemed, and Esmerelle had shielded her as a baby, thus had come the shard in her chest the other great instrument of her destiny. Now she had inherited her mother's soul to save, her mother's lover to contend with, as she had before, by the dark legacy of her family, the desirous eye of Garius, her mother's husband. Like her mother she had led those who followed her to their deaths, she had led Shandra to her death… She would never be free of that guilt, that blood upon her hands, as she would never be free of her mother's legacy. This was what she was, Esmerelle's child. It was time to take up that mantle.


End file.
